Disclaimer: Jim, Blair and the usual suspects belong to Pet Fly Productions. For your entertainment today, Jim is being played by Tacy Kelly. Blair and Dr. Fitzgerald are being played by Betsy Ray. Don't worry; when we were done with 'em, we hosed 'em off and sent them back to Bilson and DeMeo. Except for Fitz, who remains ours. Not that we know what to do with him.

Warning: NC-17 (m/m; h/c)
Includes violence and rape. Comfort outweighs hurt.

Summary: After a brutal attack, Jim and Blair try to pick up the pieces. Blair seems to be "better" at examining his feelings than Jim. Who knew?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

No Islands Any More


by

Betsy Tacy Ray-Kelly

"This little life, from here to there--
Who lives it safely anywhere?...
(The tidal wave devours the shore:
There *are* no islands any more.)"

"There Are No Islands, Any More"
Edna St. Vincent Millay

They only had to stay in the hospital one night. Just one night, but to Jim it felt like an eternity. At least they were in a room together. Small consolation, but Jim couldn't have some well- meaning cop or nurse or doctor getting in the kid's face. Not yet. Not now. Maybe not ever. Jim gave the initial report to Simon the night before. Talking about it had made him sick and he'd promised himself that Blair would never have to relive this shit again. Not if he could help it. And by God, he could help it.

Now.

*Now* he could help it.

Now that it was too late...

Jim lay back and closed his eyes and tried to relax, but the doctor was back. He was an older man, with a thick shock of white hair on his head and warm brown eyes. His hands were warm and after checking Jim's vitals he quietly pronounced the detective fit and ready for release. Jim swallowed hard as the doctor moved toward Blair. He grabbed handfuls of the thin cotton sheet with both fists and gritted his teeth.

He didn't want him to touch the kid.

He didn't want Blair to wake up and once again find himself under foreign hands, even if they were gentle, healing hands. Jim didn't want anyone touching his guide.

But Blair wasn't going to wake up. He'd been heavily sedated since the ambulance arrived on the scene. Twice he'd started to come around in the hospital room, only to start screaming and flailing his arms. Sedation had been the compromise when the doctor started to secure Blair to the bed. Jim took a breath as Dr. Taylor finished his examination. "Have the blood tests come back?" Jim asked, surprised at how rough his voice sounded.

Dr. Taylor tucked the covers back around Blair then turned to face Jim. He tapped the manila folder on the bedside table.

"That would be filed under doctor-patient privilege, Detective," he said mildly.

Jim shook his head, eyes narrowing. "You don't understand," he said. "Blair is my..." He wasn't quite sure what he meant to say. Blair was his guide, his friend, his teacher. His voice trailed off and it ended up sounding like he had said, "Blair is mine."

The doctor lifted a single eyebrow at Jim, before opening his file. "You are listed as the emergency contact," he said thoughtfully. "And I suppose you'll be subpoenaing the results for the court case. There's no evidence of any STD's, Detective. In fact, physically, Mr. Sandburg is fine."

Jim was not as relieved as he expected to be. He knew it could be a time before certain contagions would show up in a test and that he and Blair would have a few sleepless nights ahead of them regardless. He idly wondered if they would all have the same detached-yet-nightmarish quality of the night before, then dismissed that
thought to concentrate on more immediate, concrete matters.

For the immediate future, he almost felt as though STD's were the least of
Blair's--their--worries. Blair was resilient, adaptable, and strong, but even so, how could he be expected to just resume his life after the ordeal he'd been through? Jim shut his eyes against hard memories; images of the previous twenty-four hours that would be with him a lifetime or more.

The sudden attack, seemingly out of nowhere. Blair on his knees before their assailants, servicing them for both their lives, knowing that, in all likelihood, they would be killed regardless.

Jim didn't let himself think of their dramatic rescue by Simon and Brown.

He clenched the sheet again, an unacknowledged tear escaping the corner of his eye at the thought of Blair--his Blair-- degraded and tortured like that.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


"Um, Chief?"

Blair's question, after two days of near total silence in the hospital, came from left field.

"It's fall in Cascade. It always rains this time of year. So why the fuck is it sunny today, of all days?"

Jim, not having anything to say to that, remained silent as he pulled into the garage.

"The one day I need it to be overcast and wet, it's fucking sunny. Shit!" Blair pounded the dash with his fist.

Jim appreciated the anger over the sullen silence. Somehow it seemed more in character.

"You know what they say about the weather in Cascade," Jim said affably. "If you don't like it, wait five minutes and it'll be something completely different."

He hopped out of the truck, but stopped himself from going around to the passenger door to help Blair out. He wasn't hurt. The doctors and nurses kept pointing that out to him. *Physically* Blair was fine. Jim waited for a few beats, tossing his keys absently before he realized Blair wasn't getting out of the truck. "Chief?" he said, opening his door and sticking his head in. Blair's head was ducked but his eyes were wide and wild. His heart rate was skyrocketing. "I can't," he said. "I can't I can't I can't I can't..."

"We're just going home, Blair," Jim said softly. "Home."

Blair shook his head, hair flying. "No, I can't," he muttered. "Please, Jim. Please! Drive. Just drive somewhere. Drive somewhere, away from here. Drive!"

Jim jumped back in the driver's seat, gunned the motor and took off. Confused as hell, he concentrated on the road and didn't look at the kid. He didn't have to track his vitals. His heart beat was slowing, breathing was coming back under control.

Jim didn't get it. They hadn't been grabbed at home. The loft didn't have anything to do with what had happened to them. Jim had thought getting Blair back home would do a lot toward calming him down. He hadn't expected a reaction like this.

Blair was rocking restlessly and muttering under his breath. "anyone lived in a pretty how town with up so floating many bells down..." He was repeating the nonsense line over and over again. In spite of himself, and his own fervent desire to pretend that nothing was seriously wrong with Blair (nothing that he couldn't fix) Jim
found himself paying attention to the stresses in Blair's voice.

"anyONE lived in a pretty HOW town with UP so floating MANy bells DOWN..." in rhythm to heart totally out of control, stress in every other wild beat.

The same jittery rhythm Blair's pulse and actions had taken on during their ordeal.

Jim could easily imagine the younger man keeping the nonsense line running in his mind to distance himself from their surroundings. Hearing it now, in the truck, made the hair on the back of Jim's neck prickle.

He pulled to the side of the road. Blair turned to him.

"You stopped, Jim. Why did you stop? Keep going!"

"Chief, you're worrying me here. I had to stop."

"You want to help? Keep fucking driving!"

Jim actually flinched at the anger in Blair's voice, then started the truck up again, using all his senses to concentrate on not getting them killed.

"anyONE lived in a pretty HOW town with UP so floating MANy bells DOWN..."

Jim drove for another fifty aimless miles, Blair's voice a drone in the background. Sometimes the words changed. At some point, Jim realized it was a poem or maybe the words to a song that Blair was reciting.

"Women and men (both little and small) /cared for anyone not at all / they sowed their isn't they reaped their same / sun moon stars rain..."

But the rhythm was always the same...

"WOMen and men BOTH little and SMALL cared for anyONE not at all THEY sowed their isn't they REAPed their same SUN moon STARS RAIN."

Listening to Blair repeat the words over and over, they soon played a litany at the back of Jim's brain. Which was why he heard it like a shout when Blair changed the words and started chanting: "WOMen and men BOTH little and SMALL cared for anyONE not at all THEY sowed their isn't they RAPED their same SUN moon STARS RAIN..."

Christ. Shit fuck damn fuck shit fuck damn!

"Blair, we're going to run out of gas," Jim said quietly.

"Don't stop!" Blair warned. "Don't stop! We can't stop!"

"We're going to run out of gas," Jim said again, more slowly, careful not to snap. "Let's go home, Blair. Let's go home. It's quiet. And warm. We'll eat something and listen to some music. Home, Blair."

Blair faltered for a moment. Head still ducked, it was hard to see his eyes, but they hadn't given away anything in the last two days, Jim didn't expect them to now. Blair heaved a huge sigh, shuddering around its release. "Get some gas," he whispered. "We can stop for gas. Then we'll drive and when....when it's dark out...when it's dark, we can go home."

"Can I get gas?" Jim asked, maintaining the fiction he'd used to break Blair's reverie. He needed to get out of the truck.

"Yeah, I guess," Blair said again. Jim stopped and gassed the truck.

When he got back in the car, Blair was muttering again, but something different.

"LOVEliest of trees the cherry NOW is HUNG with BLOOM aLONG the BOUGH..." Blair repeated the line, faster, stressing every other syllable. "LOVEliEST of TREES the CHERRy NOW is HUNG with BLOOM aLONG the BOUGH..."

At first Jim was relieved, but the icy feeling crept along his veins again as the tempo picked up until the rhythm was unmistakably that of copulation.

His palms slid on the wheel as unwanted images of clean but greasy hands threaded in his partner's hair, pulling Blair's head back and forth on a fat, invading cock. A different image, no less and no more chilling, of another man riding Blair from behind, forcing his pained face back so that Jim had to watch. And Jim could not have closed his eyes, then or now, against the horrifying sight. It was his penance, his due, for failing them both.

Jim wondered if Blair got this terrified when he had a zone out. Why should he? Blair always knew what to do. Jim was fucking clueless here.

"Blair...you're scaring the shit out of me here," he said helplessly. "I don't know what to do, kid. Maybe we should...we should go back to the hospital. Maybe it's too soon..."

Blair's voice got louder, but the rhythm of his words didn't change. "LOVEliEST of TREES the CHERRY NOW is HUNG with BLOOM ALONG the BOUGH..."

"Stop it!" Jim said, but Blair only spoke louder.

"LOVEliEST of TREES the CHEERY NOW is HUNG with BLOOM ALONG the BOUGH..."

"God dammit, Sandburg, STOP IT!" Jim thundered and silence fell over them as if Blair had been felled by a sniper's bullet. Jim screeched the truck to a halt along the deserted backroad they'd ended up on. He was panting with anger.

"Just STOP IT, Sandburg. I can't deal with this."

Blair began laughing, a note of hysteria in his voice.

"YOU can't deal with it? Oh, that's just fucking rich, buddy."

Somehow, the edge in Blair's voice snapped Jim back from his anger. One of them had to remain calm. Meanwhile, Blair continued in a shrill litany. "You're not the one who had to, what was the phrase so charmingly employed? Suck it and fuck it? You didn't have to pray that you were doing a good enough job that they wouldn't kill
you."

Blair pounded his fist against his own thigh. "Don't you dare tell me you can't fucking deal, OK?"

"Sorry," Jim muttered. "I'm sorry."

"You and me both, man," Blair answered.

Blair was aimlessly pounding his thigh. Jim reached out to forestall him, but backed off when Blair flinched away.

"Why did it have to happen, Jim? Why?" The anger was at bay, at least for now, and replaced with genuine curiosity. As if Blair was trying to figure out why Vice had initiation rituals and Major Crimes didn't.

"Jim? Why?"

"Things happen," Jim said in a dull voice. They had had this discussion before, over one random act of violence or another.

Blair wanted to believe there was order somewhere in the universe, that things happened for a reason and that some guiding force somewhere was orchestrating the big picture.

"My ass things happen. What the hell kind of reason is that for me to have..." Blair couldn't say it again.

It had been a long time since Jim had the luxury of such a belief system.

"Sandburg, would a reason make this any easier? Would it cast some different kind of pall over what happened? Jesus, finding a *reason* for shit like that would make this whole thing even more fucked up."

"Don't you see, Jim? If there were a reason, something I could point to, maybe then it would be...I don't know. Bearable. Redeemable in some way."

Jim gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. "There is no reason in the world that would make what happened to you *redeemable!*" he growled, saying the last word as if it made him want to vomit.

"In primitive tribes, a lot of manhood rituals are just as bad or worse. They live through it and go on to have...to have wives and children. Because it's for a reason. This...this...there was no reason. I've been unmanned, not made into one because of this."

Jim didn't know what to say. He wasn't a psychiatrist. Or a counselor or a fellow-survivor. He didn't know what to say, and the only emotion he could identify was an overwhelming sense of anger that Sandburg would probably think was aimed at him.

"Just tell me what I can do to make it go away? Jim, can you at least do that for me?"

The words stung. Hit a wound raw and deep and Jim gasped and flinched and felt his face grow hot. "No, chief, I guess not," Jim said quietly. "I guess we both know I can't do shit for you, don't we?"

"Don't say that, Jim. You fix everything. Can't you at least forgive me?"

"Forgive you?" Jim said incredulously, whipping his head over to stare at the kid.

"Yeah," Blair said wearily. "Guess not."

"What are you...Sandburg, what in the hell are you talking about?"

