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Jim drifted back to the crime scene once he’d made sure that Sandburg was okay. Squatting down on his haunches, he picked up a shard of shrapnel; small pieces of the bomb scattered by the explosion. It was still warm to his sensitive touch; its edges jagged and sharp. Jim lifted it to his nose and, closing his eyes in careful concentration, opened up his sense of smell.

A hand on his shoulder startled him into wakefulness and he grimaced as the pungent odor of explosive mixed with a heady perfume assaulted his wide-open olfactory sense. Carolyn stood beside him, a puzzled expression on her face and her wristwatch dangling from one finger.

"Jim? You okay?"

Jim stood and stretched, rubbing at his tender shoulder, bruised when he’d thrown himself to the floor of the bus as the bomb had exploded. "Yeah, fine." His gaze traveled to the watch and he smiled. "You should get the catch fixed."

Carolyn nodded slowly. "How did you…Never mind." She slipped the watch into her pocket. "So, my place at eight?" Jim nodded. "Do you need a ride?" she asked.

"Just back to my truck. Thanks."

~o0o~

Jim slapped the roof of the car and raised a hand in farewell as Carolyn drove off. He’d given his ex-wife a kiss before he’d gotten out and experimentally opened up his sense of taste as he did so. He smiled at the memory of mocha and mint and Carolyn. Maybe the kid was right. This sentinel thing definitely had its advantages.

He wondered idly now where Sandburg had gone. The last time Jim had seen him, he’d been yelling something about not cutting his hair after Jim had jokingly told him he’d have to go through the police academy if he wanted to be his partner. Jim hoped someone had thought to offer the kid a ride home, then seeing the familiar figure ahead of him trudging along the sidewalk, he realized guiltily that it should have been him.

‘Way to go, Ellison,’ Jim thought as he slowed his truck. ‘Destroy the partnership before it’s begun. That’s what ruined it with Carolyn. Always putting your own needs first.’

Then he shook himself. This wasn’t a marriage. Sandburg was getting what he wanted out of the deal, Jim reminded himself. Research. Jim shuddered a little at the thought. Damned if the kid didn’t know what he was talking about though. He stopped the truck just ahead of the walking man and waited for him to catch up. "Need a ride?"

Sandburg looked sideways and grinned. "Thanks." Opening the passenger door, he slung in his backpack and climbed in after it.

Jim indicated the leather bag. "You sleep with that thing?"

"Only when I can’t get a date," Blair quipped, blue eyes sparkling with mirth.

Jim laughed. The kid was quick. The detective steered the truck back onto the road. "Where can I drop you off?"

Blair looked up from the notebook he’d dug out of his backpack and cursed as his pen dropped from his bandaged hand. He bent under the dash, scrabbling to retrieve it and emerged victorious. He pushed his rampant curls back from his face as he spoke. "At the university, if you're heading that way. If not, a bus stop will do. I’ve got to start collating this data."

"Don’t you sleep?"

"Sure I do," Blair answered, closing his book and shifting so that he faced Jim, one leg scooted up beneath him. "It’s just not high on my list of priorities right now."

Jim nodded and honked his horn at the driver in front who’d cut him off. "I can drop you at Rainier. Thanks for today."

"For what?"

"Helping me find the bomb. How did you figure that anyway? That "Don’t look, listen" thing?"

Blair shrugged. "I don’t know, really. It just came out. This is all new to me, too."

Jim smiled. "The blind leading the blind, huh?"

Blair grinned back, obviously not offended by the metaphor. "Something like that."

"How’s your hand?"

Blair looked at the bandaged appendage and shook it experimentally, wincing a little. "Paramedic said it looked okay, but that I should get it X-rayed to be sure." He paled. "I can’t believe I slugged her, man. My mother would kill me if she knew." He looked suddenly stricken. "Promise me if you ever speak to my mother that you won’t tell her."

Jim shot him a quick look to see if the kid was joking, but Blair looked genuinely concerned. "You got it, Chief."

The detective pulled into a parking space outside the university, then turned and looked at his companion. He took Blair’s injured hand in his. "Let me see that." He closed his eyes for a moment, then extended his sense of touch. Gently, he stroked his fingertips along the ridges of knuckles and bones on the back of Blair’s hand, feeling the swelling of fluid and the heat of bruising in the tissues. "Bruised, but nothing’s broken," he said finally. He let go of the hand and started the truck. "Get some ice on it, Chief."

"Wow," Blair breathed. "That’s amazing after such a short period of time. You have incredible control." He bent and picked up his backpack and spent a moment tightening the buckles. "I don’t think you’re going to need my help at all. Thanks, Jim. I’ll see you sometime, I guess."

"Tomorrow," Jim replied tersely. "I’ll pick you up at eight. Might as well get the forms filled in for your ride-along status."

Blair beamed. "Sure. Eight o’clock. I’ll be waiting."

"Make sure you ice that hand," Jim said as he pulled out. "You can’t type reports with a bum hand."

Blair looked puzzled. "Reports?"

"Paperwork, Sandburg, paperwork," Jim answered. "If you’re going to hang out with cops, you might as well learn how to do the paperwork. Give and take, Chief, give and take."

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