Cop of the Year

Disclaimer: The Sentinel belongs to Paramount, ect., no copyright infringement is intended and so on. You know that by heart already so let's cut the crap, right?

Summary: Jim receives another "Cop of the Year" honor...and it goes uphill from there; m/m, h/c, violence, angst, betrayal

// indicate thoughts

Montserrat's warning: It's gonna be a dark story, maybe disturbing to a few people. I received a lovely comment on my last story that I shouldn't dare to go "soft" again. I won't, promise!! Jim's bad, Blair's bad, the bad guys are bad. Need more encouragement to run away? Oh, of course, Jim and Blair are in love, too.

Feedback? Uhhm, yeah, sure, I'm prepared ;-). All kidding aside, it would be really appreciated.

A bunch of thanks and bear hugs to Ula for the terrific beta job! That was cool, very cool. You were always there when I asked for help. Also a heartfelt thank you to Dr. Kimura <g> for the medical details, Linda S. for the strange questions I asked at times, Silke for telling me honestly part 14 sucked (and Ula for saying it was okay <g>), Leila for always finding new words of encouragement for me, Rike for NOT reading until it was finished, Manu for not EVEN thinking of starting to read it before 'The End' was typed and so on. I can be a pain in the a**, kids. Be glad you don't have to put up with me every day ?.

This story is special to me because it's longer than any story I've ever written. It was fun, it was a struggle, too. Finally, it's finished, I'm happy. Like most stories I wrote it for myself, for the pleasure writing brings. Jim and Blair are such wonderful characters to play with and it's a blast for every author to take them out of the closet and watch what they do.

However, I would like to dedicate it to a friend of mine who I've never met and I know will never meet. A great part of him is in this story, made it 'vivid' in my head and helped that it turned out on paper as well.

To Christopher Leeds ~ You'll never be completely...gone.

Cop of the Year - part one
Montserrat

The man hadn't uttered a word, hadn't screamed or cried out in pain as they started the 'lesson in evil'. His lower lip oozed with blood, the raw flesh making every intake of breath unbearable. The blood ran over his chin or, when his lower body was elevated like now, the red thick mass trickled over his face and into his nose.

He had no recollections about what day it was. His conscious mind had simply forgotten about the date, the year, the name of the current President, whatever. Nothing mattered anymore. There was nothing left worth fighting for; he'd lost everything, his humanity, his love, and, even his dignity.

Suddenly though, he remembered a name. His memory struggled against the pain. Just a name. If it was his own, a friend's, or his tormenter's, the captive couldn't tell. He finally screamed, his voice reaching a high piercing sound, as a gleaming cigar burned his anus.

Who was... Jim Ellison?

One week earlier...

//Medieval torture was a good thing.// The gruesome thought crossed Simon Banks' mind as he watched the interrogation proceeding behind the one-way mirror. His frustration at their suspect's stubbornness grew from minute to minute, probably inducing the odd thought.

"Too bad we can't use thumb-screws anymore." Banks chewed on his lower lip, his concern increasing. Jim Ellison, no doubt the best detective he'd ever met, was running out of patience. The dark-skinned police captain could hear it in Ellison's voice, which became more dangerous as seconds passed. Being the leading investigator in the kidnapping, Jim had been under a lot of stress lately; stress that Simon, as his superior officer, put on him. Then, there was the public. The press, and probably the kidnappers, watched Ellison's every step. An arrest, or at least some lead, was terribly overdue and, with every passing day, the thread of the victim's life was cut shorter.

"Excuse me?" The voice, coloured with absolute shock, belonged to Blair Sandburg. He stood beside Banks, witnessing the on-going interrogation.

Simon flinched as he realized he must have spoken the last thought out loud. "Forget it, Sandburg, I'm just doing some wishful thinking," he dismissed with a shrug.

The young police observer stared at him. Disbelief, disgust and terror washed over his face; his eyes darkened, and the pleasant voice with the deep timbre that could magically captivate a whole lecture hall spoke with rising anger. "I can't believe you really said that. How can a human being in his right mind, as educated as you, even think of that?" //Watch your tongue next time, Banks.// Simon sighed and divided his attention between the interrogation and Blair. "Will you relax, Sandburg?" The captain raised his voice a bit, towering over the smaller man as he continued. "I was just wishing we could make Coburn talk somehow."

" Make him talk?" Not one bit intimidated by Banks' posture Blair shot back. "We are on the edge of entering a new millenium and it's sad enough that there are still torture methods being practiced in some parts of the modern world. It has to stop with us. If we don't make a difference and banish those thoughts from our minds, who ever will? There are dictators who imprison people just because they steal fruit in a market place because they're hungry. Innocent people are tortured for their believes; Amnesty International...."

Blair was ranting at light speed now, and Banks concentrated his attention on the more serious matter at hand in his opinion, of course. Behind the one-way mirror Jim Ellison continued to lose his temper with the same energy Blair gave his one-sided lecture.

"Listen, Coburn, " Ellison smashed his right hand onto the table, the sound of flesh hitting the surface echoing through the small room. "I want answers, and I want them now. Do you---?"

Coburn, a 35-year old man with already sparse hair and cold green eyes, grinned up at the raging figure. "What's the matter with you? Your loverboy didn't fuck you hard enough last night, fag?" A smug smile followed the insult.

"....so you should really consider your thoughts before they leave your mouth, Simon," Blair kept at the captain, as the tall figure practically stormed out of the room, crashing through the other door before they would have to justify an act of police brutality known as 'murder'.

"DETECTIVE!" The bark reverberated through the room. For a moment the world in Cascade stood still.

Jim Ellison's eyes shone with peril, rage, and the unleashing desire to kill the man with his bare hands. Coburn's silence tore at his tender nerves, and the deliberate low-blow regarding the Sentinel's love life would have been the proverbial last drop to make the vessel run over. Jim hadn't moved; he just shot an angry glance at his Captain who hovered at the door. Coburn had startled at Banks' sudden appearance, his gaze shifting from the tall captain to Ellison.

"I'll take over from here, Detective Ellison," Simon ordered, his dark brown eyes daring the other man to protest.

"I can handle the situation, sir," Jim did protest, however, he walked over to Banks. The two friends stared at each other, both of them aware of the other's feelings and motives.

"I'll see you tonight, Jim," Simon murmured, referring to the ceremony the Mayor had them invited to.

"Tell your sweetheart I said 'hi'," Coburn sneered from his place at the table.

In a reflex Simon Banks' caught the clenched fist; tremors ran through Jim's arm as the captain used all his strength to prevent disaster.

The moist tongue dance down Blair's chest, dipping, nibbling, and leaving passionate love marks, he feared would shine through the white shirt he had intended to wear with his tuxedo tonight. A moan, originating from deep inside him, escaped his throat, as Jim's warm, wet mouth bathed his left nipple, sucking greedily and gently scratching teeth over the hardening little peak. Rewarding its right counterpart with the same sensual treatment, Blair's torso arched into Jim's touch, his legs winding around the older man's waist. Their groins met, rubbing together in a increasing rhythm. Blair tightened the hold on his lover, causing Jim to groan, the man's hot breath caressing the nipple he was working on.

"You're a devil, my little guppy," Jim moaned, stopping his ministrations for a second.

Blair giggled and threw his head back on his pillow as the moist instrument of torture returned. "Now that's a description for a tiny fish," he gasped. The anthropologist loosened the embrace of his legs as Jim's hand moved between them, tenderly demanding a little space to pleasure Blair's cock. The strong hand grasped his erection, rubbing and stroking. The organ jerked slightly under his touch, growing to its impressive beauty.

"You like that, huh?" The Sentinel grinned, his eyes locking with Blair's blue pearls as he slowly opened his mouth, sticking out his tongue, the motion elegant and erotic at the same time.

Watching his lover Blair sucked in a breath, not daring to break the visual contact. It felt like playing voyeurism to his own shadow-play of love. The younger man's eyes widened with delight, and a moan ripped from his lips when Jim's tongue darted out and licked around the head of his cock. Finding the little opening, Jim tenderly pushed his tongue forward, then back, and forward again. He steadied Blair's buckling hips with his hands, the moist, dexterous tongue flickering back and forth, whirling around the shaft in a wild hurricane of passion. Finally, the detective took Blair's cock into his mouth entirely. The sucking caress continued, until he felt his lover's approaching climax.

Jim ceased his movements, his lips closing around the shaft, teasingly waiting for Blair to calm down a bit.