"I know, I know...it wasn't me. Wasn't my choice. But, Jim..." Blair's voice, already hesitant, trailed away to silence.

Blair looked out the window, muttering the next words under his breath. "I wanted to die, Jim. It got to the point where I didn't care if
they killed me. Or you. I just wanted it to end."

"You think I didn't want the same thing? You think I didn't want out of there, no matter how?"

"And now?" Blair whispered the question. "Do you still want out?"

"Of course not," Jim said. "Now it's over."

Blair shook his head sadly. "Maybe for you. Not for me."

Jim was quiet, still uncertain if they were even talking about the same thing here. "It will be, Chief," he said, and the words sounded lame even to him. He heaved a sigh and noticed that the sun was starting to set. "Let's go home, now, okay? Let's head home."

Blair ignored him, fidgeting with the hem of his loose flannel overshirt. "I've been with guys before, Jim. Just never...all the way, if you know what I mean. I was, I don't know, saving myself I guess. For someone, male or female, I trusted and loved enough that I could give myself to them, to their hands or their cocks or whatever. And now I can never have that."

"Blair, this isn't the place," Jim started to say. Blair's eyes grew more distant; Jim could almost see the younger man falling away from himself. "We're in the truck on the side of some deserted highway here, Sandburg. Let's go home. Everything will seem more...more normal. We'll talk it out then, okay?"

"Normal? Whatever, Jim. I'm really tired. Sure you don't want to get a couple of rooms or something?"

Okay, maybe the direct approach would work better, Jim thought. "Why don't you want to go home?"

"It's...I don't know. After all that's happened, I'm supposed to just go back to my room, to my bed, to the loft like nothing happened? Like I'm still the same? Like my whole perception of myself isn't fucked up? Like you could even trust me under the same roof with you?" Blair's words came out in a rush, the last sentence a hurried blur.

"Trust you?" Jim incredulously echoed the words. "Good god, Sandburg, you sacrificed yourself for me, and now you sit there and worry about *trust?*"

"I wanted you dead, Jim. I can't make that go away."

"I can't...I can't do this, Sandburg. I can't help you. I can't say the right things. Somehow, I'm fucking this up even worse."

"I don't think anyone could say the right thing right now, Jim. If there even is a right thing. Can't we just get a couple of rooms? Sleep on it, and try for the loft in the morning?"

Jim sighed. "Yeah, okay. We'll get a couple of rooms," he said, and headed back on the highway.

"See if they have doubles? Maybe we can share a room?" Blair obviously didn't want to be alone, whatever other issues he was having with Jim.

Jim pulled into the parking lot of the next motel they saw, a sleekly modern building that was really too nice to be called a motel, and not nice enough to make the grade as a hotel. He parked the truck out front and waited again while Blair talked himself out of the truck.

"I have BEEN to LUDlow FAIR and LEFT my NECKtie GOD knows WHERE," Blair was chanting.

*Jesus, not again,* thought Jim, nervously passing over his hair.

But it seemed to work; Blair was able to get in the room under his own steam, only flinching a little when the door snicked closed behind them.

Jim watched Blair roam restlessly around the room, rocking his shoulders in time. "And *I* mySELF a STERling LAD/And DOWN in LOVEly FUCK I've LAIN..."

"Blair, let's...let's sit down, buddy," Jim suggested.

"OK, I'm OK, Jim," Blair said, nodding shakily.

"How about something to eat, Chief. Hamburger sound all right?"

"Sure. Um, I dunno. Who's gonna go for it?"

"How about pizza," Jim said, then. "We'll have it delivered. That'll be good, right Chief?"

"OK, yeah. Pizza. I can do that," Blair said without much interest.

Jim sighed and placed the call, watching out of the corner of his eye as Blair stood up and began pacing again, touching all of the objects in the room--the Bible, the ashtray, the TV remote. It was as though Blair was assigning talismanic value to the everyday items. Or perhaps reacquainting himself with them.

Jim turned on the TV, starting when Blair jumped at the sudden sound. Jim quickly thumbed down the volume, but Blair's shoulders were still hunched as if the noise caused him pain. Blair ignored Jim in favor of an in-depth examination of the water fittings in the bathroom. Jim heard him turning the water off and on. Off and on. Off and on.

"Maybe you might want a shower, Blair?" Jim suggested.

"Maybe," muttered Blair. "Not like I'm ever gonna feel clean again."

Nevertheless, Blair started to undress. Jim took a moment to try relaxing.

He patted his pocket, where he had a couple of sleeping pills the hospital had given him for Blair. He had a feeling they both might need them before the night was over. He rapped his hand on the door of the bathroom; Blair was still bringing the shower to temperature. "Hey,
Chief, I'm gonna go get some ice and a couple of sodas. The machine's just around the corner. I'll be right back."

Bad timing once more ruled their lives. Blair emerged from the bathroom, for what Jim never found out, wearing a towel, just as the pizza
was delivered by a large kid who looked something like one of their assailants. The sound of Blair's thundering heart assailed Jim and he took off toward their room at a dead run.

"I dunno, mister," the delivery kid said. "He looked at me and went right
back in the can."

Jim could hear the chanting coming from the other side of the door. Absently, he thrust a twenty at the delivery kid, took the pizza and rushed into the room.

Jim knocked on the door. "Blair? It's OK, Blair..."

"A GARland BRIEFer than a GIRL'S" came from the bathroom.

Jim knocked again. "Come on, Buddy. Get dressed and we'll eat some dinner, okay?'

"Can't," came the muffled reply.

"Can't get dressed?" Jim asked.

"Can't come out," Blair said. "He's gonna hurt me..."

"He's gone, Buddy," Jim soothed. "He just delivered the pizza, that's all. There's no one here but me."

"I know," Blair said. "But how long, Jim? How long until the next time?"

*Until the next time someone comes to the door?* Jim wondered, *Or the next time Blair's raped?* Either way, they had a problem.

"We'll worry about that if it happens. For now, we're safe, OK?"

A long pause. "OK," said Blair. Jim heard him get dressed. They ate the pizza in silence.

"I'm really tired, Jim," Blair said when they were done, his voice bone-weary.

"Me, too, Blair," Jim said. "Do you want to keep a light on?"

Blair shook his head. "No. I still have the dark. At least that wasn't taken from me." As they got ready for bed, both leaving their clothes on, Jim watched as Blair pushed his bed against the wall.

Jim started to ask what he was doing, then realized that he already knew. Blair was seeking as much safety as he could from the evil of the world. And, Jim wondered, maybe from Jim himself. Blair climbed into the bed, pressing his back against the wall. Jim watched him curl up into a tight ball, rocking himself, and begin chanting in time, " SMART lad TO lip BEDtimes aWAY/from FIELDS where GLORy does NOT stay/AND earLY thought THE lauREL grows/IT withERS quickER than THE rose."

Jim turned over onto his side so that he was facing Blair. He sighed and wondered if he shouldn't have insisted on a sleeping pill for the kid.

"Jim?"

The soft voice surprised him. "Yeah, Chief?"

"Don't look at me, okay? Don't...don't look."

Jim bit his lips for a long moment. "OK, Chief," he said with a mildness he was far from feeling.

"I won't," he added for emphasis, and rolled over. He could show Blair his back. He still trusted enough for both of them.

Eventually, the sound of Blair's voice faded into the background, still there, but filtered far away as Jim reclined in bed and tried helplessly to keep the memories at bay. He should have heard them. That was his first mistake. He should have heard them as he and Blair left the deserted warehouse, grousing about the fruitlessness of the lead they were following up. Bantering back and forth, enjoying the atypical warmth of a Cascade fall, Jim had lowered his guard. That was Mistake One.

Mistakes Two and Three and Four and on down didn't really matter. Mistake One had been the granddaddy. What Blair would call the UrMistake. If he had been covering their asses, none of what followed would have happened. And Jim wouldn't feel like shit right now. And Blair wouldn't be the shadow he'd become, accusing himself and mumbling rhythmic poetry. The same poetry, Jim was sure, he'd used to distance himself from the attacks themselves. Not that it seemed to have done much good.

He should have set up an appointment with the rape counselor. Hell, *he* should have met with the rape counselor. Asked what to expect, what he could do to help. He'd been through various rape sensitivity training courses through the department, but they all dealt with the law enforcement aspects of it, not with dealing with trauma to a loved one. Loved one. For some reason, the words startled Jim. No reason why they should. He loved Blair. He could admit that. To himself, here in this dark hotel room, in the middle of God knows where, he could admit that to himself. He loved Blair. But he had no fucking idea how to help him. No plan of action, no strategy, just...this need to help Blair. And he didn't know how, and that was killing him.

He thought back to what Blair had said. About being with men; about saving that last part of himself for the man or woman he would trust most and love most. About how that had been taken away. Jim vowed that he would find a way to give that back to Blair.

When Jim woke up and registered that it was morning, he was surprised he hadn't been awakened in the night by one of Blair's nightmare. As he sat up, he realized why. Blair was still huddled in a ball, still rocking, his lips moving, but his voice no longer producing any sound. The kid hadn't slept at all. Jesus he was still fucking up! He should have insisted on a sleeping pill. He should have *forced* the kid to...

Jim suddenly felt his face hotly flush in shame. *Oh God, no, I didn't mean that,* he thought quickly. *I don't want to force him to do anything.*

A sleepless night would not kill Blair. Jim turning into an overprotective ogre might.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


He got Blair back into Cascade and into the loft without too much trouble. The kid's pulse spiked when they first went in the door, but settled down after a few minutes. Blair went around the loft, touching things much as he had the night before in the hotel room.

Jim watched Blair reacquaint himself with the contents of the loft. Blair was silent until he got to the couch, where he just stood, absently stroking the back of the sofa. "You know, it was the loss of the farm, of the artisan craft shops during the Industrial Revolution that really led to the culture of hypermasculinity the way we understand it today. I know I'm a man, but after yesterday, I have to wonder. I don't think it makes me a woman, or anything like that. Just not...I don't know...not a man. A child? No innocence left, not after that. But something is missing."

Jim looked briefly at the phone. He wanted to call one of the rape counselors or maybe Dr. Vance, the department shrink. He was going to fuck this up with Blair if he wasn't careful. "Blair, you're not...what they did, it wasn't...you're who you've always been. Or you will be again. I mean, I know this...that you feel right now...What I mean is, I don't want you to..."

Jim's voice trailed off as Blair once again began walking around the room. "It's...I guess it's the loss I feel most. Not the pain or the violation, but this feeling that they took that first time and destroyed it."

"Taking something and giving it are two different things," Jim said quietly. "If you...*when* you decide to give someone that gift, Blair, it will be the *giving* of it that has meaning."

"But I can't say to them, you're the first. You're the only person who knows this part of me."

"But you can say, 'You're the one I trust enough to give this to. You're the one I want to have this, even though it was taken from me once.' In a way, the giving of it will mean more because of the courage behind it."

"Jim, there is now someone in the world who knows that part of me. And I want to kill him for that." Blair suddenly lunged and got a hold of Jim's gun. "DO YOU HEAR ME? I want to kill another human being for that!"

"And you think I don't?" Jim quietly asked, reaching for the gun and gently prying it from Blair's hand. He set it on the coffee table and moved around to the back of the couch. "I wanted to kill that fucker for just touching your hair, Sandburg. For putting his grubby paw on your *hair.* I wanted to rip his arm out of his socket and shove it down his throat. I wanted to disembowel him with a spoon and stand over him while he bled out on the floor of that fucking warehouse. You aren't going to shock me here, Sandburg. I'm way ahead of you."

Blair picked the gun up again, but this time absently. "I can't be here," he said. "I can't be here with someone who saw that...what I did."

Jim's heart started thudding painfully against his chest. "With someone who let that happen. That's what you mean, right Chief?"

"NO! Jim, I know if you could have done anything about it, you would have. But you saw it all. You saw them do that. You saw my weakness."

Even as he tried, Jim knew reason wasn't going to get them out of this, but he didn't know what else to do. "I couldn't do anything about this, and that's okay. But you couldn't do anything about it, and that makes you weak?"

Blair looked at the gun in his hand. "I wanted you dead, Jim. I was so weak I'd rather see my best friend dead than go through it again. All you wanted to do was get us out of there. You didn't wish me dead."

Jim sighed, afraid to say anything more lest the eccentric Sandburg brain turn it into something else.

"And now that we're out of it, I want to be dead myself," Blair said with quiet resolution.

"You need some sleep, Chief," Jim said, moving slowly toward the younger man. "I want you to go lie down and try to sleep."

"Sleep isn't going to make this go away. It's not going to change that I can't ever have that first time again."

Jim took another step forward, painfully aware that Blair took two steps back. "It won't make anything go away, but maybe it put things in perspective. Make things clearer."

