Major Crime, the next day

"Looks like you'll have good luck for the rest of your life," Jim joked from his position on the edge of Sandburg's desk.

Blair grinned at the reference to the medallion's imprint and surrounding bruise that had taken up residence on his chest. "I hope so. I could use it."

"Especially around the ladies," Henri commented as he passed the pair.

"Thanks, H, real sensitive," Blair complained.

Jim grinned at the jibe, then sobered a bit. "I'm just glad the force of the bullet didn't crack your sternum."

"Ditto."

Sandburg glanced back down at the report he was writing. "So Matt Rowe was trying to set up another pipeline here in Cascade, borrowed the money he needed from Carl Dawson, aka Carl Roscoe, who actually was the loan shark in question. The whole kneebreaker persona was for appearances, right?"

"Yup," Jim said, nodding.

"And when Rowe didn't produce the cash, Dawson had him killed."

"That's it in a nutshell. The bullet that killed Rowe matched the one that got your medal."

At that moment, Rafe walked into the bullpen, with David in tow, a grocery bag clutched in one hand. Rafe's gaze landed on Sandburg and Ellison and he led the way over.

"How're you doing?" he asked Blair.

"Fine. Hurts to laugh, though."

"I'll bet. David wanted to give these back." Rafe pointed to the bag in his brother's hand.

David handed the bag over to Sandburg. "Thanks for the threads, man. I washed them for you."

"You're welcome. Have you decided what you're doing next?"

The boy looked at Rafe for support.

"He's going to stay with me," the detective said. "I'll petition the state for guardianship, but it probably won't matter much since David will be eighteen in five days."

"I'm going to enroll in Rainier next term, too," David said proudly. "Maybe after that I'll go to the Academy, too."

"Those are great goals," Blair praised.

Rafe cleared his throat. "Strangely enough, we've got Carl to thank for that." At his friends' blank looks, he added, "I put that five thousand he gave me into a bank account. Haven't touched it and it's been drawing interest all this time. I figure it'll cover the cost of David's college fund. Anyway, we've got to go over some of the reports with the captain, so we'll see you guys later."

Various farewells went around, then Rafe steered David in the direction of Simon's office. After they had gone, Blair turned to his partner.

"So what do Rafe's initials stand for?"

"I never asked."

"You're no help." Blair stifled a yawn, then shook his head sadly. Jim looked down at his friend.

"Chief? What's up?"

"I was just thinking. I know, I know," Blair said quickly, raising his hands to ward off Jim's inevitable sarcasm. "Dangerous territory. But seriously, the past few days have really made me wonder about things."

"Like what?"

"Fathers and sons. I mean, I know you're working on it, but you and Steven didn't exactly have the best relationship with your dad growing up. And look at David and his father."

Jim nodded in understanding. "You're wondering if you're better off never knowing who your father is."

Blair hung his head.

Jim tugged lightly on a chestnut curl. "Blair, look at me."

He did, his cerulean eyes boring into Jim's.

"Don't judge your relationships by other people's. Look at Simon and Daryl. They fight every now and then, but there are no homicidal tendencies to speak of. You're not your father and you're not Naomi. You're you, plain and simple. And You is a pretty great guy."

Blair smiled gratefully. "Thanks, man. This whole identity thing usually doesn't bug me that much. I mean, you and Naomi are my family. What more do I need, right?"

Jim smiled back, but something bugged him, deep in the back of his mind. And he knew exactly what to do about it.

852 Prospect, the next morning

Blair emerged from his room, still rubbing sleep from his eyes. He was surprised that Jim wasn't up yet, considering his own alarm had gone off late. Glancing up, he noticed that Jim's bedside lamp was on as it had been when he'd gone to bed last night. Pillows were propped against the railing behind the bed and Blair could swear he saw the top of a head. There was no movement from above to indicate his roommate was awake, so Blair trotted up the steps to Jim's bedroom.

At the top of the stairs, he paused, taking in the sight before him. Jim was sitting against the pillows, sound asleep, his head lolling to one side. On his lap, still open to the last page, was Blair's dissertation. Sandburg crept over to the bed and carefully picked up the bound copy. Some of the pages were wrinkled, as if turned to again and again. He grinned. Jim must have been up all night.

Blair closed the book and placed it gently on the nightstand. As he reached out to pull a blanket over his friend, he became aware of someone watching him. Blair looked over and into Jim's open eyes. Their crystal blue depths were filled with gratitude.

"Thank you," Jim whispered to his Guide.

Beaming at his Sentinel, Blair replied, "You're welcome, partner."

Stay tuned next week when the smell of C4, a timer counting down, and a click as a detonator is activated only gives the sentinel enough time to yell Bomb! in "Never Give Up" an all new The Sentinel.

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