"God....Jim...do s'mthi'g," Blair panted, trying to raise his pelvis to bury his cock deeper into Jim's mouth. However, the older man gripped his hips gently but firmly, extending the sweet sensation of hot breath and burning saliva on his cock.

Cold air sent a wave of shivers over Blair's naked body as Jim released the organ.

"Turn over for me?" Jim asked lovingly, the hand on Blair's hip nudging him slightly.

Comprehending the certain invitation, Blair shook his head and raised his legs instead.

"Take me like this," he whispered, his hands moving down to expose his ass cheeks and the gateway to paradise hidden between them.

Jim's own cock twitched painfully at the most vulnerable and yet most trusting position Blair offered him. Groping for the lube, Jim bent forward and placed a prolonged kiss on those full, pulsing with blood, sensual lips. "Are you sure?" he breathed into Blair's ear, his tongue swirling around the earring, tugging gently. "This is always a bit uncomfortable. You know that."

Surprised by his own strength to manage a coherent thought in this late state of arousal, Blair nodded. "I--want to ..." the rest of the sentence exhaled in a delicious purr as nimble fingers prepared his anus, the internal massage almost sending him over the edge. Courtesy of the Sentinel's keen awareness to still his ministrations anytime Blair's heart rate sped up and his muscles contracted, the stretching continued, leading to an extended foreplay.

"I-- can't wait any longer," Blair eventually panted, lifting his legs even more to give Jim's complete access to his orifice.

"Relax and enjoy, love," Jim smiled as he slid his cock through the outer ring of muscle. He could see the fruits of his actions in Blair's eyes, which grew wider with each inch he thrust into his lover.

Blair's legs encircled the older man's middle again, pulling him impossibly closer as the penetration completed.

"You're so gorgeous," Jim murmured, kissing the flat, well-muscled stomach in front of him. He started a subtle rocking when he felt Blair's hand reach around him and gently grab his ass cheeks.

"If you could only see what I'm seeing right now, " Blair smiled sweetly, then groaned passionately, as deep inside him he felt his prostate stimulated, each stroke gaining speed and power. The police observer parted Jim's cheeks and dipped his fingertip into the abandoned little hole. With satisfaction, he noticed the rhythmic dance inside him increase. Blair again stroked Jim's anus, his finger only minutely penetrating the opening before it was withdrawn again. Above him Jim panted heavily. Suddenly, the Sentinel bowed his head and took Blair's cock into mouth.

Their screams of delight echoed through the bedroom as both men reached a ravaging climax.

For a several minutes the silence of love was only penetrated by occasional sighs and essential struggles for breath. Still buried deep inside his younger lover, Jim rested his head Blair's chest, the gorgeous sight of his lover's magnificent cock obscuring his range of vision.

"I don't wanna go tonight," the detective managed after a while.

Although his limbs felt like lead, Blair couldn't resist teasing Jim's ass, one finger slipping inside him again. "It's an important event, love. 'The cop of the Year' award is only given out once a year--hence the name." Blair smiled as his finger was sucked in by Jim's deliberate clenching.

"Yeah, and they didn't find another idiot to receive it," Jim complained tiredly.

The stroking stopped. "How did you know?" Blair asked, trying to meet Jim's eyes. The Sentinel had his eyes closed, his head still enjoying the human pillow.

"Now I do," Jim mumbled.

"YOU!" Blair shouted laughingly, pushing his long finger all the way into Jim's rectum. Much to his delight his lover squirmed comfortably, his limp cock moving inside of Blair.

"I don't wanna get up," Blair sighed.

The Sentinel grew serious. "I can't make it without you," he confessed, his voice hoarse.

Blair chuckled. "Hey, man, I'm not leaving. I just need to get up for now."

"Don't ever leave me."

The seriousness of Jim's voice startled Blair. He didn't know where it came from, but for some reason, it frightened the anthropologist. With his other hand he reached up and brushed over Jim's short hair. "Don't worry, big guy, there's nothing you could do to make me leave this...bed."

Both men burst into laughter, none of them aware of the lie that hung in the air, hidden, and about to strike... soon.

If applied properly, torture usually proved a very effective tool to obtain access to secret information or push forward an interrogation. A Q & A of horror, whereas the poor victim faced his execution as soon as the goal of breaking the suspect was achieved. Thus it could be slow and tremendously painful or fast and... tremendously painful. It was all part of a gruesome game of power, dominance and humiliation.

Irrational thoughts raced through the man's mind as he slowly drifted towards consciousness. His captors hadn't asked any questions yet, hadn't pressed for top-secret governmental information he might give away if the pain warranted. Still hovering under the surface of awareness, the man knew the ordeal had just begun; the questions would come eventually, sooner or later he would be broken, crawling on all fours and begging for mercy. He'd seen prisoners of war do that. Hopefully he would die first.

Or maybe they simply enjoyed watching a human being writhing in agony? He had no way of knowing, foreboding shadowed his mind when a brutal slap to his face fully brought him back to consciousness. His body throbbed. The odor of sulfur <matches> and tobacco <cigars> lingered in the air, tickling his nose. The man coughed, the sound turning into an anguished moan as the heat on his inner thighs became unbearable. Hot ashes seared tender skin, heavy rain drops of fire pouring down on his groin.

He probably deserved all this, didn't he?

One week earlier...

"They probably executed the guy right after he invented this THING!" Tearing and pulling at the uncooperative bow-tie, Jim Ellison cursed. The reflection in the mirror showed a man enraged, fighting with an innocent piece of cloth.

Ducking swiftly and re-appearing between Jim's arms, Blair laughed and stared at their images in the mirror. While his lover still battled with the tie, the police observer raised his arms and gathered his long curly hair into a ponytail. A black leather band held the mane in place. Blair skeptically viewed his appearance, pursing his lips.

"Do I look presentable enough?" he asked his lover's mirror image.

Handing him the bow-tie, Jim carefully pulled one stray of hair out of the braid. The curl framed the left side of Blair's face, giving him a look of innocence and devilry at the same time.

"That's better," Jim judged smilingly.

"Better?" Blair's voice swung with disbelief. "The wrong people might think I was just fucked senseless by the most gorgeous man on earth." He turned around, facing the flesh version of his Sentinel and started binding the bow-tie.

Both men were wearing black tuxedos. The only difference being the blue-and-black vest Jim had gone for additionally, the rebellious bow-tie matching the colours.

Jim stood perfectly still as Blair adjusted the accessory. "Well, if you think about it, you were just fucked senseless. But..." Jim creased his forehead in confusion. "Who's the most gorgeous guy on earth?" He tried to move his head, but a yank on his bow-tie brought him back face to face with his lover.

"Hold still, smart-ass," Blair growled, his blue eyes sparkling with love. His job finished, he patted Jim on the shoulder. "There...now you look half as good as me, big guy."

"Only half?"

"Uhm, yeah, maybe three-quarters, but not more," Blair admitted jokingly.

The two men observed their reflections in the mirror. Jim reached out and opened a cabinet where Sandburg stored his toiletries and 'stuff' only the anthropologist thought of as "absolutely necessary" to have in a bathroom. The detective had once questioned him why on earth Blair needed a tape recorder, learning quickly that such an item was totally essential these days - in the bathroom. Before the lecture had gotten out of hand, Ellison had simply closed the cabinet door.

"Here...put your glasses on," Jim handed him the spectacles smiling sweetly at Blair's questioning look.

"Why?" came the expected reply.

"Because --," Jim placed a little kiss on Blair's cheeks. "-- you look so damn adorable and intelligent with your glasses on."

Complying with his lover's wish, Blair adjusted the glasses. "Hhhmmm. Now I really look all fucked up. Like we've done it in the truck or something."

"Riiiiight." Jim breathed on the lenses leaving the mist of his breath and blinding the young man temporarily. "That's an idea, by the way."

When Sandburg and the guest of honour arrived at the Cascade Renaissance Hotel, the younger man's face was framed with several unruly strays of his curly hair. He was smiling broadly and babbling enthusiastically to hide his racing heart. Only someone who'd pay special attention would have noticed there was a button on his shirt missing, torn off in a passionate workout in a blue-and-white pickup truck. Beside him, Jim Ellison grinned foolishly. After all, Blair was wearing his glasses...

"Hey, Jim!" Detective Henri Brown greeted them on their way to the Venice Ballroom where the dreaded event would take place. The two men shook hands. "Hairboy!" Henri delivered a solid blow to Blair's back, sending the young man a couple of steps forward. "Kinda windy tonight, isn't it?" He laughed. "I think I can dare to wear my hair down, right?" The detective rubbed one hand over his almost-bald head.