"I didn't know just how important it was," Blair continued, a dangerously faraway look in his eyes. "I didn't realize how much that meant to me."

"Blair, please, buddy. Get some rest. You're confused right now, kid. You're not looking at this right."

"You saw," Blair said sadly. "You saw it all. How can I look you in the eyes after that? How can I look at you, knowing I wanted to kill you? How is resting going to make that better? How can I sleep with that hanging over me?"

"We just have to tough out the next few days," Jim said, no longer trying to edge his way closer to Blair. "Everything is out of proportion, Blair. What you're feeling, the intensity of those feelings, they're not real. They're not accurate. You're a scientist, Sandburg, you can appreciate that. We need some...objectivity here. Some distance."

"I guess." Blair put the gun down. "Can I have one of those pills they gave you? I'm exhausted, but I don't think I can sleep without help."

Jim nearly broke land speed records getting Blair the pill and a glass of water.

Blair took it, drank all the water with the pill, then turned to go to his room. Then hesitated.

*What now?* Jim wondered.

"Jim, do you think you could...I don't know...sit out here with a book and your gun or something? I'll leave my door open so I know you're there... "

"Sure, Chief," Jim said around the tightness of his throat. In spite of everything, some part of the kid still trusted him.

Still thought he could protect him.

He just wished that he could have lived up to the that trust. He listened as Blair crawled into bed, still in his clothes from the day before. Jim shook his head sadly at the thought that Blair still couldn't face his own body. As he looked at his gun, though, he realized that was the least of their problems. Blair had been terrifyingly close to using it, Jim knew. He'd tried to be casual, and only now could he acknowledge just how terrified he'd been.

To his surprise, Blair put on a CD in his room.

Morbidly monotonous organ music filled the loft. Jim recognized some of the tempos from Blair's frenzied recitations the day before. He started toward Blair's room, alarmed, but then stopped. He heard the deep breathing of Blair's meditation and relaxation routine.

And, incredibly, Blair's pulse slowed as the younger man relaxed for the first time in days.

Jim sat down, listening to the music, trying to find in it the healing that Blair seemed to have found. At first, the music seemed doleful and almost violent in its repetition. Jim started to relive the scenes of violence and terror from days before. His helplessness, Blair's pain, the sheer ugliness that the world could sometimes be. But gradually, he found a sense of wonder filling him. Unbidden, but welcome, came images of starry nights, of the infinite wonder and beauty the world also offered. He thought of a time from Peru, from the rainforest.

He remembered focusing on a butterfly, back when he'd first experienced sentinel senses. The butterfly had hovered above the river, and Jim had seen it down to the most perfect detail of its wings. Time had stopped while he had looked at it, thinking that any world that could produce such a marvel was worth the inevitable pain. One perfect moment that almost made up for everything before and since. Almost. He hoped that Blair had found that moment, too.

With a sigh, Jim picked up his gun and stored it in a lockbox on top of the fridge. He pocketed the key, then dug around in the one junk drawer he owned for the PD phone book. He found it, picked up his cell phone and walked quietly to the far side of the living room. His
thumb moved restlessly over the number pad. What if Vance wanted Sandburg hospitalized? Jim didn't think either one of them could have that. As much as Sandburg needed protection, Jim felt an even
stronger need to protect right now.

He thought of the possible consequence should Blair attempt and succeed at anything further. He would be responsible, legally and morally. But the hospital would just set Blair back, he reasoned to himself. And Jim felt that they had passed the watershed.

Jim knew he would have to live with himself if Blair tried anything. Have to live with himself if Blair succeeded. Jim looked to the top of the fridge. He knew that he wouldn't have to live with that particular failure for long. He listened to Blair's even breathing and wondered what tomorrow would bring. And the next day. And the day after that.

Blair slept through until the next morning.

He staggered out to find Jim on the couch, sipping coffee. "Blech," said Blair inarticulately as he groped toward the coffee pot. "Now I remember why I hate sleeping pills," he mumbled as he poured a cup. "God, but I stink," Blair muttered.

"I wasn't going to say anything," Jim said. Blair seemed...OK. Not great, but also not mumbling poetry to a wild pulse beat.

Blair drained his cup and poured another. He looked out the window and said quietly, "I find I'm strangely reluctant to take my clothes off and shower." The words were quiet and reflective, not angry or even sad.

Blair continued in between sips of his coffee. "I wish I could just stand here forever."

"The loft would stay a hell of a lot cleaner," Jim said, grinning slightly.

Blair nodded and even smiled a bit. "It would at that. But I wouldn't get any points with the U or with Simon."

"Yeah, not to mention all the trouble I'd get into without you to watch my back."

"Guess it's worth a messy loft, huh? But I'll get myself clean, I guess." Reluctance was in his voice. Blair went in the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind him.

Jim went and tapped on the door.

"Chief? I think I'll go downstairs and get us some breakfast, OK?"

"Sure. Get a baguette, K?"

"Right," Jim called back, relieved that Blair was taking an interest in food. "You'll be OK?"

"Sure. Nice to have a little bit of privacy for the mad dash from bathroom to closet," Blair called back almost cheerfully.

"OK," Jim said, and went down to the bakery.

Not surprisingly for a Sunday morning, the place was packed. It was a quarter of an hour before Jim was able to go back upstairs, unlocking the door to the loft and waving the baguette while shouting, "Success!"

Blair was standing in the middle of the loft, wearing clean clothes.

But, Jim noticed with fear and resignation, his pulse was unsteady and his eyes were frantic. "Where is it? You took it with you, right?" Blair asked, panic in his voice.

"Where is what?" Jim asked, slowly lowering the baguette.

"The gun, man. Where is your gun?"

"It's in the lockbox, Chief," Jim said, setting their breakfast on the counter. "Why?"

"You put it in the lockbox? Jim, I need it!"

Jim's heart lurched in his chest. "No you don't!" he said tersely.

"Yes," Blair protested. "I have to have it out, Jim."

"Sandburg, you don't need the gun, all right! Now sit down and eat your breakfast!"

"Get it out," Blair ordered tersely.

"No!" Jim angrily replied, striding toward Blair and shaking him by the shoulders before he realized what he was doing. "Do you hear me, Sandburg? Am I getting through that fog you're in?! You're NOT getting the gun!"

Blair struggled, throwing Jim's hands off his shoulders.

"We need it, Jim," he said quietly.

"No we don't!" Jim muttered, stalking back to the kitchen. "Look, Sandburg, I know it's shitty right now, but if you think I'm going to fucking help you, you're cr...you're wrong, okay?"

Blair stared at Jim. "But you said you'd help," he said, bewildered. "What changed?"

"I *never* said I'd help you do this!" Jim said, wishing now he had called Vance the night before.

"You said you'd protect me," Blair said, his voice small. "We need the gun, Jim."

Blair looked at Jim, a wealth of disappointed anger in his eyes. "You want it, don't you?" Blair asked with cold contempt. "You want what they had." Blair started pulling off his shirt. "Fine, Jim. If that's the price you're gonna charge to protect me? Well, I guess you'll be
a bit more considerate." Blair was naked now, his eyes averted as he spread his arms out. "Come on, Jim. Let's get this over with, then you can get out the gun and start fucking protecting us!"

Jim backed up against the wall, mouth hanging open in stunned surprised. "What are you...what are you *doing!*" he shouted, suddenly springing into action. He scooped up Blair's clothes and shoved them into his arms, turning in a single, fluid motion to grab the throw off the back of the couch. He wrapped Blair in it and shook his shoulders just to get his attention. "What are you doing?" he asked again, quietly, shaken by the return of that lost wild look in Blair's eyes.

"Come on, Jim. It's not like you haven't seen it before. Just the other day, remember? You saw how much they liked me, man. Come on, do it. I need you and the gun, protecting us."

Jim felt like he'd suddenly been dropped in the middle of a movie. What the fuck was going on here? He gruffly cleared is throat. "Put your clothes on," he ordered, sounding angry.

"Do it," Blair said tersely. "If that's the price for protection, then I'll pay it. It's all I have."

"You think...you think I'd make you...after what we went through?!" Jim asked incredulously, his voice raising in spite of himself, in spite of the part of himself that knew Blair was lost to him right now, in spite of that part of himself that knew it was up to him to keep it together right now. It was just too much, though. Blair thinking he would exact payment in that way, thinking he could do that to Blair after everything that happened.

"Put-your-clothes-on." The words came out slowly, each one precisely articulated for Blair's benefit.

"Come on, Ellison, locking up the gun was a clear sign that you're not interested in protecting me. I'm just trying to sweeten the deal for you. I don't have money but I have this," Blair said dispassionately, gesturing to his body. "We can work something out."

Jim turned away from the stranger that was Blair. Without a word, he reached for the lockbox, retrieved his gun, and tucked it into the back of his jeans.

Blair smiled in cold triumph. "So you are interested in a deal," he said. "Here? Your room? Just one thing, not in my room." Blair was fluffing his hair out in a parody of sexual enticement.

Jim took a deep breath. "I'll call Simon," he said coldly. "Or Joel. We'll work out some schedule where the loft is watched 24/7 until you feel safe. I won't stay here. You won't feel safe with a man who would give out protection in trade."

"Wrong, Ellison. I won't feel safe ever again. I will feel safer knowing that you're here. If trade is what I have to do, then I won't complain. Just not in my bed.

"Come on," Blair continued, his voice husky. "You really want Simon or Joel to take what you won't?"

"I can't do this," Jim said, reaching for his coat. "I can't talk to you. I don't know what the fuck's goin' on here."

"For Christ's sake, can I make it any plainer? You won't protect me, so I'm offering you what little I have for protection. To you or whomever. But I guess Jim Ellison doesn't take other men's leavings. Which is too bad, because this.is.all.I.have," Blair said, striking a pose and graphically emphasizing his offer.

Jim stopped, his hand outstretched for the doorknob. He turned, eyes flashing with raging anger. "Don't you turn me into one of them! Don't you fucking do it, Sandburg! I failed, all right? I fucked up and got us caught and ruined everything, but don't you fucking turn me in to one of them!"

"I'm not good enough, huh?" Blair shouted. "I'm just not good enough anymore!"

"Shut up, Sandburg!" Jim shouted back. "Shut the fuck up!"

"Fine!" Blair shouted back. "I'm not good enough for you, I'll find someone who's not riding a fucking white horse." Blair began jerking his clothes on.

He turned around, his back to Jim, and that's when Jim saw the bruises. Ugly black and purple marks covered his ass, Jim's sentinel senses making out the imprint of a large, meaty hand on his side. And Blair thought he could do that to him?

The anger drained from him, replaced by an overwhelming fatigue. Jesus, they were in trouble here. Real trouble.

Blair had finished dressing and was brushing his hair. "Gotta look nice," he said to Jim. "Maybe I won't even have to tell him. Or her. Maybe then I'll have a chance to be protected. Kept safe."

"Blair, I'll...I want to keep you safe," Jim said awkwardly moving closer to the younger man. "I just...I would never...hurt you like that." Blair was smoothing down his shirt now, running his hand down the front over and over again, humming slightly.

"No," he said. "You'll keep me safe out of guilt. You won't accept payment because I'm dirty." The motions were faster. "Because that's what I am. That's why you don't want me. I have to find someone who doesn't know."

"Oh Blair, no, *no,*" Jim said, and without thinking reached out to still Blair's hand.

Blair looked down at where their hands were joined. "You will?" he asked. "I'm not too dirty?"

Jim's heart twisted. *Oh god, something was wrong here. Really wrong.* "Blair, sweetheart, I think you should sit down, okay? I need to...I need to make a phone call okay? Okay?"

"Shouldn't we settle this first, Ellison?" Blair twined his free hand in Jim's short hair. "Seal it with a kiss? You're my protector now, and I'm your toy..." The words were hushed. Seductive.

Blair seemed suddenly brittle, as if the wrong word, the wrong look would shatter him into sharp pieces of glass. "That's not how it is," Jim said, capturing the freezing cold hand in his hair. "I'll protect you, Blair, always. Because I...I want to. And you don't have to do anything, do you understand? Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"I saw, you know. I knew. I never said anything, but I knew," Blair said with calm certainty.

Jim had started to retrieve the cell phone, but stopped. "What?"

"I saw the way you'd look at me sometime, when you didn't think I was looking at you. I'm no sentinel, but I saw. You've wanted me for a long time, haven't you? Now you don't."

Jim wondered how many shocks a person's heart could take in a day before giving out altogether. Here Blair was coming apart at the seams and yet...And yet with stunning clarity had just revealed Jim's deepest secret.

He'd thought they had time. A day late and a dollar short, Ellison, he thought bitterly.

