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Cypher
Jim heard the weakening heartbeat flutter and finally die as he made it up the stairs; he heard Lash's final words to his friend. The killer's head whipped round as he saw Jim framed in the doorway, the curly wig a mockery of Blair's thick brown hair.
"Police! Freeze!" snarled Jim, even as the knowledge of his friend's death hit him in the gut. Lash backed away from Blair's body, his hands up, as Jim approached. Careful, careful, thought Jim--he'd nail the son of a bitch who'd killed his friend--and suddenly he was falling, and Lash was on him, and they were grappling blindly as they fell. Stunned by the impact as they hit the floor, Jim's head lolled back, and Lash seized his chance, pushing up and away. Jim grabbed blindly for his back-up piece, and aimed. A bang, and again, and again, and then a sickening thud--the bullets had hit Lash square in the chest.
Jim got unsteadily to his feet, and stepped towards the fallen body, panting harshly. He looked down at the dead man who'd killed his friend, bent down, and wrenched the wig from his head. "You'll never be him," he said.
Flight
He got the call from Naomi seven months after he'd seen Blair step through the boarding gate of Cascade Airport.
"Jim--" Her voice was fractured, choked by tears. "Jim, it's--it's about Blair. Something happened, to everyone, they don't know what, their group was supposed to meet up with a local guide, but they didn't show--they've only just found them, Jim--he's...my baby, he's...oh, my Blair--"
He stood with the phone in his hand long after the call ended.
Iceman
He heard the shots and Amber's screams, and breathed, trying to stay calm, as he radioed in. It would be fine, Sandburg would be fine, he was wearing a vest, it'd be okay. Still, he made it up the stairs as fast has he could, moving quickly into the hotel room. He sniffed the air, an oddly familiar metallic taint to it confusing him--and then it hit him, and he ran. "BLAIR!" he called, rounding the corner at a run, skidding to a halt over the fallen body of his best friend.
It had been a clean shot to the head. He wouldn't have suffered. Jim stood stiffly and looked blankly forward--anywhere but at the body--as he calmly raised the radio again, only his shaking hand betraying him.
Blind Man's Bluff
Simon's large hand gripped Jim's shoulder as he struggled to draw shaky breaths. "The toxicity of the drug on his system was just too much, Jim," said Simon, blinking away the moisture in his own eyes, trying to support his friend as best he could. "Even if he'd come out of the coma, he wouldn't have--been the same. Maybe it was best..." Simon tailed off, unable to finish his sentence, his mind consumed by memories of the bright and capable man who'd been lost.
He cleared his throat noisily, and continued. "He was a good kid, and I know I didn't say it enough, but it was true. And he was a good friend to you. Take a few days off, Jim, if you want. God knows you've got the time." He gave Jim's shoulder one final squeeze, and stepped away, leaving Jim Ellison to his own grief.
Sentinel, Too
Jungle. Warm. Tongue lolling out, the wolf scented the air. New smells. The breeze ruffled his thick fur. Warmth. Darkness. He slowly padded further in--and then he stopped, paused, hair raised, hackles rising. Watched. Followed.
He turned.
Cat. It was a large black cat, its tail swishing. Watching. He stared at it, staring it down--then felt a jolt of connection, recognition, and saw echoes of another life in those deep eyes. Jim, he thought--strange thoughts, not wolf thoughts--then, Blair, and knowledge--two legs, human, sentinel, guide, cold, danger, cold, Alex, Rainier, Jim, Jim--and he knew what to do, even as the cat started to leap towards him.
And then Blair Sandburg choked, and coughed, and his lungs were burning, and opening his eyes he looked into the light, and saw Jim.