"Yeah, sometimes I wish I had Jim's short cut," Blair replied, fearing anyone would read the truth on his face.

"Enjoy the evening, guys," Henri said. "You truly deserve this, Jim."

Jim grimaced. "What have I done..." he moaned.

Entering the ballroom they spotted the round table reserved for them. Captain Simon Banks, Joel Taggart and Jim's father and brother were already seated, enjoy their drinks, and engrossed in a light conversation.

"Sorry, we're late. " Jim approached the table.

"What kept you?" Simon inquired, noticing with pleasure that Sandburg blushed at his deliberate question.

"The traffic was kinda heavy," Blair mumbled. "Good evening, Mr. Ellison." He turned his attention to Jim's father, but didn't miss Banks' knowing smile. "Hi, Stephen." The anthropologist extended his hand. "I heard you made some nice profit with your new stocks?"

While Stephen and Blair talked about the habits and social behaviour of 'bears' and 'bulls', Jim faced his father, the two men staring at each other for a second longer than necessary. Finally, father and son moved forward simultaneously, hugging and patting each other on the back.

"I'm glad you could make it tonight," Jim whispered into his dad's ear.

William Ellison smiled as he pulled away. "I'm so proud of you, Jimmy." The old eyes behind the glasses shone with emotions. "You're a good man, and I'm...I'm really touched to be here with you. Thanks for the invitation."

Still weary of displaying his feelings for his father openly, Jim just nodded. "It's okay," he managed.

"What would you like to drink, Jim?" Joel Taggart made himself known from across the table.

The evening went on, stretching the minutes and hours unbearably. Blair Sandburg noticed with a smile that his lover was yawing behind his hand from time to time, throwing impatient glances at his watch. The fight for dominance at the buffet had ended with Jim and Blair sharing their lobster. The older man had certainly complained about the lack of french fries and a decent hamburger, but Blair's stroking hand under the table had made him forget about the seafood no one really knew how to eat.

It was almost ten o'clock now and Jim wondered how long the mayor would need to get his act together. Elton John's " That's why they call it the blues" was instrumentally intoned by the band, and the Sentinel leaned over to his lover.

"Wanna dance?" he whispered into the ear, the stray of curls tickling his face.

Blair threw him a grateful glance, but shook his head. "Nah, later maybe, at home." The young student knew Jim would have danced with him in public and in front of the mayor if Blair had wanted to. However, Blair decided it would prove to be more relaxing dancing at home, slowly peeling off the clothes from each other in the rhythm of the music. The thought made him smile.

"What is it?" Jim asked.

"Just day-dreaming," Blair confessed and winked.

//God, why does these little gestures always get me hard right away?// Jim groaned inwardly as his cock twitched.

"Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please," Mayor Walton stood at the small podium.

//Yeah, right. Now you have to do it.// Jim took a deep breath, his gaze fixed on the remains of his lobster. //Nice fishy thing.//

"We've gathered here tonight to honour a man of courage, a man of loyalty, a man of integrity and strength..."

Jim tapped his captain on the shoulder. "Did you tell him this crap?" he asked when Simon turned his head into his direction.

"Nope. Sandburg did," the black man answered with a grin.

Jim rolled his eyes but reached out to lace his fingers with Blair's.

"...He has been working for the Cascade Police Department for eight years now, proving himself as a resourceful detective who's name is known even across state borders. The service you've done for this city is greatly appreciated, and I know that the meaningfulness of your work actually cannot be rewarded with a 'title' or award. From the bottom of my heart I would like to thank you for your extraordinary achievements over the past years. This is the first time in the history of our annual "Cop of the Year" ceremony that a police officer has been nominated back-to-back. Thanks to you Cascade becomes a safer place every day... Detective James Ellison."

Applause thundered through the ballroom and cameras from the attending press flashed. Jim blinked rapidly; the bright lights assaulting his eyes. He felt Blair's hand on his back, and he concentrated on the whispered guidance.

"I'm okay," Jim assured his lover and made his way to the podium. The guests and fellow officers gave him a standing ovation. William Ellison's eyes watered at the sight, and he placed an arm around his other son's shoulder. Stephen smiled, his face showing the awe he felt for his older brother.

"Thank you, Mayor Walton. I really appreciate this." Jim shook the mayor's hand.

"It's not only talk, Detective," the Mayor replied. "I meant what I said. You're a good man."

The people still applauded when Jim turned around, facing the microphone. Slowly the noise faded, and silence set in as the guests awaited Jim's speech of gratitude.

Clearing his throat, Ellison searched for words. This wasn't his area, talking definitely was Sandburg's forte, and Jim silently wished for some sort of psychic connection between them so that his partner could take the lead.

"I--- I-- actually don't know what to say. Receiving this award is a great honour, however, I'm only part of a terrific team of co-workers. This belongs to all cops of Cascade PD, because their skills and hard work makes my success possible." The crowed cheered, and from his distant point of view Jim could see his fellow colleagues smiling with pride.

"Furthermore,... I have a great partner who watches my back every time we go out there," Jim continued, locking his eyes with Blair who was practically radiating with joy. "I owe him my life and-- and-- know I wouldn't be here tonight if he hadn't rescued me three years ago...when-- thanks, buddy," Jim shot a wink and a smile towards his lover and partner.

"Detective Ellison, is it true you have a lead in the Masterson case?" a male journalist asked.

"No comment." Jim cut the man off shortly.

"Will Cascade PD consider asking for psychic help from Charlie Springs like last year?" The journalist's sidekick asked.

Jim sighed. "I'm sorry I really can't give you any information right now. Someone's life is at stake. Please, don't ask any questions I can't answer at this point." //Assholes.//

"A few months ago the so-called officer's exchange program was initiated. Rumor has it that you will meet the invitation by the New South Wales police to join their force for a couple of months, is that correct?"

//Where the hell do they get these stupid questions?// Jim's enhanced hearing picked up a considerable increase in Blair's heart rate, as his partner threw a confused look to Simon Banks to see if the rumor was indeed true.

"It's correct that we enjoyed the help of Inspector Megan Connor, but as far as I know there are no plans to send me down under."

Blair relaxed visibly.

A young female reporter raised her arm, and Jim nodded at her encouragingly, at the same time daring her with his eyes to mess with him.

"My name is Kathryn Harper from the Cascade Sun..." she introduced herself and the detective covered his grimace with a forced smile. The Cascade Sun was one of the worst scandal rags in the state.

"Can you tell us your opinion on the recent accusations of police brutality in California?"

Surprised by the almost innocent question Jim replied honestly: "Unfortunately those incidents in other cities throw a bad light on all cops, those wearing a uniform, those working behind a desk or detectives like me who just try to do their job. There's truly no reason for violent acts against suspects or criminals, and I totally disapprove of them."

At their table, Simon Banks nodded thoughtfully. "Well-put, Ellison," he muttered and Jim smiled.

"Did you ever deliberately use your power and strength against a suspect?"

Jim frowned slightly. //Hadn't he just answered that one?// The detective shook his head. "No, Ihaven't. I might lose my temper sometimes, but I have never --"

Kathryn Harper interrupted him. "Detective Ellison, do you know the name 'Peter McAllister'?"

A little voice in the back of his head warned him to back off and ignore the question. However, he didn't remember the name and so he said, "No, I'm afraid not."

The reporter nodded, apparently satisfied with his answer. "Did you work for Cascade PD in 1988?"

"No."

Harper pulled out a small folder. "Can you tell us what you were doing at that time?" She smiled smugly expecting his following reply.

"No. Can you tell me what you're getting at, Miss Harper?" Jim's voice was even, a bit of curiosity echoing in it.

The woman extracted a few black and white photographs from her folder, holding them in front of her. Beside Jim, the Mayor squinted trying to decipher the content while a few people sitting next to the reporter gasped in shock. Before Jim could tune in to the picture, Harper told the audience, "This is Peter McAllister, a broken man after being interrogated and tortured by one Captain James Ellison."

The following silence was deafening.

The cigar returned.

An almost comical relief washed over the man's face as the hot tip touched his stomach, leaving his more sensitive body parts at ease for a moment. Waves of pain still surged through his groin and ass where the tender flesh had been seared. Surprisingly, they'd spared his cock and balls. For now at least.

The captive grunted, his throat too raw from screaming and lack of water. Touching his navel, the cigar was carefully stubbed out. Stomach muscles tensed up against the pain, a hoarse "you son of a bitch" filling the air, a poor lament against the laughter of his torturers.