Jim cast a bland expression toward Blair, and said, "Blair, it's not...it's not right, okay? We need to...to calm down here, Buddy."

"I thought you wanted me," Blair said, bewildered. "Before. Not after what happened, I guess; that would kill it stone dead. But...I guess it doesn't matter," Blair sighed.

He leaned into Jim, wrapping his arms around the big man. Jim started to hug him back, but Blair pulled away. Suddenly. Violently. Jim let him go, thinking of the earlier attacks. Then, in a single heart stopping moment, he realized what the hug had truly been about. Blair was standing a few feet away, holding the gun. Slowly placing the barrel in his mouth.

Jim moaned, a low, deep keening at the back of his throat. "No, oh no, no, no," he groaned. Blair looked confused. He pulled the gun away from his mouth, head tilted to the side, his gaze turning curious.

"Don't do this," Jim pleaded, "Oh God, Baby don't do this, don't leave me."

"I'm not leaving you," Blair said calmly. "I'm just relieving you of your self-imposed responsibility. You don't have to be my Blessed Protector anymore. You don't have to worry about me."

"No," Jim said, unable to find any other words. "No, no, no. Don't, Blair, don't! Please, we'll move, we'll, we'll sell the loft and leave the state and we'll, we'll go somewhere, somewhere totally new, don't do this, oh God Blair, don't leave me, don't do this!"

"Jim," Blair said with calm certitude. "I'm not chasing you from your home. And it doesn't matter where we go. I'll never be able to wash this off. It will always be here, between me and anything I want to achieve in life."

Blair backed away slowly, hunching his shoulders and flinching at Jim's emotional display. "But I'm always going to be where I am," Blair said vaguely. He stopped moving for a moment, curiously eyeing Jim, who looked so sad all of a sudden. "Don't cry," he said lightly, then a thought occurred to him. "It would be messy," he said, understanding now. "I'll go to the river," Blair offered quietly, then laughed softly. "In more ways than one, if the Greeks were right."

Jim shook his head, swiping at his eyes, trying to control his panic, searching desperately for words that would get through to the kid. "You're just like all the rest of 'em, aren't you, Sandburg!" Jim called angrily.

"Apparently so," Blair said with the same quiet resignation. "Just another lot of damaged goods that doesn't live up to the Ellison Standard."

"Just another person who leaves!" Jim corrected. "Just another person who bails on me! Who fucking *dies* on me! You're just like all the others!"

"It's what we both want, Jim. You just made it clear you don't *want* me. And I can't live with not being man enough anymore."

"That's an excuse and you know it!" Jim said bitterly, noticing that Blair still warily took a step back every time he tried to get closer. "You want out because you don't want to try! You don't want to live with the hurt and fuck me for having to clean your splattered brain off the pavement!"

"No trying can fix this. You've made it clear just how much I've changed. I offer myself to you on a goddamn PLATTER and you want to turn me over to Banks and Taggart."

Jim stood stock still in the center of the loft, wondering if Blair felt the same the numbness creeping over him. "Because you think I'm no better than the men that hurt you," he said sadly.

"I don't think that, Jim," Blair said, his voice pleading. "I *want* to prove myself to you. Prove my worth again. I know you won't hurt me like they did."

"You don't need to prove *anything* to me!" Jim whispered, his own voice pleading.

"Because you've already made up your mind!" Blair was finally getting angry. "You've judged me unworthy!"

"No," Jim said. "That's not true! Jesus Blair, somewhere inside that muddled head of yours, you have to know that's not true. When it happens, it's got to be right, not like this!"

"It can't happen now, Jim. It won't ever be right. Because you don't want me, and I can't want you."

Jim wrapped his arms around himself, suddenly cold. "If that's true, if you really believe that's true, then do me one last favor." Blair looked like he was having trouble concentrating but he met Jim's gaze. Jim walked purposefully up to him and drew the barrel of the gun to his chest. "Do me first," he whispered.

"No, Jim," Blair whispered. "I'm the one who's fucked up here. You can still go on with your life."

"I can't lose you. I can't. That kind of pain...even if...even if it's just for a second. Do me first. You want to prove yourself to me, Sandburg? Do me first."

Blair slowly lowered the gun, pointing it to the floor. "Jim?" Blair's voice was small, confused, but he sounded more like himself than he had in the past hour. "There's something wrong with me, isn't there? I thought I had to let you...and when you wouldn't, it was like I had
nothing more to offer anyone. That..." Blair broke off, frowning in concentration as though trying to prove a difficult theorem. "But that's not really true, is it?"

"It's just confusing right now," Jim said softly, prying the gun from fingers still icy to the touch. "You're mixed up right now, that's all. It's gonna get better, though, I promise."

"Will it? Will it really?"

Jim nodded. "Yeah, Blair, it will," he said. "It's a promise."

"Can you take me to the hospital? I really need help."

Jim's throat caught. "Yeah, buddy. We'll go right now, how's that?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


At the hospital, Blair was taken to a special ward for assessment. Jim felt helpless as he paced the main lobby. Jim's hearing was coming in and out of focus, and he finally had to give up tracing where Blair was and what he was doing. The kid had looked so lost as they led him away. So forlorn. Jim had tried to go with him, had fought with the nurses, until he realized his agitation was only further upsetting Blair. Jim shuddered, remembering the sight of Blair putting the gun in his mouth. Jesus, in his *mouth.*

Jim could not suppress the images of Blair's mouth being forced around Lewis' skinny cock, the asshole wrapping his greasy hands in Blair's hair, taking pleasure while degrading Blair, forcing Blair to take him into his mouth, into his body.

Jim stepped up his pacing, hearing again the ugly laughter as Eldred held his head up and forced him to watch. Blair's eyes, those beautiful blue eyes, reflected his horror and terror.

Jim tried to convey something-anything--to the kid when he turned his terrified eyes to his. *I'll be strong for you,* he promised, *I won't let them break me, and that way, maybe, maybe I can keep
you from breaking too.*

At first, Jim had thought it was working. Blair had nodded almost imperceptibly before his attention was wrenched violently back to the cock that was impaling itself on his mouth.

Now Jim had to wonder if he'd just been fooling himself, pretending Blair wasn't broken just so he could keep himself sane. Keep himself from being sick as Saunders had forced himself into Blair's ass, the sound of tearing flesh ripping Jim as if it were his own.

The smell as, lost in a nightmare of fear and pain, Blair's body had relieved itself humiliatingly on the concrete.

And then there was the calm that accompanied his rage. A rage that blinded him to everything else in the room. A rage that silenced sound and blotted smell.

And Jim did nothing to keep that rage from his face. He wanted them to see it now and think about it with what remained of their very short lifespans. But still he had seen. Seen Lewis jerk Blair's cock roughly, rougher still when no response greeted his touch. Cruely clenching at Blair's penis, his testicles, nails raking at delicate
skin and tissue until it bled.

And still Jim heard Blair's cries of pain and terror, and the laughter his terror wrought. He tried again, to tell Blair something with his eyes, with his stoic face. *They won't break us,* Jim vowed to his terrified friend. *I'll be strong for you; it's all I have to give you. It's all I have left.*

He'd vowed it even as another took his turn behind Blair, eyes contemptous and triumphant. And then another. And the first was back, and the second at Blair's mouth, and Blair was bleeding from a dozen places. Not copiously, just smears of blood that were the signatures of pain.

But Blair had stopped looking at him at some point. His eyes went dead, and Jim could have sworn he almost saw his soul drifting up toward the rafters of the warehouse.

Now they had to bring Blair's soul back, and Jim didn't even know where to start.

There were other practical matters to attend to as well. First on that list was ensuring Blair didn't have to testify in court against those bastards. It wouldn't take much time, but the planning had to be flawless. Jim stopped pacing for awhile, and stared unseeing out of the window and mentally dealt with some details he could actually control.

"Detective Ellison?" The voice came from the middle distance, from a middle-aged man of middling height. "Detective James Ellison?"

Jim snapped to attention and turned around. "That's me," he said, striding over to the man. "Where's Blair?"

"Resting comfortably. I'm Dr. Conrad Fitzgerald, and I'll be Blair's physician while he's in the hospital, and his out-patient counselor when he's released. Unless we can't work together for some reason."

"In the hospital?" Jim said. "For how long?"

"At least the next twenty-four hours. After that, I'll review how he's doing and see what's the best way to proceed. I'd like to talk to you in my office, if you've the time?"

"Well, shouldn't I be with...I thought I could be with him for awhile. He probably needs to know I'm here," Jim replied uncertainly.

"He does know you're here. And you will have a chance to visit with him later, but right now it's lunch time for the patients. So if you could come with me to my office, discuss a few things, then you can visit with him, OK?"

Jim frowned, feeling handled and not liking it much. He shook off the feeling with effort, nodded briefly to the doctor and followed him to his office.

The office was small and fairly stark. Fitzgerald sat down next to his desk, indicating that Jim should take the chair opposite him.

"Blair specifically asked me to talk to you," Fitzgerald said. "He insisted on signing a confidentiality waiver so that I could. Would you like to see it?"

Jim shrugged and said, "That's okay. Look, Doc, is Blair going to be okay? What's goin' on?"

"Well, I haven't had a chance to review the whole situation. Blair told us a little, but he wasn't really...terribly coherent. I've gotten some records from Admitting, I'm still waiting on the follow up stuff. I gather you were present at, and witnessed, the assault?"

Jim's eyes involuntarily slid away from the doctor's toward the door. His hearing was still fading in and out. He wished he could tag Blair somewhere in the hospital. "Yeah, I was there," Jim said. "What do you need to know?"

"What is your relationship with Blair Sandburg?" The question seemed a non sequiter to Jim, who had expected to be asked for more details about the rape.

"He's my partner," Jim answer automatically.

"In what sense? Mr. Sandburg seems to be an unofficial adjunct to the police, from what I can gather from these stupid admitting forms," Fitzgerald said, giving a pile of forms a baleful look.

"Blair is an observer to the department," Jim said, giving the information by rote as he had so often in the past. "He's studying the closed society of the police department for his dissertation and he was assigned to me because I didn't have a partner at the time. We worked well together and so the partnership is still intact."

"Are you close partners?

"Yeah," Jim said.

"Friends?"

"Yeah," Jim said, sounding piqued.

"I'm sorry, Detective, but I need this information before I can tell you what you can do best to help Blair, which I gather, is information you want? Same residence, according to those forms?"

Jim ducked his head for a minute. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Look, doc, I'm sorry, but a couple of hours ago, the kid was suckin' on my .38 like it was a popsicle. Blair's my best friend, my roommate, my partner. I'll do whatever it takes to help him out here.

Fitzgerald nodded. "I'm sorry you have answer such personal questions from a total stranger. But we both want Blair's recovery, so I hope we can at least be allies." Fitzgerald paused to let that sink in, then continued. "Now, I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but does the fact that you witnessed this attack on Blair change your feelings or attitude toward him?"

Jim shifted in the chair, ready to offer an angry denial, but he refrained, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. "Well, right now I'm feeling this somewhat overpowering need to protect him. That's different. I don't want anyone...touching him or looking at him. But as far as how I feel about him, that hasn't changed."

"Sometimes men who've witnessed other men being raped feel anger toward the victim, as though it was his fault, or that he has become in some way less of a man. You didn't strike me as a man to have that reaction, but I had to ask. As for your protective feelings, I'm afraid you're going to have to trust us with that for another day or so." Fitzgerald paused. "Can you tell me what led up to Blair's taking the gun and threatening to kill himself?"

Jim fidgeted in the chair. "I left him alone for a few," Jim began, forcing himself to meet Fitzgerald's eyes. "Went downstairs to get us something to eat. When I came back upstairs, he was panicked. He wanted to make sure I had my revolver. He'd been acting...strange the night before, so I'd locked the gun up. He didn't like that. Kept saying he needed the gun. I thought then that he meant to hurt himself and I said no he couldn't have it, that I wouldn't get it out. Blair thought I meant that I wouldn't protect him. And then he, uh...well, something happened, and he thought that if he...if he offered himself to me, sexually, that I would protect him like he wanted me to."

"What happened that made him think he had to trade sex for your protection?" The most non-judgemental tone Jim had ever heard. Yet he felt he was on the rack.

"I don't know," Jim said, frustrated. "One minute he's begging me to get my gun and the next, he's stripped off all his clothes and offering himself to me."

"OK," Fitzgerald nodded. "You turned him down? Then what?"

"Well, I figured out by then that he didn't want the gun to hurt himself, he just wanted me to have the gun, so I went and got it. That made him think I was taking him up on his offer. He was all...smug and proud, like I'd proven myself to be just what he thought I was. That made me...well, I got angry. Hurt I guess." Fitzgerald nodded sympathetically. "Told him he obviously couldn't trust me if he thought I'd make him pay for protection with his body, so I offered to have my captain guard him until he felt safe."