Someone took his hand in a tender grip. Turning his head to one side, the man opened his eyes slowly, hoping to see the familiar face he knew he'd never see again. The hope shattered into the piercing little pieces when the gentle grasp turned into agony. The little finger of his right hand was snapped. Before the hiss of pain left his mouth, the steady pressure moved to the next digit, breaking the second finger like a rotten branch.

How long had he been there?

Four weeks earlier...

"Do you deny that you were one of the participating officers who violated Mr. McAllister's human rights and deliberately inflicted physical pain on him over the agonizing period of 14 hours?" The microphone carried Kathryn Harper's unbelievable story through the room.

Jim clenched his jaws, the muscles twitching painfully, his gums already hurting. "No comment." He searched the room for Blair's calming glance. The young man stared at him with those impressive blue eyes, his beautiful face distorted with shock. William Ellison had his mouth open, as if he was going to protest against the ridiculous accusation, but no sound came out. He, too, stared at Jim, his eyes asking for understanding, hoping for denial. Jim saw equal expressions on his co-worker's faces, only Simon Banks, his captain and military-trained superior, buried his face in his hand, shaking his head slowly.

The reporter changed her tactic. "Mayor Walton, how can you justify honoring a person like Detective James Ellison who obviously has some skeletons in his closet?"

Before the Mayor could manage a half-way believable reply, Jim glared at Harper and said in a cold voice, "I don't have to justify anything, Miss Harper. But let me tell you this: You should've done your job better before storming in here and dropping what you surely would call the 'bomb'." The detective stepped down from the podium, walking slowly over to the table where is friends, family and co-workers were sitting.

"I've done my job, Detective," Kathryn Harper informed him from across the room. "I even have an eyewitness to prove it."

"Sorry, folks," Jim said, gently taking Blair's arm. "I'm out of here."

"Jimmy...," William Ellison stood up and touched Jim's shoulder. "Whatever... happened there, I'm behind you 100%." He moved to give his son a reassuring hug, but Jim shrank away from the open display of affection.

"I don't need your moral support, dad," Jim searched for Blair's hand. As soon as the felt the warm fingers, the Sentinel relaxed. "I'm okay." He nodded towards Simon. "We'll talk tomorrow, sir."

"I'll try to do some damage control tonight, Jim," Simon promised, frowning at the haunted look on Sandburg's face as the two man walked towards the exit.

Kathryn Harper's voice stopped them. "Have you ever seen Peter McAllister since, Detective?"

The two lovers were almost at the door, when Jim stopped dead in his tracks. He gripped Blair's hand tightly, the painful squeeze making his partner gasp. Ellison recognized the face he had hoped he would never see again. Once distorted with agony the old features of the middle-aged man in front of him now showed disgust and, the Sentinel could tell from the man's racing heart, fear. Jim's face displayed no emotions, not even recognition; he simply stared into his component's black eyes.

Peter McAllister opened his mouth, the two words coming out slowly, tentatively. He seemed afraid of their sound reverberating through the air after ten long years. "Captain Ellison." Hatred coloured the name.

Blair's hand slipped out of Jim's. He sensed the tension knotting his lover's body, and he carefully replaced his hand on Jim's back, encouraging him to say what he needed to, encouraging him to form an apology or words of regret.

"Are these your 15 minutes of fame, McAllister?" was all the detective said. He groped for Blair's hand, but the young anthropologist flinched away.

Their love-making had always been gentle. Passionate, yes, fierce, yes, but no matter how rough they played the game, the two men's actions had never stepped out of the circle of love. Even tonight, after the emotionally draining event at the ceremony, Jim's gentle hands roamed over the younger man's body, caressing the soft skin and placing little kissing along the way. Lubing himself generously, the detective parted Blair's ass cheeks and tenderly pushed into the tight opening.

Blair groaned and struggled to relax his body to allow this lover to take him.

"You okay, babe?" Jim whispered, stilling his motions. At Blair's short nod, he reached around and engulfed Blair's dying erection. "Just relax and let me love you," the older man soothed, sliding in deeper.

The sensual massage of his cock, momentarily distracted Blair from the dark thoughts in his mind, and he managed to accept the suddenly uncomfortable sensation in his ass. Penetration had never hurt, simply because Jim was the gentlest lover anyone could ask for, and also because Blair always longed for the intoxicating feeling of being filled by his lover. Tonight though, relaxation didn't set in and his internal muscles involuntarily fought against the intruder.

Behind him, Jim moaned as the clenching and unclenching of Blair's rectum worked miracles on his cock. He started a gentle rocking, carefully sliding out and in, while he continued the tender ministrations on Blair's front.

Jim had tortured a man? The police observer closed his eyes at the invading thoughts, gasping at the mental image he never wanted to see. Jim had tortured a man?

"Why did you do it, Jim?" Blair suddenly asked.

Jim stilled his motions, knowing immediately what Blair was talking about. "Chief..., let's talk about this in the morning, okay?" He kissed Blair's shoulder. "Let's forget about it now, please... I need ...you right now."

"I can't forget the man's face, Jim," Blair murmured. Jim had tortured a man. Suddenly Blair squirmed under Jim's loving touch. The iron-hard rod inside him stretched his internal walls painfully, while the stroking hand on his cock sent shiver's down his spine.

"I'm sorry you had to hear this crap, love," Jim started.

Blair lurched forward. "Please... I need you to pull out NOW, Jim..." He grasped the blue-yellow sheet and pulled himself forward, trying to break the physical connection. It hurt as Jim's erection slid out, and the anthropologist heard the small moan that came from his lover, too. At this state the man's arousal must have been already painful with the need of release.

"What is it, sweetheart?" Trying to ignore his straining member, Jim touched Blair's shoulder. As he started to pull him closer, the younger man sat up swiftly and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

"I--I'm sorry, Jim.... I need to...." Not finishing the sentence Blair grabbed his robe and headed downstairs.

Minutes later, the bathroom door was slammed shut and the shower went on.

//Shit.// Jim groaned, rolling onto his back, staring in disbelief at his fading erection. "Damnit," he grunted when he buried his head into a pillow. Sighing deeply, the detective forced his exhausted body to cooperate.

Coffee at 3 a.m. in the morning probably wasn't the best idea to sooth a troubled anthropologist, but Jim needed something to wake his spirits. Sure as hell Blair would give him one of his , and he needed to be on alert for that.

The bathroom door opened.

"You okay?" Jim asked gently, as Blair slowly made his way to the kitchen counter. "Did-- did I hurt you, Chief?" Concern was audible in his voice, the warm blue eyes compassionate as always.

"I'm fine." Blair helped himself to a cup of coffee. Feeling Jim's eyes followed his movements, the young forced a smile. "I'm really fine, Jim. It surely wasnt anything with the -- physical act. You are always so gentle." Blair smiled again but his expression grew sober quickly. "I'm sorry. You okay?" He wanted so badly to reach out and caress the older man's chest, wishing his hands could roam down and tenderly squeeze the cock and balls through the thin black boxer shorts. He'd done it so often before, but now Blair shuddered at the mere thought.

Jim took a sip of his coffee. "That was one coitus interruptus but yeah, I'm alright." Knowing his lifemate too well to not see the signs of mental distress, Jim approached the delicate subject first. "What can I say to make you feel better?"

"Tell me you didn't do it. Tell me that woman lied. Tell me the man we met just knew you from something else." Blair shrugged. "Just tell me what I can believe."

"Chief....I wish I could say it all was a hoax to blow the ceremony, but I can't. This Harper woman probably described it a bit melodramatic..."

"Melodramatic?" Blair repeated. "Jim, she said you tortured someone. There is nothing melodramatic about it. It's sickening."

Jim flinched at Blair's words. "Then what do you want me to say?"

"Tell me the whole story," Blair demanded. "Make me understand... a least part of it."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"You know why."

The coffee cup landed on the kitchen counter with a clank, the black liquid spilling over. Blair stared at his partner in total disbelief. "Because of covert ops?" At Jim's short nod, the anthropologist shook his head. "Oh man, I just don't FUCKING believe you. I'm your friend, your partner, your lover and probably know more about you than anyone on this planet, and you can't bring yourself to tell me about your top-secret crap? Whom do you think I'm gonna tell?"

"I'm sorry, love, I really can't," Jim moved forward to get a gentle hold of Blair's shoulders.

Blair twisted out of his touch. "Then at least tell me you were just following orders," he whispered, his eyes pleading for the truth, his heart pleading for a merciful lie he knew wouldn't come.

"We had no choice." Jim emptied the two cups of coffee into the sink. "You won't understand."

Blair grabbed the collar of Jim's robe. "I want to understand, Jim. I need to understand why the man I love so much is capable of such an atrocity."