"He'd also proven to himself what he thought he was."

Jim sat still. He'd never thought of it that way. He looked up at Fitzgerald, a light of grudging respect in his eyes. "I felt like I had to get out of there. He was...posing and...and I felt like he was looking at me like I was no better than the men that brutalized him, so I wanted to leave."

"Did you?"

"No," Jim shook his head. "He yelled at me, accused me of thinking he was dirty and not good enough for me. I tried to tell he was wrong, that I didn't see him that way at all, but he wasn't listening. And then it gets...complicated."

"It usually does," Fitzgerald said drily. "What do you remember?"

Jim took a breath, some part of him drawn to the sense of humor similar to Blair's. "Blair told me that he knew I'd wanted him before. That I'd wanted him for a long time. And that now I didn't."

"Was his observation accurate?" Fitzgerald showed no surprise or alarm at Jim's revelation.

Jim shook his head, then shrugged, then nodded. He grimaced at Fitgerald's mildly amused reaction. "He was right that I'd wanted him for a long time before this happened. Wrong that my feelings had changed." Jim levelled his gaze on the doctor, unmistakeable challenge there in the icy blue eyes.

"This was the first indication that you've had that he knew of your feelings?"

Jim did another half-shrug, half-nod. "Blair's the smartest, most intuitive person I know," Jim said softly. "I thought I hid it pretty well, but, not that I think about it, it's pretty much a given that he'd see through me."

"But you didn't know he knew until now, until after the attack," Fitzgerald pointed out. "This would mean a monumental shift in your friendship's dynamic, even if it weren't for the attack. You are willing to put your own needs on hold while Blair heals, of course," Fitzgerald added almost as an unnecessay afterthought.

"Yeah, of course," Jim said absent-mindedly. "They've been on hold for awhile doc. No real change in attitude needed there."

"You might be surprised. I can't garantee a prediction, but it's extremely likely that Blair will continue to offer himself to you. He thinks his sole value is his ability to provide men with sexual gratification. He will try to prove that to you and to himself, over and over again. The temptation might be kind of overwhelming." Perhaps a regular patient wouldn't have caught the underlying pain in the doctor's eyes and voice, but Jim was a sentinel and victim, and it called to him like a beacon.

"I can be strong for him," Jim promised, the words causing the hairs on his neck to stand on end. "I can do that for him," he said.

Dr. Fitzgerald looked at him consideringly. "Do you think you will want to pursue a deeper relationship with Blair? I ask because I think it would be beneficial to you both if you participate in sessions with him and his counselor on a regular basis. Are you averse to the idea?"

Jim almost laughed. *No, doc, sounds great to me!* Of course he was *averse* to the idea. Didn't mean he wouldn't do it though.

"I'll be here," Jim said, answering the only question he could.

Fitzgerald nodded. "I want to tell you a little bit about my background. I don't usually offer personal information, but I sense a certain degree of...hostility from you. I'm not sure if it's counseling that makes you wary, or if I'm simply a barrier between you and Blair that has to be circumnavigated. However, I'd like you to know that when I was about thirty, just having completed my residency in orthopedic surgery, my lover was raped and murdered in front of me. When I recovered, I changed my speciality to psychiatry to help other couples who'd survived the experience. My current lover, of five years, became a psychiatric nurse for similar reasons, and, no, he was never my patient. Does that help you to know that?"

Jim voice caught in his throat and he ducked his head again. "That's why you were called in to help Blair?" he asked. "To help us?"

"That's why I volunteered when Blair came in. Of course, if either of you would prefer a different counselor, I can make several recommendations. But I want you to know that I understand, that my words are not hollow assurances and empty promises."

"No," Jim. "No. I think...I think it helps to see someone...surviving with this."

"And you will survive," Fitzgerald said with quiet intensity. "It will be painful, and sometimes you may doubt your survival, but you will survive."

"And Blair?" Jim asked quietly.

"Blair, too," Fitzgerald smiled. "When I said 'you', I meant 'you and Blair.' I think of you that way already, even if you don't." Fitzgerald smiled openly. "Not too professional. Can you forgive the slip?"

Jim smiled back, involuntarily, brightly, and felt, for a moment, like a ton weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "Sounds kind of nice, doc," he admitted, then inwardly cursed himself for blushing.

But Fitzgerald, either from tact or efficiency, was reviewing Blair's forms. "Is there anything you want to know? More specifically, I mean?"

Jim sobered quickly, the ton weight back in place. "When I...when I turned Blair down, he just...crumbled. I wanted to...to hold him and when he embraced me, he took my gun and said he was damaged and that he couldn't live not being a man...if he's going to keep offering himself up like that...what am I supposed to do?"

"Unfortunately, there's no way to turn him down without his thinking of it as rejection. While he's in that mindset, all he can give you is sex. You just have to let it pass. Be in the same room, but don't try to touch him until the attack passes. Encourage him to write down his feelings afterward. He'll be keeping a journal anyway. When he can understand you, assure him that you are not rejecting him, you're rejecting the feelings that are leading him to offer himself when he himself has no desire for intimacy."

"I don't...I don't think I can live without him," Jim said. "That's never happened to me before."

"Well, I don't think you'll have to. It'll be rough, I can't kid you about that, but you and he and I do this right, you'll be together a long
damn time

"Can I see him now?" Jim asked, irrationally feeling as if an affirmative answer would indicate he'd passed some kind of test of the doctor's.

Fitzgerald glanced at the clock. "Ah. We're back in visiting hours now. Let me just give you a quick rundown of what Blair's going to experience for the next day here in the hospital. Then if he asks you questions, you can answer them. It'll have more meaning coming from you than from some overworked orderly."

Jim nodded eargerly. "Shoot, doc."

"OK, today I'm going to do a preliminary interview with Blair, alone. We're also going to be doing a bunch of standard personality tests: Minnesota, Meyers-Biggs, and so on. This is partly to keep him occupied, make-work if you like, but also so we can do some assessments, and show him that he can do some tasks that are more complicated and intellectual than he probably thinks he's capable of. Oh, I'll need you to do an M-B too; that'll help us when we do joint counselling. It's pretty easy, yes/no questions, none of those damn inkblots. There are always group sessions, art therapy seminars, etc. We'll see if we can't get him to participate. Then sleep, a ward meeting in the morning, another assessment, and I'm pretty confident that this time tomorrow you'll both be back home."

"I'm going to have to work up some prescriptions for Blair, at least an anti-anxiety drug, maybe an anti-depressant. I'm going to have him sign a suicide contract with me; basically, he promises to call me before taking any life-threatening measures. There will also be a ton and a half of forms for both you and he to sign, and you have to keep your gun locked up for the next five years, or until I say otherwise. Got all that?"

Jim nodded leaning forward in his seat. "Got it," he said confidently. "Can I see him now?"

Fitzgerald signed a piece of paper, handed it to Jim. "Show this to the nurse at the main desk; she'll get you where you need to be. Answer any questions he asks you honestly, but tactfully. If you don't have an answer, or don't feel comfortable talking about whatever he brings up, say so. Remind him that you were hurt, too, if you have to, but downplay that. You need anything for anxiety, sleep, anything?"

Jim shook his head, refraining from answering with the obvious. *Blair. I just need Blair.*

"You're not suicidal, homicidal, danger to yourself or others, Detective?"

"No more so than I was last week," Jim answered, his attention already wandering now that Blair was almost within his grasp.

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that," Fitzgerald muttered. "Just remember that you can't help Blair from Death Row, and off you go," Fitzgerald said, standing up to open the door for Jim.

Jim nearly sprinted from the room. This was the first time he'd been separated from Blair since Simon and Brown rescued them. Save a trip to the bathroom and his disastrous trek to the bakery, Blair had been within arm's reach the whole time.

Blair was sitting at a table, slouched at it actually. He didn't look especially happy to see Jim. "Hey, Jim. Guess I kind of fucked it up, huh?" were his first words to the detective.

"Hey," Jim said, grinning in relief. "God, I missed you," Jim said, shaking his head and sitting down next to the kid. "Getting so I can't let you out of my sight, huh?"

Blair just looked at him. "Jim, remember why I'm here, OK? Jokes about my inability to take care of myself may seem apt, but please don't."

Jim's smile faded. "No, I didn't mean it that way," he said. "I've just been, I don't know, nervous. Antsy. Out of sorts. Couldn't tune in to where you were for some reason and it's just...good to see you."

"Yeah, good to see me," Blair echoed hollowly. "God, I screwed this up royally, didn't I?"

"Screwed what up? Things got out of hand and you realized that and took steps to get help. You didn't screw anything up."

"Jim, it may have escaped your notice, but I was on the verge of ending my life. This is not a successful problem-solving strategy."

"But you didn't," Jim pointed out. "I was talking to your doctor, Fitzgerald. He seems pretty okay for a shrink. I think he can help us out here."

"God, what happens next, Jim? Technically, I committed a felony. What will happen?"

"Fitzgerald is just going to have you do some psych tests. Start some therapy. He thought we'd be home by tomorrow."

"You're staying over?" Blair was patently disbelieving.

"As long as they'll let me," Jim said. "Hell, I'll tell 'em you're in protective custody if they make a stink about it."

"Actually, Jim," Blair looked away for a moment, "I feel pretty safe here...I'd like to be able to think of you at home, doing home things? If that's OK?"

"Sure, Blair," Jim said and knew he looked hurt. He tried to muster up a smile, but didn't quite make it.

"Sorry, man," Blair said tiredly. "But I need to think that you're protecting our home."

"Are you sure you don't want me protecting you?" Jim offered helpfully.

Blair smiled weakly. "You have to do that after I get out. Might as well enjoy a break while you get one. 'Sides, I'm surrounded here. The loft doesn't have anyone. Maybe you could have Simon over or something like that?"

"Simon?" Jim said, surprised by the odd request. "I guess I could do that."

"Just a thought. Like maybe you guys could talk sports or something."

"Yeah, we could," Jim said, scratching the side of his head in comic confusion. "Fitzgerald said something about my taking one of those tests, though. I'd better do that for him."

"Right. Probably the Meyers-Biggs. That'll do a personality type for you, explain how you see the world in thirty words or less. I mean, the results will, not that you have to." Blair paused. "Jim?"

"Yeah, Chief?"

"I just want to be able to picture a spot in the world where you're at home, talking to Simon or cleaning the bathroom, or whatever, somewhere I can imagine I am, somewhere I didn't want to kill myself. Does that make any sense?"

"I think...yeah, it does," Jim said, and maybe, a little, it did. He stood up slowly, not wanting to leave Blair's side, but he realized that was for him and not for Blair. "I'll go then, Kiddo. The kitchen floor needs to be waxed and the floors could probably be buffed, right?"

"Yeah, if I'm gonna be home tomorrow, you'd better get your ass in gear. I want that TV so clean I could lick it if I wanted to."

Jim lifted a curious eyebrow at the younger man. "Hey, uh, Chief, you're not going to want to or anything, are you?" he asked. "'Cause if you do, I gotta feeling another house rule is on the way."

"Didn't the doctor tell you to let me do whatever the hell I wanted? Aren't the House Rules supposed to be suspended til I'm better?" Blair actually batted his eyelashes as Jim.

Jim pointed a finger at Blair. "See, right there, Chief. That's why I'm doin' the joint counseling thing."

Blair laughed, but his eyes looked relieved. "So you will be coming to sessions with me?"

Jim nodded, his hand sliding up and down the door as he spoke. "Yeah, I will. This...this happened to both of us. And it'll take both of us to get over it."

"Thanks, Jim," said Blair. And Jim didn't even have to turn up his senses to hear the gratitude in Blair's voice.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Fully dressed, Jim sat on his bed and listened to the sounds of Blair making coffee and scuffling around downstairs. Sounds of life, normalcy, finally returning.

Blair had ended up spending two nights in the hospital. His first three days home from the hospital he hadn't done much of anything but roam listlessly around the loft. It had been a week since he'd held the gun to his mouth and threatened to pull the trigger. The last couple of days it had started to feel...normal.

Blair was bathing and getting dressed every day, reading his journals and making notes again. He hadn't had a nightmare since the night he'd first gotten home.

And now, this morning, as he made coffee and sliced bagels, he was humming. Not reciting nonsense words in a monotone, this was full fledged humming. No song Jim recognized to be sure, but then, he never did. And he'd been sitting there for close to 15 minutes just listening to it.

"Breakfast is ready, and I know you're up," Blair said conversationally in the kitchen, sounding almost cheerful.

Jim chuckled and came downstairs. "Who's the Sentinel around here?" he asked, taking the cup of coffee Blair offered.

"Who's the creature of habit around here?" Blair countered, sipping his own coffee.

"Touche," Jim said. "Since I worked the waterfront stakeout last night, we don't have to be in until ten, anyway," he said, scanning the sports section of the paper.

"We? We aren't going anywhere. You may be going in to work, and maybe later I'll go for a run or something, but *we* aren't going anywhere. At least not to the station at ten, anyway."

Jim was surprised on two counts, first by Blair's denial and second by the vehemence of that denial. "Nothing major, Chief," he said. "Just some paperwork at the station."

"OK, then I'll put off my run until you get home, then we can run together," said Blair around a mouthful of bagel.

"Don't you think it's time to come back to work?" Jim said.

"No," said Blair simply. "I don't."

"Come on, Chief, everyone there is worried about you, anxious to see you. It's a nice, safe enviornment for you. Let's give it a try and if you're uncomfortable, we'll come back home."

"I know they are, and I appreciate that, but I'm just not ready."

"You have to try some time," Jim pointed out.

"Not today," Blair said firmly.

Jim nodded. "Okay, then," he said, obviously disappointed. "Guess there's no reason for me to hang around then." He gupled the rest of his coffee and headed for the bathroom to brush his teeth.

"Guess not," Blair muttered sullenly. "No reason at all."

Jim came back out of the bathroom, unlocking his gun and holstering it. "Hey, maybe you could stop by for lunch," Jim suggested.

"I don't want to go into the station, Jim. What is the problem here that you can't understand that?"

"Fine!" Jim said, hands up in surrender. "Fitz said you might need some encouragement to help things get back to normal."

"Normal?" Blair echoed bitterly. "We still have a lot of shit to deal with," he continued. "Like, it's hard for me to sit here with you like before. Like you didn't see what happened."

"I don't know what to tell you, how to get you to understand that what happened hasn't changed who you are to me, what you mean to me. How can you think that you're somehow diminished in my eyes, unless I'm diminished in yours?"

Blair thought for a few seconds, warming his hands on his coffeemug. "I didn't see you...unmanned," he offered. "I don't think you realize how disgraced and shamed I feel."

Jim's surprised intake of breath indicated the depth of his distress. "I can leave, if that will make it easier. Bunk with Simon for a few days. Get a hotel room."

"I'm not kicking you out of your own home, Jim!" Blair exclaimed. "It's OK, really it is. If either of us leaves now, it'll just be harder later, if you see what I mean? And we can't bust up the team because of this. I just have to learn to live with your having seen me like that."

"Does it make it harder or easier to know that I have to live knowing I couldn't help you? Know I failed you the one time you really needed me?"

"I don't know," Blair said. "I'm really having a hard time seeing that point of view, Jim. All I can think of is that my first time for anal sex, something I'd always wanted to save, was a violent rape, witnessed by my best friend."

Jim fiddled with his coffee cup and sighed. "I'm sorry," he said hoarsely.

"I mean, no offense, Jim, but I wouldn't want you to watch me fucking under the best of circumstances. And those circumstances..." Blair's voice trailed off with the impossibility of finding an adequate descriptor.

"I know," Jim said, with a half-hearted shrug. "I'm just tellin' you that I'm sorry it happened."

"You didn't do it, Jim. You didn't make me blow you. You didn't shove it up my ass while everything in me died over and over."

Jim shoved himself away from the table. "I get it, Sandburg, all right? I get it!"

"No you don't! Why are you apologizing for what *they* did? That you saw it wasn't your choice."

"I'm apologizing that it happened at all! I'm sorry you went through this, that's all I'm trying to say!"

"Then why are you so fucking angry?" Blair demanded.

"Why am I angry?" Jim asked incredulously. "Jesus Christ, Sandburg, what kind of man do you think I am? You think I'm gonna sit cuffed in a chair while a bunch of fucking psychos torture my best friend, and I'm just gonna walk away from it like 'another day, another dollar?' Is that what you think of me?"

"Why are you angry with me? Is there something I should have done? Some cop thing I should have known about?"

Jim took a deep breath. "Okay, look, we are not on the same page here. We're not even on the same book. Shit, Sandburg, we're not even in the same *library!* You think I'm pissed at you, I've lost my trust in you, that I'm somehow blaming you for all of this, and every time I try to tell you how wrong you are, it's like I'm speaking in Chopec or something."

Blair closed his eyes, visibly forcing himself to relax. "So tell me, Jim," he finally said more or less calmly. "What are you feeling?"

"It's not about what I'm feeling," he said, reining in some of his own calm. "It's not about me, I know that. It's about what you erroneously *think* I'm feeling. Do you get that, Blair? Do you get the distinction I'm making?"

"Yeah, I get it. So replace my error with your truth. Tell me what you *are* thinking. I would love to hear that I'm wrong, that you're not looking at me and seeing me cry in pain and humiliation on a concrete floor in a warehouse."

"This isn't helping," Jim said suddenly. "You won't hear me. Not now. We need to talk to someone now. Today. I want to make an appointment with Fitzgerald for later this afternoon."

"He doesn't have office hours on Thursday. And I want to hear, Jim."

"But will you?"

Blair spread his hands. "I can try. I can try to put aside my own shit long enough to hear what you're saying."

Jim walked over to the table and sat back down, pulling his chair close to Blair. "When I look at you, I see my friend. That's all, Blair. I see you. I see your bratty grin and those manipulative blue eyes
and the way you look at me when you know I'm going to cave in to whatever crazy demand you have. I hear you laughing and baiting me. And I see a man who needed me to protect him, and I failed. I see my own failure in you, Blair, but that doesn't touch who you are."

"So," Blair said thoughtfully, "I look at you and see my failure. You look at me and see your failure. Not cool."

Jim smiled gently, giving in to temptation just long enough to brush some hair from Blair's face. "Sounds downright selfish when you say it outloud like that, doesn't it?"

Blair smiled. "That's the loss to us. My loss is...what I told you about before. And both of us have lost the ability to see each other."

"I'll make the appointment for first thing tomorrow morning," Jim said. "Okay?"

"Yeah. That appointment for both of us, Jim?"

"For both of us."

"We need it, huh?"

"Yeah, we do."

Blair nodded, looking down at his hands. "Is it OK to be angry?" The question was small and hesitant.

Jim had to tightly grip his coffee cup to keep from trying to soothe Blair with his touch. "Yes, Blair. That's okay," he said, hoping his tone could provide some measure of comfort.

Blair looked at Jim, a sheen on his eyes. "Is it...it's not fair, Jim, but sometimes I think I hate you. I don't really, but I think I do..."

The words hurt him so profoundly, Jim was shocked. Not by the words so much but by that shock. He didn't think it possible for someone to hurt him like that. He didn't think he could feel that deeply anymore; thought for sure he'd closed off those parts of himself a long, long time ago. He gruffly cleared his throat and said what Blair needed to hear. "I understand, Blair. And it's okay."

Blair nodded. "Even though you say it's ok, and that it's not what you see when you look at me, I can't stop thinking that you saw the profaning of what I had wanted to be a sacred moment of trust and love. Do you understand what that meant to me?" The questions was not accusatory. Blair was looking for an answer, wondering if his friend truly understood the violation Blair felt at having a part of his virginity torn from him.

For a long moment, Jim looked at his hands, still gripping the side of the table. "I don't know what to say," he finally admitted. "If I tell you 'yes, I understand,' it won't change anything. I'm not even sure
you'd believe me. Not right now."

Blair nodded in understanding. "I guess so. Because I'm not sure you could know what a sacred moment I'd always dreamed it would be. Fantasizing about someone I loved and trusted so much taking me with caring and respect..." Blair forced himself not to cry. "And now there's someone in jail who knows what it's like to fuck me. There was only supposed to be one person to know that.

Jim leaned forward, staying silent until Blair hesitantly met his intense gaze. "There's someone in jail who knows what it's like to rape you. And you know as well as I do that rape and sex are entirely different things. There's still no one who knows what it's like to make love to you that way. That's still yours to give away."

"But now that I know what it's like..." Blair shivered at the memory. "I don't think I can give anyone that."

"Then you don't have to," Jim said.

"But it was so important to me. It still is. I want to replace that memory with something beautiful."

"Then you will," Jim said, simply. "Blair Sandburg, you can do *anything* you set your mind to. You may not know that right now, but I do."

"Glad one of us has faith," Blair muttered, but he had a faint smile.

"Enough for both of us," Jim answered with quiet conviction.

"I'm just worried that I'll be too scared when that special person comes along. I won't be able to prove my love because I won't have that trust. "

"I forget sometimes how young you are," Jim said, seemingly starting another conversation altogether. "When you're in your twenties,
you think you can prove your love with your body. You think you have to. But, Blair, it's just a tool. Finding the courage to open up your heart is a far more generous gift than offering up your body."

"No it doesn't," Blair agreed. "It was more something in my own heart, my own mind. I'm trying to see the moment the way I used fantasize about it, and it's gone. It was my most important fantasy, Jim." Blair suddenly laughed. "The one that worked every time, if you know what I mean.

"Jim," Blair said, considering. "Can I tell you about that fantasy? Just so you know what it meant--means--to me?"

"Sure, Chief."

"It's like this. I've met someone I can totally commit to for the rest of my life. I love, let's just say him, and I want him to know me as nobody knows me. I offer him my ass. No one's ever touched it before. He understands the gesture and it moves him deeply. We kiss and touch each other and all the while he's telling me that I'm gorgeous and he loves me and he wants this to be perfect for me..."

Blair was blushing. "Silly, romantic stuff," he said. "And he talks me through it, giving me gentle instructions, telling me how good he feels, how much he cares, telling me what he's doing as he's doing it." Blair wasn't paying any attention to Jim, lost back in his fantasy. "And you're so gentle. So caring and reassuring. And it hurts, but that's OK because we love each other and then it doesn't hurt it's just wonderful and perfect and caring and beautifully open.

"And it wasn't any of those things, Jim. That's why this was so important."

"I'm sorry," Jim said again, shamefully lowering his eyes.

"Don't be sorry," Blair said. "Just tell me if I've helped you understand better."

"You've helped," Jim said, trying for as much sincerity as he could muster.

"Do you think it was a silly fantasy? Not exactly values people think of me having, I know..."

"I don't think it's silly," Jim said, having trouble staying focused on the conversation because Blair had said 'you.' Not 'he,' but 'you.'

"Old fashioned, in a New Age kind of way," Blair offered with a crooked smile.

*It's me you want to give this gift to,* Jim thought, his heart soaring with wonder. *It's me you want.*

"That's you all over, Sandburg," Jim said, and knew the goofy smile spanning ear to ear was somewhat out of place.

"But it's lost now, or that's how I see it," Blair said more somberly. "I can't have that become reality."

Jim let the grin fade from his face, wincing slightly. *Let me give that to you, Blair. Let me try,* he ached to say.

"It's gone, forever," Blair said sadly. "I can always have a new fantasy, I guess, but that was more than a fantasy. It was something I needed to have happen."

"We'll find a new fantasy," Jim said shyly, and wondered if Blair would hear in those words, what he had heard in Blair's. "Something you need to have happen even more."

"I need to trust," Blair said, his voice faraway, almost dreamy. "I need a fantasy that gives me someone I can trust to remake that experience into something I can live with. Something I can want. Something I can need."

"Already you've shown me you can do that," Jim softly reminded him. "You came back home. Knowing I failed to protect you; knowing I let this happen. You've already show you can trust again."

"There was a history of trust between us, Jim. Of course I can trust you. But can I learn to trust someone new? Will I be able to trust this "dream lover" when he comes along?"

The anger surprised Jim, but no more so than the rush of jealousy he felt at the words. He swallowed and pushed onward, feeling a rush of heat for his audacity, as well as a dash of wry humor at Blair's ambivalence. "Maybe...maybe it's not someone new," he suggested.

"No?" Blair asked, eyes wide. Jim realized that Blair was unaware of the slip he'd made earlier.

No words came, but Jim slowly shook his head, 'no.'

"What are you saying, Jim?" Blair was tense in his caution.

Jim drew in a shaky breath, his tongue nervously wetting his lips. "I'm saying maybe...maybe it's someone you already trust."

*Coward!* the word echoed noisily around Jim's brain.

Blair smiled wryly. "The only person I trust right now is you, Jim."

Jim's crooked smile was more than a little embarrassed. He shrugged awkwardly and met Blair's eyes. "I stand by my remarks," he said.

Blair's eyes widened. "Jim...are you saying...are *you* the one I can redeem this with?"

Jim held his hand out, offering, but not insisting. Blair hesitently dropped his hand in Jim's. "Yeah, that's exactly what I'm saying."