"You knew that I did covert ops."

Pushing his lover into the kitchen counter, Blair replied, "And that should excuse everything?"

"What's your point here, Sandburg?" Jim shouted suddenly. "Why are you so upset about something that happened ten years ago? It's in the past. It's over."

Blair's anger faded at Jim's loud voice. "I don't know," he simply said, his shoulder slumped when he leaned against the refrigerator. "I'm sorry, Jim. I have no right to jump at your throat like that especially since I don't know the details. It's just... it's so hard to believe you actually did something like that." He leaned into Jim's strong hand as his partner caressed his cheeks.

"No, I understand. I wishI wish I could tell you about it." The Sentinel tentatively placed a kiss on Blair's mouth. //I hope you'll never find out, Chief.//

"I'm acting like a narrow-minded jerk," Blair mumbled and returned the kiss. A small part of him wanted to shrink away from the man he loved so deeply.

"No, you're reacting like I would expect Blair Sandburg to react," Jim replied. The smaller man's arms encircled his waist, their lips merged. Seeking strength and hope from the embrace, the two men tasted each other. It was a passionate seal of their love...

...wasn't it?

A cool and moist cloth touched his face. The man jerked in his bonds, survival instincts kicking in as he expected another wave of agony. Sore muscled tensed up, and he turned his head away. He shuddered, half with the cold, half with surprise when the cloth was almost gently dabbed at his raw lips. The supine figure opened his mouth to let the cool drops of liquid sooth his throat. Sucking greedily, he tasted his own blood again as his lips burst open, protesting against the movement of his jaw.

The thirst became more bearable, and the man was grateful for the human gesture of compassion. A cramp surged through his broken hand, the fingers swollen against the handcuffs. The man sighed, willing the pain away. If it was a profound act of willpower or simply exhaustion, he couldn't tell as his battered body relaxed, and he slipped into the peaceful world of sleep.

Three weeks earlier...

They had been running the gauntlet for eight days now. Each morning bore another horrific newspaper article with gruesome pictures telling a story of pain and humiliation. Late-night phone calls to the loft disturbed their sleep or interrupted cuddling in front of the fireplace. Not only the press, but also the media had started showing interest in Jim's past and the alleged torture of Peter McAllister. One of the local stations broadcast on a daily basis, digging up older articles by Amnesty International and other human rights organizations and even establishing a telephone hotline "What do you think of James Ellison?"

Whereas most papers could only reprint information already published, Kathryn Harper from the "Cascade Sun" issued an exclusive interview with McAllister. Big bold and black words on the front cover promised more shocking details on the inside.

14 hours of horror!

Beating breaks 4 ribs!

Beware of Ellison's ELECTROSHOCK therapy!

Cop of the Year - The dark side...

Blair Sandburg parked the old green Volvo in his usual parking spot. Shouldering his backpack and grabbing several books for today's Anthro 101 class, the young TA slowly walked over to Halgrove Hall . Despite the early April morning sun, Blair shivered remembering the new headline which surely would bring the "Cascade Sun" record sales:

Ellison - Master of Genital torture?

His lover had already been gone when Blair had emerged from the shower. A soft tapping on the bathroom door, followed by a "see you later, sweetheart, I love you" had been all. The front door closed behind the Sentinel, and the anthropologist had left his hide-out in the bathroom. Resting his head against the door, Blair's heart had ached. Since they'd become lovers the young man couldn't remember a time when they had parted without sharing one last kiss good-bye. He could almost physically feel the loss whereas part of him deliberately avoided physical contact with Jim.

"Damnit it!" Blair cursed under his breath, spotting the small crowd gathering at the entrance of Halgrove Hall.

Reporters.

Rounding the peaceful pattering fountain, Blair didn't sense the usual surge in his heart rate at the sight of the place where he'd....died. Instead a wave of annoyance mingled with rage rushed through his body. Staring straight ahead, Blair tried to wade through the waiting journalists.

"Mr. Sandburg, are you still working with Detective Ellison?"

"No comment." Two quick steps.

"Do you approve of what he did to Peter McAllister?"

"No comment." A shove into someone's ribs, reaching for the door.

"Has he ever used physical force against you?

"I said, no comment!" Pulling the door open, one step inside.

"Blair Sandburg, is it true that Ellison and you are lovers?"

"Leave me alone!" Almost at his office, fumbling for the key.

"Mr. Sandburg, how does it feel to be Ellison's toy?"

"Screw you!" Almost there.

Blair squeezed his body through the small opening his office door provided and breathed a sigh of relief as he slipped into the room. Quickly he turned the lock, trying to ignore the fierce knocks on the door. The young man retreated behind his crowded desk. Casting a nervous glance at the door, Blair switched on his computer. While booting, the young man reached over and turned on the coffee-maker.

The banging on the door increased. "Mr. Sandburg, just one more question..."

"Stop it or I'm calling security!" Blair yelled and threw his still empty coffee mug against the wooden door where it shattered into pieces. Too late Blair realized it was the mug Jim had given him after he'd aced one of his final exams last year. It had amused the anthropologist at first when the detective had given him the mug covered with patterns of small and large red-hearts.

'Actually, I had meant to give it to you as a Valentine's Day gift,' Jim had shrugged, 'but I didn't have enough time to finished the paint job, so I waited for the right opportunity.'

Paint job? 'You... you made this yourself?' Blair had asked, staring at the one or other heart that seemed a bit out of shape.

'Congrats on your A+,' Jim had grinned like a fool, his face flushing in embarrassment.

And, in one knee-jerk reaction, Blair had destroyed the meaningful gift. Slowly the young man walked over to the door where the remains of the mug littered the floor. A razor-sharp splinter cut into Blair's palm as he picked it up. A single tear rolled down his cheek. Blair clenched his hand into a fist, forcing the splinter deep into his flesh. Blood oozed between his fingers, his knuckles white from the strain. For a wonderful moment, the physical pain overruled the agony he felt in his soul.

The phone on his desk rang. Fearing it would be yet another eager reporter, Blair waited for the answering machine to pick it up. A small smile touched his face when Jim's voice spoke.

"Hey, Chief. I was wondering if you'd feel up to lunch today? 'The Chinese...'"

Blair grabbed the receiver. "Sounds good."

"Hi there, how's your day doing?" Jim asked, and the young man knew his lover was smiling.

Looking at his bandaged hand, Blair replied, "It's pretty cool so far, some students, some annoying profs, the usual stuff."

"Any reporters?" Jim's voice became serious.

"A few," came the slow reply.

"I'm coming over and pick you up, say, at 12:30?" Jim suggested.

"No, I'm coming to the station, okay?"

The Sentinel went silent for a moment, considering Blair's answer. "You okay, Blair?"

The young man winced inaudibly at the warmth he detected in the concerned question. "Sure, I'm fine, Jim. I'll have to wade through my mail and grade a couple of papers but other than that --"

"That's not what I meant," Jim interrupted gently.

"I know. I'm-- fine, really. Don't worry, Jim. See you at 12:30 then, huh?" Blair picked up the stack of envelopes on his desk, his morning post.

"I love you," Jim whispered and terminated the connection.

"I love you, too, Jim," Blair mumbled and sliced open the next envelope. With a resigned sigh, he pulled out the latest issue of the "Anthropology Journal", staring on the front cover without really reading the eye-catching topics. Vaguely, he remembered he'd written a short article for the monthly magazine, and any other time he'd would been eagerly searching the pages for the contribution in question.

What bothered him most was the frightening fact that Jim Ellison didn't seem to be the least bit concerned about the accusation and the enormous pressure the media laid upon his reputation. The Sentinel acted almost nonchalant, like it was nobody's business but his own.

Maybe it wasn't.

No, it wasn. Someone suffered, a human being had been harmed and, as absurd it might seem to the rational mind, Jim had been part of it. Had participated, probably even had been the officer in charge.

//Geez, what do you think they did in covert ops, Sandburg? Rescuing old ladies' cats?// Why was he so upset? The military training Jim Ellison had endured wasn't a piece of cake. Furthermore, his childhood and the treatment he'd received from his father added to...

//To what? Making him cruel? A monster?// Pushing those harsh words aside, Blair leafed through the "Anthropology Journal" without reading.

Jim didn't talk about it. His silence made it look like it was right, justified, moral.

There was nothing moral about torture.