"My god, Jim, I..." Blair's eyes shone with barely suppressed emotion. "I don't know what to say. I'm overwhelmed. You still want me?"

"Still, always, only," Jim said and shrugged sheepishly. "Any other adverb you want to throw in there."

"I thought...I wasn't sure...you keep rejecting my 'offers,' and I know that's because of the circumstances. I wasn't sure if you still wanted *me*."

"Those 'offers' aren't coming from you," Jim said.

"Well, the damaged part of me," Blair allowed. "But that you want to help me recover this...Jim, I wanted you, too, before..."

Jim felt his heart begin to ache. If only they'd acted on their feelings they could have been with one another before all this shit. It was nearly unbearable.

"It's more than just 'wanting,' Blair. You know that, right?

"Yeah...Jim," Blair started, picking each word with unusual care, "um, the fantasy was that someone who really cared about me, that I really cared about, would be seeing part of me no one ever saw before, right?" Before Jim could answer, Blair rushed on. "It wasn't about someone who cared about me getting me ready for someone else. It was more like a commitment, a holy vow. A sacred bond, ya know?"

"Your fantasy is nice," Jim said, caressing the top of Blair's hand with his thumb. "But I'm not even really talking about sex right now. I mean, yeah, I want to be the one to someday give that back to you but...I want you to know that-that what I feel is more than- than I've ever felt for anyone."

"I'm just saying, Jim, that I'd like no one better to...do that for me. And that it means so much more than just the act. Especially now."

"And I guess I'm just sayin' I want that act to be part of a larger package. THe whole package. A 'til death do us part kind of a package."

Blair was biting his lips anxiously. "Oh, man. Even with all the refurbishments needed? I'm your basic fixer-upper right now."

"I don't know," Jim said softly. "Lots of charm, lots and lots of curb appeal. It'll take me 20 years to unlock all those hidden treasures.

Blair smiled. "I don't want anyone else. Not now or ever."

Jim put his hand to his chest as if the kid had just pierced his heart. "Oh, man, do I like to hear that!" he said with relief. "You don't mind tellin' me that once or twice a week for the next, oh, I don't know, 50 years or so, do you?"

"Jim, I can't do that, you know, right now...but as far as I'm considered, we're in everything together. If I give myself laryngitis telling you, I'll consider my voice well lost for love." Blair smiled brilliantly.

Jim chuckled, staring at Blair hand in his. Blair's hands were like ice. Jim rubbed one of them between both of his for a minute, then caught Blair's eye. "Hey, Blair? Would it be okay if I kissed you right now?"

Blair thought for a moment. "I think so. I'll be crushed if you don't at least *try*..."

Jim smiled and felt silly, but was too happy to care. He squeezed Blair's cold hand, then carefully leaned in and touched his lips to Blair's.

Blair's lips trembled beneath his, then opened, rubbing against Jim's mouth.

Jim cautiously deepened the kiss, keeping his hands entwined with Blair's. "That's nice," he whispered against Blair's mouth. "That's so nice."

Blair returned his kiss. He reached up to touch Jim's face. "This is it," he whispered against Jim's mouth. "This is the bond. This is what 'forever' tastes like."

"Not as hard to swallow as I once thought it was," Jim whispered back. "This is so right, it's effortless. I didn't know that could happen."

"Effortless?" Jim felt Blair laugh against him. "What the hell did you doing during vocab lessons, Ellison?"

"Hey, don't make fun of the Big Dumb Guy," Jim warned. "we're not all geniuses here."

"Just so long as you're planning to take night courses in Kissing Blair Sandburg," Blair said, looking up at him expectantly.

"There a lot of homework wtih that?" Jim asked, happily obliging the unspoken request.

"And endless labs," Blair said, kissing Jim again. "You might even say, an eternity of them."

"Eternity has a nice ring to it," Jim said, lightly embracing the younger man. He gently brought Blair's head to his shoulder. "I love you, Blair."

"I love you, Jim. And I trust that more than anything I've ever felt or said or experienced before. It's real, even with all this shit going on. It will be real when this shit goes away."

And for once, they both knew that it was the truth that would eventually disperse all the illusions.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Jim, you are way more nervous than I am," Blair said, amused, as he ate breakfast and Jim poked at his toast.

Jim smirked, but he couldn't very well deny the truth. "You know I'll have the cell with me all day, right? And we checked the batteries on your cell, right?"

"Right," said Blair. "And my notebooks are fresh, and my pencils are sharp, and my apple is polished. Relax, would ya?""

"Right, relax," Jim muttered, tossing his uneaten breakfast in the sink. "You need me for any reason while you're at school, you call. Any reason, Sandburg, got that?"

"Don't you have a big-ass meeting this morning?"

"Yeah, something rivetting like 'You and your Health Insurer.' God knows I don't want to miss a minute of it, but if you need me, call. And since the whole department's going to be in there, I want you to wait until one to come up to the station."

"Right. Should I grab some lunch, or you wanna go out once I get there?"

"Will you just grab me a roast beef from Sam's? The one on campus, not the one on the way here."

"Got it." Blair took a deep breath. "OK, here we go," he said, and, picking up his backpack and keys, made for the door.

Jim felt a momentary tug at his heart--some trepidation, mostly pride at Blair's courage and resolve. Jim chuckled to himself and shook his head. "Hey, Sandburg," he called before Blair turned the nob. "I love you."

"Love you, too," Sandburg said, and was gone. Jim tracked him down to the car, out the garage, and down the block until finally, even sentinel senses couldn't hear Blair for the noises of the city. "Be safe," Jim murmured to the empty loft.

Even if he hadn't been listening for him, Jim still would have heard Blair's arrival at the station house. Lucky for him, he could hear Blair's progress up to Major Crimes; otherwise he would have been worried at Blair's tardiness. As it was, Blair arrived in the garage at five minutes to one. The trip up to Major Crimes took twenty minutes, as well-wisher after well-wisher stopped to greet Blair and welcome him back. Blair sounded great as he thanked them, told them he was still on part-time duty, and exchanged other pleasantries.

Jim felt an unexpected warmth in his chest as he realized just how much a part of the Department Blair had become.

"Hey, man," Blair said happily, handing him his sandwich. "Sorry it's a little chilly, but it'll microwave right up to temp, ya know?"

Jim took the bag, aware he was grinning at Sandburg in a way he never had before. "Tough being Mr. Congeniality, huh?" Jim said, unwrapping the sandwich and taking a moment to stare lovingly at it before taking a bite.

"You know it," Blair said. "I knew they were concerned, but everyone's being so nice! Like the Basket O'Wishes." While in the hospital, Blair had recieved a basket full of cards from people in the PD. He'd been to out of it to notice at the time, but later he would pull out the basket and read the cards when he started to feel low. Jim knew the concern of his colleagues had meant a lot to Blair.

"Hey, Jim, wanna grab us a couple of sodas from the break room?" Blair asked, sliding some change toward him.

"Your wish," Jim said amiably, taking another bite of sandwich to last him to the break room and back. He headed over, stopping briefly to speak to Simon.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ryf walk over to Blair and engage him in conversation. He listened in, knowing in advance what Ryf would say.

"Hey, Blair," Ryf said, though he'd already greeted Blair when he first walked into the bullpen.

"Ryf! Again! No, don't touch Jim's sandwich! It ain't worth your life, man," Blair said happily.

Ryf grinned briefly, but turned serious again. He wasn't upset or even grave, just, serious. "I thought you should know that Ray Lewis had a heart attack in his cell this morning, Blair. He's dead."

Blair just looked at Ryf, stunned. "Who?" he asked faintly.

Ryf started to touch Blair's shoulder, then stopped before his hand reached Blair. "Ray Lewis," he said the name again, slower.

"Was he...one of the ones who..." Blair's voice trailed off uncertainly.

Jim smoothly returned to his desk, setting down two cans of Coke, then gently clasping Ryf on the shoulder. "He was one of them," Jim said evenly.

"I'm not sure I ever knew their names," Blair said, sounding more surprised than anything. "Thanks for the soda, man," he said to Jim distractedly. "And thanks for telling me, Ryf."

Ryf nodded, trading an undecipherable look with Jim over Blair's head. "I wanted you to know," Ryf said, heeding Brown's call to join him. "Glad to have you back, Sandburg. Place hasn't been the same without you."

"Yeah," said Blair, teasingly but still distracted, "don't want you to forget how to say 'Hair Boy'. See ya later!"

Jim was sitting back at his desk, watching Blair with a critical eye. "School went okay?" Jim asked.

"Fine, fine. Much like here; spent more time meetin' and greetin' than doing any actual work as such." Blair's voice was light, but still distracted.

"Nancy and I set up for me to do a week-end seminar in a couple of weeks, assuming you didn't have any plans? You can attend if you want to keep an eye on things. You might find it interesting; it's about tribal laws and their enforcement."

"The bathroom needs regrouting," Jim said wryly.

"Trust me, the civil rights of a Trobriander are a lot more interesting than that."

"More interesting than repairing the dryer?"

"Is the dryer as handsome as me?" Blair asked innocently, taking a large bite from his sandwich.

Jim laughed. "All right, I'm there. But, Sandburg, so help me, if you call on me as some sort of example to the class, I'll regrout *you*."

"You won't even be there, man. Unless *you* volunteer to contribute to the discussion." Blair wadded up his sandwich wrapper and tossed it neatly into the waste basket. "What are we doing today?"

"*We* are getting reacquainted with the foundation of good, old fashioned police work," Jim said, needing both hands to pass Blair a gigantic stack of messy folders.

"Endless forms, filed in triplicate," Blair sighed, and set to work. After a few minutes, though, he looked up at Jim. "It's weird, you know," he said as though a conversation were already in progress.

"Yeah, well, the DA's want their copy, and Simon wants a copy and we have to have a copy for the file," Jim said, not looking up from the page he was working on.

"I wasn't talking abou that," Blair said as he passed a report over for Jim's perusal and signature. "When Ryf told me about Lewis, I totally didn't even know who he was talking about. Weird, huh?"

With just a cursory read-through, Jim signed the form and handed it back. "Hard to think of them as having names, I guess," Jim said.

"Yeah. It didn't even occur to me that they did. Like giving them a name makes them ordinary or something."

"Yeah," Jim agreed. "Still can't think of them as human, though," he said with a shrug.

"No. It's just...well, knowing his name takes away from his power. He's not Demon A anymore now, you know? He's Ray Lewis."

"Was," Jim corrected.

"Yeah. I know I shouldn't think that way, but that's kind of a relief, you know."

"I think so, too," Jim agreed. "And I don't think it's so wrong of us. His own damn fault for using the stuff he was pushing."

"Was he using in lockup? Or did the sudden withdrawal cause the attack?"

"Either/or," Jim said with shrug. "Doesn't really matter to me."

"Grim justice," Blair said thoughtfully. "But not undeserved." He thought for a moment, and went back to the files.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Jim came home one evening to find the loft nearly dark. That was strange; it was only seven, and he could tell from Blair's heart beat that the young man was still awake. Jim paused at the foot of the stairs. Blair's heart beat also told him that Blair was up in his room. Jim wondered if Blair had had a flashback and was seeking the comfort of Jim's room as surrogate protection. He went up and found that his room was bathed in candlelight. And Blair was nude, stretched out on the bed invitingly.

Jim's heart sank. So it was a flashback. It had been two, almost three weeks since the last one. They were slowly happening with less and less frequency, but the triggers were still so hard to identify. Sometimes it was stress, sometimes it was a particular smell, the cast of a shadow. Sometimes Jim never did learn what triggered it.

But the aftereffects lay before him with sickening clarity--Blair, confused, tormented, thinking the only thing left of him was his sexuality, his ability to please with his body. Jim laid his jacket over the loft railing and very quietly said, "Blair?"

"Jim," Blair said huskily, his voice ripe with seduction and promise. "I've been thinking...I think I'm ready, Jim." Blair arched his body, stretching languidly. "I'm ready to put the past behind and go forward."

Blair had long since given up on the direct approach. Now he was trying to convince Jim that this was about their moving forward in their life.

"How was your day?" Jim asked casually. "Anything going on?" Feigning a calm he did not feel, he changed into a pair of sweats and a T-shirt.

"Same old same old," Blair said with forced casualness. "But I don't want to talk about that. Come here, Jim. Come here and kiss me."

Jim had to concentrate to keep his breathing in line, and tried not to let his mind wander into the land of why's and what ifs. Why did this have to happen to them? Why did Blair take something that should have been sacred and beautiful and turn it into this twisted, ugly parody? Why couldn't Jim help heal him? Why wasn't he getting better?

"You don't want to tell me about your day?" Jim asked, acting surprised. "You usually can't wait to unload, Sandburg."