//Hit a reporter, Jim. Do something! Show an emotion. Show me!//

Blair sighed and opened another envelope. Frowning slightly since he didn't recognize the sender's name, the young man gasped in shock as the contents of the envelope slipped onto his desk. One of those small yellow post-it notes stuck in the right corner of a black and white photograph. It carried a name in a neat handwriting: "Peter McAllister - 14 hours of pain".

The anthropologist stared at the photo. For a few minutes his eyes were riveted on the picture. The battered, naked body, imprinted its gruesome details forever into his mind. Shaking himself out of the trance, Blair walked over to the shredder. Within seconds, the photo was torn apart. Whomever had sent the picture wouldn't succeed in driving Blair away from his Sentinel.

//Never.// Moving to the sink, Blair splashed some cold water into his face. Through bleary eyes, he stared into the small mirror. "Never...," he emphasized locking gazes with his reflection. Suddenly, his stomach rebelled and he threw up into the sink.

The man didn't open his eyes. He knew he couldn't fool his captors by pretending he was unconscious. It was something else. Exhaustion ravaged his body, the smallest effort costing too much strength. He was tired, mentally and physically. His survival instinct faded, and he let fate take over. No need to fight anymore.

Cold metal clamps touched his nipples. The piercing sensation set in instantly, but the man's vocal cords didn't find the motivation to utter a moan.

No need to fight...

His brain provided the horrible foreboding of what would happen soon but, like before, he didn't care. Another clamp attached to his balls sent waves of agony through his body. His mouth opened involuntarily in a mute outcry of pain - the only visible sign of distress.

Saliva oozed from the corner of his mouth, and his brain finally caught with his resignation.

No need to...

Two weeks earlier...

How many times had he watched his lover sleeping? Even with his enhanced senses turned down, Ellison usually woke up before the early bird could even think of catching the worm. Leaning on one elbow, Jim's eyes scanned the familiar features. The long curls were fanned out on the yellow pillow, the contrast stark and overwhelming. Carefully, as not to wake the sleeping man, Jim twirled one of the long curls around his finger, enjoying the thick texture of the stray. Blair was breathing evenly, his chest steadily rising and falling with each inhale. With his lips slightly parted, the young man looked young and vulnerable, waking in Jim those strong instincts that had earned him the title of "Blessed Protector".

The older man sighed, the sound anguished and indescribably sad.

//'How can the innocence of your heart ever understand the cruelties mankind is capable of?'// The thought tormented his mind, the emotional storm Blair fought deep inside of him not passing unnoticed on the Sentinel. Every gasp of shock, every faint intake of breath at the sight of another gut-wrenching headline or photo tore through Jim's heart. His Guide was suffering. Because of something Ellison did a decade ago...and because of what he did now.

Gently Jim cupped Blair's face in one hand, bent over and kissed the adorable mouth. It was a brush of lips on lips, like a breeze in a hot summer night cooling their bodies after a passionate love-making.

//I love you so much, Chief. I love you so much.// His hand trailed down Blair's body, his touch soft and loving. The young man stirred under the caress, a sleepy sigh coming from the slightly opened mouth. Jim roamed over Blair's stomach and as his hand moved down to stroke the limp genitals through the thin fabric of the boxers, the detective bent forward and pressed another kiss on the young man's lips.

Startled, Blair opened his eyes! In a hectic movement he reached down and snatched his lover's massaging hand away. He closed his legs in an almost panicked gesture.

"What are you DOING, man?" Blair pushed against Jim's body and sat himself up in the bed.

Confusion spread over Jim's face, the unexpected reaction not what he had hoped for. "I wanted to kiss you good-morning, babe," he tried, noticing with concern that Blair's heart was racing. "I'm sorry..., I didn't think you'd mind." The Sentinel reached out to stroke Blair's cheek in a comforting gesture. However, his arm fell seeing his lover flinch away. "You never minded before," Jim tried to justify his actions.

"Well, I do now," Blair snapped and threw the bed covers aside. Swinging his legs out of the bed, his movements stilled as Jim grabbed his arm.

"Hey..., what's wrong, Chief?"

//You know what's wrong, Ellison.// Yeah, right. Since the Cop-of-the-Year ceremony and the revelation of Jim's past, their love life had cooled down considerably. They certainly had kissed and cuddled, but with each passing day and every new revealing article, Blair retreated more from his lover.

"I'm not in the mood." Blair replied curtly and cast a look at his trapped arm. "Would you let go of me, please? I have to go the U this morning."

Like he'd burned himself, the detective let go off Blair's arm. "It's only 5.30," he said in a low voice. "Why don't you come back to bed and we do this right, huh?" Smiling he added, "It's been a long time."

Blair grabbed his robe. "Maybe tonight, Jim. I have some work to do and going in early is the only way to get everything done." He moved around the bed, but was stopped by the tall frame of the older man obscuring his way.

"We have to talk about this, Blair," Jim said softly and rubbed Blair's shoulder gently.

The blue eyes shone with mockery. "Yes, Jim, you're right. We have to talk about this, but 'we' includes both of us. I here, man. Talk to me. Let me know what's on your mind. Make me understand. Simple as that."

"We've been through this before, Sandburg. There are certain things I can't tell anybody," Jim spoke softly.

"I'm not "anybody", big guy," Blair sighed. "I thought you knew that. I wish you'd trust me."

"I trust you," Jim stressed. //We never needed to have this kind of conversation before, Chief.//

"I gotta go."

Jim still stood upstairs, not moving and just listening to the sounds his partner made when Blair showered, dressed and eventually left the loft. With the shutting door, the thread of their relationship seemed to have been cut into further.

Jack Kelso stared at the folder in his lap. The brown cover didn't carry a label, no hand-written note - nothing that would reveal its disturbing content to the innocent bystander. But Kelso knew. Working as a Professor of Foreign Affairs at Rainier University, he probably had more information on the 'establishment' than anyone else. Sometimes Kelso wondered why the heck he was still alive. He grinned sheepishly. Maybe 'they' feared his will, the man suspected ironically.

Rolling his wheelchair back and forth in a nervous reaction - a tick he thought he'd abandoned years ago - Jack hesitated. A knock on the door, it would be very so very simple. After all, he was just delivering some information a friend had asked him for. No big deal. Nevertheless, the butterflies raced through his stomach, an uneasiness that made him sick. The sensation hit him by surprise. He'd seen, done and known a lot of disgusting things (for a lack of a better word) so why was he suddenly so upset about just providing some facts he'd been asked for?

//You won't like this, Blair.// Jack Kelso took a deep breath and knocked at the door.

"Who is it?" Blair's voice sounded tired.

"Blair, it's Jack Kelso. I have the information you wanted," the teacher shouted through the closed door. Moments later, he heard the unmistakable sound of a bolt being thrown and the door swung open.

"Hi, Jack, thanks for coming," Blair greeted his old friend and co-worker.

Kelso maneuvered his wheelchair through the narrow space of the door. "Problems with the 'mob'?" he asked, nodding his head as Blair locked the door again.

"Yeah, the reporters are still on the hunt," Blair sighed and sat down behind his desk. "Want some coffee?" he offered, already opening his desk drawer for a clean mug.

"No, thanks." Jack's hands roamed over the folder he'd brought. "Blair, I know you asked me for this--," he began.

"And I really appreciate your help, Jack. I know it's not something you would do for everyone. Believe me, I wouldn't have asked if it wasn't absolutely necessary," Blair interrupted the teacher. He looked at the older man expectantly. //You really don't want to see this Sandburg.// Blair thought to himself.

"You really don't want to see this," Kelso gave sound to his thoughts, startling Blair for a second. "It's nothing like your usual bedtime reading."

"I'm aware of that," Blair replied slowly, while in a remote corner of his head a voice threatened him he would regret this. "I need to know what covert ops involve, need to know more details."

"Why?"

"Why?" Puzzled, Blair looked up and stared into Kelso's eyes. The short question caught him off guard and left him speechless. The anthropologist opened his mouth, but his brain didn't provide the logical, reasonable explanation Kelso waited for. //Why?//

"I'm interested in the subject," Sandburg answered vaguely after a long period of silence.

Kelso nodded, discovering the lie for what it was. "I'm not sure if I should give you this, Blair. I mean, Ellison's under a lot of pressure, and I know you want to know more solid information without all the colouring the press and media do, but..." he paused and locked his gaze with Blair. "...this heavy stuff. I would suggest you ask your partner about it before you dig into the matter behind his back."

Blair took a sip from his coffee. "I tried, Jack. Jim is not very cooperative here. I understand he can't tell, but I wished he'd ... let me in on it." Sensing Kelso's protest, he raised his hands in a calming gesture. "I know, I know, it's top-secret and he's not supposed to tell."