"I can't wait to do something else," Blair said. "Come on...I need this. You need this. I'm ready. You're ready. Let's go."

"No, sweetheart, you're not ready," Jim said, leaning against the loft rail, hoping the endearment might soften his refusal. "We've talked about this with Dr. Fitzgerald, you know that."

"I am," Blair insisted. As if to prove himself, Blair rolled over, arching his ass at Jim. "Come on, big guy. Let me have it."

Jim felt his face flush, desire rising like a tide, followed quickly by a rush of shame. No! He didn't want Blair like this! Not like this!

But he did want Blair; the Blair who had been stolen from him in that rat-infested warehouse. "Come on, Sandburg, up you go," Jim said, still leaning against the rail. "Get some clothes on and go back downstairs. We'll get some dinner and then I want you to tell me what went on today."

Blair seemed to be ignoring him. He was now kneeling, his back to Jim, running his hands slowly down his side and over his ass. Blair started to part himself slowly.

"Blair, put your clothes on!" Jim said desperation sounding like anger. Quickly moving forward, he grabbed the blanket from the foot of the bed and roughly covered the younger man.

Blair maneuvered himself around so that his lips were inches from Jim's. "You don't want me to," he said with certainty.

Fitzgerald didn't understand what it was like, Jim thought angrily. These...spells of Blair's. Talk to the kid, Fitzgerald said. Blair didn't understand words when he got like this. Pushing away from the kid, Jim yanked a sweatshirt off the shelf and stuffed one of Blair's arms into the sleeve.

Blair was laughing and boneless as Jim struggled to dress him. Blair wiggled against Jim. "I don't want to talk," he whispered. "I want you to kiss me. Then I want you to fuck me. Please fuck me, Jim?"

The emotions churning inside him were wreaking havoc with Jim's senses. The flickering candle light erupted around him like strobe lights gone haywire. Blair's thundering heart beat was nearly deafening. The smell of fear and arousal were strong and both sickened Jim in the context they now stood. "Get out, Blair!" he shouted, shoving Blair off the bed and toward the stairs. "God damn it, get out!"

Blair stumbled toward the stairs, his face full of pained rejection. "I'll be downstairs if you change your mind," he promised. Blair left Jim to his thoughts.

Jim stood there, listening to make sure that Blair was truly downstairs and not hovering on the stairs. He heard the kid head slowly to his room. Jim dropped down on the bed with a tired sigh. Later tonight, Blair would come down from whatever set him off. He would be embarrassed and rejected and for a few days it would feel like all of the progress they'd made in therapy was lost. Eventually, he would tell Jim what it was that caused the break and they would work to make sure it didn't happen again. Until, of course, it did, and the kid would try to hawk himself to Jim, try to make Jim take the only thing he thought he had left to give.

Jim groaned quietly and lay down on the bed. Why was it happening like this? Why? And why was he so tempted? He knew why Blair was doing this and was intellectually repelled. But his body knew otherwise. He was hard and aching from the sight of Blair, illuminated by candlelight, offering himself.

Hating himself for his desire, but ruled by it just the same, Jim reached into his sweatpants. *Just this once,* Jim promised himself again, *Just now. Never again...* Stifling another groan, Jim tightly gripped his cock, his still reeling senses exaggerating its heat and he hissed in surprise.

Jim saw, once more, Blair on his bed. But this time the circumstances were different. There had been no attack, and Blair was offering himself to Jim out of love, not desperation. Jim imagined what it would be like to hold Blair because Blair wanted him, wanted *Jim*, wanted him as desperately as Jim wanted Blair.

Part of him was sickened at using Blair's image like this, but the rest of him didn't care. It had been too long, the temptation resisted too long. He groaned as his hips involuntarily arched, his body blindly seeking the friction it needed for release.

His breath caught in the back of his throat, his free hand reaching up under the T-shirt to pinch a nipple. *It could have been so good,* he thought, a picture of a laughing Blair forming in his mind. Blair would have been a joyful lover, Jim was sure of it. Blair would have been uninhibited, giving of himself as generously in this as in everything. Jim didn't think of the changes. Jim thought of Blair, shouting in genuine, joyous encouragement as Jim touched him, tasted him, stroked him, kissed him. Jim's strokes intensified. He was close...close to orgasm, close to zoning out on the intensity of feeling his hand on his cock.

He didn't hear Blair's door open. Didn't hear the soft tread of Blair's feet on the stairs as Blair came up to apologize.

But he did hear his Guide's question as if it was broadcast over the loudspeaker at a Jags game. "Don't want it, huh?" Blair asked, his voice hot and cold with anger. "You want it. Just not with someone like me."

Jim's eye sight flared and faded, the bed wavered beneath him and suddenly his cock was fiery to the touch. He dropped it like a hot potato and stumbled off the bed. "What the hell!"

Blair was angry. "You rejected me for your HAND, Jim. What clearer message could you have sent me?"

"Shit, Sandburg!" Jim said, still panting and disoriented. "Give a guy some fucking privacy! I told you to go downstairs and we'd talk about this over dinner."

"And I came up to apologize for throwing myself at someone who wasn't in the mood. Only to find that you *are* in the mood. But too good for me, apparently."

Jim took a deep breath and released it slowly, ludicrously feeling another twinge of guilt for using Sandburg's technique to calm himself down. "You know that's not true," Jim said, gently. "Something happened today, you got scared, or maybe a flashback. You know this isn't real, Blair. You *know* that. It's not about me being too good, or not in the mood. It's not about sex, period. You *know* that, Blair. You know it."

"I know that, sure." Blair agreed. "But if it isn't at least partly about sex, then why are you..." Blair's voice trailed off as he made the universal hand gesture.

*Because I'm weak,* Jim should have told him. *Because I'm selfish and gutless and fucked in the head in my own way.* Jim flushed and looked away for a moment.

"Do you know how bad that makes me feel, Jim? How worthless? Knowing that I'm so repulsive now that you'd rather jack off like a teenager than fuck me?"

"It's not like that," Jim said, eyes closed in pain. "Why didn't you offer yourself to me last night, Blair? Or the night before that? Or the night before that? Or any of the nights in the last two weeks?"

"I didn't feel sexy then," Blair said, voice almost shrill in its defensiveness. "Tonight I did."

"No!" Jim shouted, pointing at Blair, emphatically shaking his head. "Don't you bullshit me, Sandburg. You wanna go downstairs and pull out the journals? Re-read the stuff you wrote the last time this went down? This isn't about *sexy* and you know it!"

Blair flinched but rallied. "It's about me offering you all I have to give. And you just don't want it!"

"God damn it, Sandburg, who the fuck do you think it is sitting in with you and Fitzgerald three nights a week? *Understand the trigger, work around it, feel the impulse rising.* Any of that new age crap sound familiar?"

"Mine aren't the only impulses rising around here," Blair jeered back.

Jim jerked back, always surprised by Blair's biting sarcasm. Jim nodded knowingly, frowning thoughtfully, as if something he'd known all along had come to pass exactly as he'd been predicting. "All right then, Sandburg, come on," he said, jogging down the stairs and digging through the bookshelf for the journal. He opened it up and began to read.

"I did it again. Offered myself to Jim. He turned me down (of course) and now I feel so stupid...Why do I keep throwing myself at someone who clearly has no need for me? Dr. F says I see myself as a sexual commodity, and that only, and I'm trying to get Jim to prove that to me. I think I'm also testing him. I have to make sure that there's nothing I can do to provoke him in to taking me. But that never occurs to me when I'm naked in his bed. All I want then is for him to take me, prove to me that I have worth. God, this is so fucked. *I'm* so fucked. Or not fucked..."

Jim had never read from Blair's journal before, and he was shocked. It had honestly not occurred to him that Blair needed proof that Jim was "safe." And now Blair had graphic proof that Jim was turned on by his advances

Jim's voice trailed off, and he lifted his horrified eyes to look into Blair's.

Blair wasn't looking at him. Blair was looking at the floor, rocking back and forth. "CLAY lies STILL but BLOOD'S a ROVer/BREATH'S a WARE that WILL not KEEP/Up, NOW, when THE jourNEY'S oVER there'll BE time Enough FOR sleep"

Jim set the journal down and took a hesitant step toward Blair. "I had...no right to do that," Jim said, his face enflamed with shame. "I am so sorry."

"MALT does MORE than MILton CAN/To JUSTify GOD'S ways TO MAN"

Blair kept rocking back and forth, eyes now closed against the world. Against Jim.

He had read Blair's journal. Shit, all of his protests to the kid that he
wasn't like the fuckers who'd attacked him when he was proving himself to be far more savage than they ever were. Jim came closer and touched Blair's arms. "Blair? Buddy? Come back, kid."

"SiLENT hills INdentING/the ORANGE band of EVE"

"Blair? Please, come back."

"SIlent HILLS inDENTing/THE orange BAND of EVE"

The tempo of Blair's chant increased, his body rocking in rhythm to it. Jim waited for the spell to pass. It always did, and Jim knew how long it would take. Four and a half minutes, exactly the same length of time that Blair's rapist had pounded him.

Blinking rapidly to clear suddenly blurry eyes, Jim sat down on the floor next to Blair, owing it to the kid to relive it with him. Two minutes left...Blair's voice was choked now, his shoulders shuddering, the words coming out in a frantic rush.

Jim could see the warehouse, see the hard dishwater blond taking Blair from behind, laughing as he violated someone a hundred times the man he was.

Jim felt once more the powerless rage that had swept him then, still swept him every time the memory surfaced.

One minute.

"SIlent HILLS inDENTING/the ORANGE band of EVE"

Jim didn't realize he was chanting with Blair as the words got faster, blurrier.

And then it was over. And the words stopped. And for a time, Blair just rocked.

"Blair? You with me yet, buddy?" Jim thought it was safe to try to get Blair's attention now.

Blair kept rocking, drew a shaky breath. "Yeah, I think so," he said hesitantly.

"Want an Ativan?"

"Yeah, safer that way."

Jim went to get the anti-panic medication. The flashbacks sometimes brought panic and anxiety in their wake, and Blair liked to take a small dose to ward off yet more bad feelings. Blair took the water and the pill from Jim with hands still shaking with remembered terror. He bit the pill in half and swallowed, always preferring to start with a minimum dose.

"Thanks," he said, closing his eyes again.

"I'm sorry," Jim said, and wondered if there would come a time when he actually said something else to Sandburg once in awhile.

"Sometimes it takes something like that to get through to me," Blair said tiredly. "And I did tell you there wasn't anything in the journals you couldn't read."

"I know." Jim checked his watch and did a quick check of Blair's vitals. "What happened today, Blair? You ready to talk about that?"

"It was..." Blair made an angrily defensive gesture. "It was just some crap on TV. Some fucking spot for Maury or Jerry or Jenny Goddamn Jones. 'My Husband Raped Me but I'll Take Him Back' or some fucking thing. I turned it off right away, but of course it was too damn late."

Jim sighed. So much ugliness in the world that it spilled over into their
home. No wonder the kid went nuts trying to find some place he was safe. Not even here, in their home, was he safe from the memories. Not even here was he safe from Jim. "Blair, I...I don't know where to start here. I shouldn't have read the journal like that, I just...it scares me when you get like this and I just...I just wanted you back, you know?"

"I know," Blair said. "I want to come back. But every time I do, it's just one more...incident to be embarrassed about. One more failure."

"It's getting better," Jim said, but his tone belied his words, and he winced and ducked his head.

"Yeah," Blair said, and there was no irony in his voice. "It's been almost three weeks since the last really bad one. A new record. It was too much to hope they were gone for good, but maybe next time it will be a month. And then two months."

"Did I...did I ruin everything tonight?" he asked, surprised to have asked the question out loud.

Blair looked thoughtful. "I'm...Do we have to talk about that right now?"

"No, I guess not," Jim said, figuring if he'd destroyed what little security Blair had at home, they'd know it soon enough. "How you doin', Chief? Feeling better? You back with me now?"

"Yeah, sort of," Blair said tentatively, then belied his own request. "You know, I've talked to Dr. F privately about that testing thing. I didn't want to talk to you about it because I felt that it wasn't fair, you know? I don't feel real good about being a cocktease, Jim."

"No that's not...that's not right," Jim said. "You're not doing that, Blair. I know you're not...yourself when this happens."

"Who am I then?"

Jim smiled briefly at the idle question. "Little Boy Lost," he mused aloud, another thought he hadn't intended to share.

"Jim, I'm not fucking around here. If this isn't me, who is it?"

"I don't know," Jim said, irritated with himself that he had no answers. "Look, you...you just fall away from yourself for a little while, and then you come back. Fitzgerald's gone over the medical lingo before."

"But why like this? Why do I have to throw myself at you? I know it only leads to embarrassment and rejection."