The older man sighed heavily and handed Blair the folder. "It's all in here. MO, training, example cases, everything."

The student took the folder hesitantly and placed it on his desk without opening it. "Thanks, Jack. This really matters, you know."

Kelso nodded. "You'll also find an address and phone in there. If you have any questions, call Dr. Leeds in D.C." At Blair's questioning glance, the professor explained, "He's a psychiatrist dealing with the training, but also with the mental trauma of covert operations." The man went silent for a moment. "If I were you, I wouldn't open that folder."

Blair swallowed. "I need to know, Jack. You wouldn't understand."

Kelso smiled sadly. "Blair, it's probably none of my business to say this, but did it ever occur to you that Jim is trying to protect you?"

The young man didn't reply.

The air was thick and smoke filled. Voices, laughing, chatting, shouting, mingled at high volume, making any normal conversation impossible. That was, of course, if something like a 'normal conversation' could take place in "The Onion". Loud music prevented any word right from the start, and the guests surely didn't choose the pub for academic discussions.

It was way after midnight, but the place was still crowded with people of all ages, ethnic background and profession. The loudspeakers blared with techno rhythms, destroying eardrums, and numbing the level of sensitivity.

Blair Sandburg raised a glass to his mouth. The golden-brown liquid oozed down his throat, leaving his head spinning like a roller-coaster.

//Hey, it actually starts to taste better.// he thought grimly, taking another long sip. Shuddering, the anthropologist placed the now empty glass on the counter and waved the bartender for a refill.

The young man couldn't recall the last time he got drunk voluntarily. Maybe this was the first at all.

//There's a first time for everything.// Blair raised the new glass to a toast to himself. Enjoying the burning sensation as the whiskey coated his tongue and throat, he pushed the long hair out of his face.

"To covert ops!" he said, his voice drowned by the noise around him. Hiccuping, he wiped his mouth. "To Jim, my 'Blessed Protector'."

Actually, he wasn't the type who tried to drown his bad mood in alcohol and, when he started drinking a few hours ago, his sober mind already knew he'd regret this big time in the morning. However, Jack Kelso's report had shaken him to the core. An operator's manual of pain and horror compiling methods and instruments of so-called interrogation from A[gony] to Z[apping]. The human brain never seemed to cease inventing new terrible ways to inflict pain on people. For what? To get information? To prevent a crime? Or, the lowest reason of all, to punish?

//And your partner was one of them.//

//What did he do to that McAllister guy?// Blair gulped down another long sip of the whiskey and rested his head on one of his hands. //Did Jim participate in the same atrocities the report offered? Beating the man? Humiliating him? Depriving him of sleep, food, water?//

"Hey, sweetie, care if I join you?" The melodious voice spoke to him from behind. Before Blair could reject or accept her offer, a young woman occupied the seat beside him. "Hi, there, I'm Clarice."

With dull blues eyes Blair took in her appearance. //Oh, yeah, definitely female.// The young man blinked, staring at her breasts like he'd never seen those anatomic features before. //Oooops, yep, female.//

"What's your name?" Clarice asked and scooted closer to him.

A hand stroked his knee, trailing slowly up and down his thigh, small, fragile fingers tickling the insides of his leg. "I'm ---the <hiccup> Chief around here," Sandburg struggled to get the words around his lazy tongue.

"Bad day?" the girl asked sympathetically, eyeing the half-empty glass of liquor in his hands.

Blair nodded. "Sort of."

"Maybe I can get your mind off things, huh?" Clarice suggested seductively, her hand moving up his thigh and reaching his crotch. A long, red fingernail scratched at the denim of his jeans.

Blair sighed. The police observer placed his glass back on the counter and encircled Clarice's waist with one arm. "That would be nice," he murmured drowsy; His hands clumsily searched his pockets for some cash to pay the check.

His body finally gave up. Convulsing with each violent jolt of electricity, the man let go. His muscles tensed and weakened in a horrifying rhythm... then the darkness claimed him and an unnatural silence settled over his prison.

Still two weeks earlier...

It felt wrong. The unmerciful pounding in his head added to his discomfort. As Blair slowly drifted towards consciousness, the feeling of displacement mingled with growing regret surfaced. Opening his eyes carefully, the blue pools were squeezed shut immediately, the sudden brightness sending a piercing pain through his skull. His body ached like after a bad work out, his head, oh man, don't mention the head...

Blair groaned and rolled over on his side. His arm connected with the soft body beside him...with the soft body beside him...soft... With a start, the young man opened his eyes. Early sunlight illuminated the room, shadows casting strange images on the wall and ceiling.

"Oh my God..." The curse left his mouth hoarsely as the anthropologist took in the rumpled bedcovers, the pillows on the floor, clothes piled on the nearby chair and drawer.

The girl. Her sleeping form was tangled in the blanket, one leg dangling out, her naked breasts only partly covered. Blair's heart began racing in the onset of a panic attack, watching the girl's chest steadily rising and falling.

//Clarice.// Blair's foggy brain provided the name and with it, the events of last night rushed back to him. His body felt spent, his mind searched feverishly to excuse the betrayal he had committed. He'd betrayed both of them. Clarice by pretending it had been fun, and, if he was honest with himself, his muscles told him it indeed had been a fun -- that he had enjoyed the night. And Jim.

//What kind of asshole are you Sandburg?// With growing disgust, Blair stared down at himself, noticing in the traces of their love-making.

//Love-making?//

It had been nothing but sex -- a hard, relentless fucking bringing the relief he'd craved -- and now the sorrow he felt. A total physical reaction of his body, right? Hot nerve endings had gone out of control, ignoring the message his foggy brain would've sent if he'd been able to think straight at that moment. Absolutely physical, no love, no butterflies in the stomach, just -- need.

//Need?//

The word circled through his head, echoing accusingly, and Blair knew it didn't have much to do with ...love-making....or need, but everything with ---

//Revenge?//

Revenge for the pain Jim had inflicted upon him during the last weeks... and on that poor guy 10 years ago? Revenge for the simple fact he shuddered at Ellison's touch? Revenge for the love he still felt in his heart? Or was it...

//Punishment?//

Blair sat up and the room started spinning around him. Thor's hammer viciously tormented his head, and the police observer struggled to keep his balance. Steadying himself with both hands, groping for support at the bed and drawers, he made it to his feet. He moaned and held his stomach as a wave of nausea hit him. Breathing through his mouth, Blair remained perfectly still for a few moments, his eyes estimating the distance to the bathroom.

//Where the hell are we?// The gap in his memory wouldn't provide the answer. Carefully, Blair wobbled forward only to stop after a two small steps. The anthropologist swallowed the threatening bile rising in his throat.

//Breathe deep....breathe slow.// The old advice Jim Ellison had given him when they'd found that battered body throw out of an airplane flashed through Blair's head. Casting a look at the bed and the sleeping girl again, Blair's hand loosened its grip on the bed railing. His stomach grumbled in protest, a surge of pain flowing through his guts. His eyes closed momentarily, but the room started whirling again.

Panting heavily against the discomfort the hangover brought, Blair's glance fell onto the discharged condom... Pink rubber, soft looking and probably strawberry flavoured to eliminate the salty taste of his semen.

Had he even enjoyed the blow job?

Three phone calls already. It was merely 7.30 a.m., and Ellison's day already deserved as many swear words as he could imagine.

//Idiots.// Padding barefoot down the stairs, Jim played with the belt of his robe, pulling and tearing in a frustrated motion. Some mindless jerk had been the first caller, startling him out of his sleep. Obscenities, curses and threats were delivered in a hushed voice, haunting him and promising revenge. Jim had hung up the phone almost immediately, some distinctive words of his own delivered in return.

His attempt to go back to sleep was interrupted about half an hour later when the first reporter asked if he felt up to an exclusive interview to "clear the air". Tonight, Peter McAllister would go public and tell his story on one of those talk shows and, of course, the mob hungered for a reaction from Captain James Ellison.

Last, but not least, the dark voice of Simon Banks roared from the other end of the line at a few minutes past 7, requesting his presence at the station a.s.a.p. New leads in the Franklin case awaited him and Simon's hints didn't sound too promising.

Short: Jim's mood was below the freezing point before this FUCKING day had even started yet.

From the bathroom, the detective could hear the sound of rushing water. Jim sighed and walked over to the kitchen counter. His lover hadn't come home last night. It had happened quite a few times before that the young man had crashed at his office instead of heading home and snuggle into bed with Jim. Lately, it had happened too often. Blair would come home shortly after dawn, showering, dressing and, if both their spirits were up, sharing a mutual breakfast or gulping down a cup of coffee. The first time, Jim had almost freaked, staying up all night to wait up for his partner. Then Blair had walked into the loft with an innocent look on his face, his eyes reflecting sorrow, but also a calmness that made Jim wince. Somehow Jim feared Blair would --

The older man had never finished the thought for himself. Imagining Blair would .... made him want to cry out, made him want to embrace the young man with his arms, devour his mouth and never let go off him again. Jim had never noticed that ever-present fear. The fear of losing his lover, his best friend to something worse than a bullet or an accident: Jim Ellison.

"Asshole of the Great City," the Sentinel mumbled as he opened the cupboards to retrieve their breakfast utilities. Preparing the food and coffee, Jim tried to dismiss the painful thoughts invading his mind at the early hour. He counted the spoonfuls of coffee for the coffee-maker, one, two, three, four..., two cups, a knife, bread....The toaster needed fixing again, shit, maybe eggs would do, where's the pan? Jim concentrated on his tasks, and he let his senses drift outward.

Sound -- in the basement, Mrs. Matthews and her little 7-year old daughter had an argument about the clothes the young lady wanted to wear to school which "mooooom, please" thought inappropriate.

Sight -- millions of tiny dust particles danced through the loft, making the Sentinel almost shudder with disgust.

Taste -- salt, sugar, vanilla extract.... no bad milk today.

Jim grinned remembering one of Sandburg's first experiments on him.

Touch -- He'd never noticed that the smooth surface of the kitchen counter was so...bumpy.

Smell -- Shampoo, herbal aftershave, Blair in general, garlic...

Jim's head jerked up!

//This isn't possible.//

"This isn't possible." Turning around, the detective leaned against the counter and intensely watched the closed bathroom door. He extended his sense of smell, focusing on the young man in the shower...his clothes on the floor, underwear in the hamper.

//No. NO.//

"No, you're wrong Ellison," Jim lied to himself, knowing too well his senses were as accurate as a lab analysis. But sometimes specimens get mixed up, and the analysis is useless in court... Grasping the small ray of hope, Jim waited.

//Chief....//

"Please, please, don't do this to me," the tall man whispered staring at the door and trying to turn off the awful smell that assaulted his nose.

The scent of betrayal.

The shower shut off and a few minutes later the door to the bathroom opened. At the same instant, Jim whirled around, busying himself with the coffee maker.

"Morning, Jim," Blair greeted, his voice low and raw. To his surprise, the young man already was fully dressed

"You look like you could use a good coffee," Jim judged from the pale expression Blair wore..

//Did she wear you out, Chief?//

"You wear yourself out last night, huh?" Grinning, Jim handed him a steaming coffee mug.

Blair accepted the mug gratefully. "Thanks, man." Sipping the hot liquid, the young man peered over the rim of his mug, eyeing the older man carefully. "Sorry, I didn't come home last night. We-- there was a party I was invited to."

//Very good, Sandburg. Your heart rate is almost steady.// "As long as you guys had fun," Jim mumbled and started cutting the bread. "Want some jelly?" He groped some strawberry jam on his index finger and seductively offered it to his young lover. Deliberately.

Watching the strong body in front of him, the gentle smile, the easy gesture of affection, an iron fist closed around Blair's heart and threatened to squeeze all air, all life and all love out of him. The anthropologist stepped forward. With one hand he steadied Jim's and took the finger into his mouth. The sweet jam coated his tongue and, when Blair's lips closed around the digit, he felt Jim's finger tenderly probing the soft tissue. What would have been sensual just few weeks ago, now became an ordeal. The urge to gag increased. Carefully Blair opened his mouth and moved backwards.

"We also have chocolate mousse," Jim licked his own finger, tasting the remains of the jelly, the aroma of Blair's mouth and...

The Sentinel grabbed a towel and wiped off his finger. "Or what about some bacon?" he asked, throwing the dish towel into the sink.

"I'm not hungry," Blair announced.

"Are you coming down with something, hon?" Ellison reached out to place a hand on his love's forehead, but ceased his movement when Blair flinched away. "You okay?" Jim probed, wondering if he really wanted to know the truth. He knew already. It was a perverse powerplay, demanding to hear it from Blair's mouth, hear the pleasant voice telling him he'd slept with someone else. And he wanted to see the anguish in Blair's eyes.

The police observer swallowed hard. He didn't want to say it; he didn't want to admit he'd been drunk enough to sleep with that girl, or that he'd hated himself the most right now. However, it was a perverse powerplay, demanding to see the reaction on Jim's face, to see those piercing blue eyes turn anguished... Blair wanted to punish him again for this own pain.

"I'm okay, Jim," Blair replied, trying to find the right words - or the most hurting ones. Deep inside, his soul bled, his heart broke , but a dark corner of his being delivered the next words to the surface. No foreplay, no euphemisms, no "Jim, I must tell you something", just plain and simple:

"I spent the night with someone." "I know." Plain and simple.

"You know?" Blair repeated, his and anger blossomed at the lack of Jim's emotions. "That's all you have to say?" //Come ON, Jim, hurt me, tell me you hate me, give me a reason to hate you.//

"What do you want me to say, Chief?" Jim crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"Don't you even wanna know why I did it?" Blair felt his anger fading and the hurt took over. He wanted to be screamed at, wanted to have a reason to cry, wanted a reason to feel what he felt. All he got was indifference.

Jim watched him for a moment, studied the big blue eyes and returned the firm gaze. Then he shrugged. "No."

"What?" Only Blair Sandburg managed to put all his emotions, all his love, all his sorrows into one single word. As he vocalized the dislief dripping from the 'what', Jim saw everything and yet wanted to see more. More... pain.

"It's been - how long? - two weeks since I -- fucked you?" Jim spat the word and was pleased to see the flash of pain crossing his lover's face. "You probably needed the sexual release and, since you apparently didn't want me to be the one, you turned to somebody else. No big deal."

"Release? So this -," Blair gestured with his hands including the two men and the apartment, "has always been about sex, no more, no less? We both satisfied ourselves because our bodies reacted biologically? What about the ten thousands "I love yous" you crooned into my ear, huh?" The young man smiled knowing he was about to beat Ellison with his own words.

Suddenly, the Sentinel lurched forward and grabbed Blair's upper arms fiercely. His fingers dug into the flesh, making the anthropologist gasp with the wave of pain. Just as Blair opened his mouth in a protesting moan, Jim's lips pressed hard on his, his wet tongue forcefully gaining entrance.

The violent kiss only last seconds. Before Blair could even think of struggling against the vise-like grip on his arms, Jim broke the contact, whispering into his ear, "If I wanted to I could take you right here on the floor and get what my BODY craves." With that he shoved the young man against the kitchen counter.

Blair's heart hammered against his ribs, and he knew the Sentinel could hear it without much effort. Despite his sudden realization the man in front of him could easily kill him with a flick of his wrist, the young man raised his hand. It was a poor gesture, but satisfying yet to see the flicker of shock in the older man's eyes as Blair simply wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt.

They wouldn't let him die. Fate was cruel. As much as he willed his body and mind to go and accept the eternal darkness, a gruesome stroke of destiny wouldn't allow this last mercy.

Pain. Strangely enough, the aches and cramps had eased, or maybe he'd simply gotten used to the sensation of constant suffering; he couldn't tell.

Humiliation. A small part of his brain wanted to feel embarrassed at the pitiful sight he must present. The odors of his own bodily fluids should've assaulted his nose. Sweat, blood, urine. However, they didn't bother him anymore.

//Loss.// A whimper came over the man's bloody lips, resembling the sound of a heart-wrenching sob.

He remembered.

He'd lost...everything.

One week earlier...

//Enough was enough.// Simon Banks chewed on his unlit cigar and stood up. Stomping around his desk, he wrenched his office door open. The glass door banged against the wall, and all heads turned into his direction. The dark man would've smiled, satisfied at the startled reactions, if he noticed it.

"Ellison! Sandburg!" he barked, then added in a low, almost threatening voice, "My office, now." He would've call it "facinating?" -- the sight in front of him; but, as he watched the two men -- his best team, hell, two of his best friends-- slowly walking towards him, he was simply mortified.

Ellison stood up from behind his desk, grabbed a folder and, without spending a confirming nod at his partner, strode over to the captain. The detective looked like hell, which would probably even be an understatement. His expression was blank, his face pale. He'd forgotten to shave his morning, the dark stubble giving him a sick pallor.

Sandburg's appearance wasn't promising either. Those impressive blue eyes shone with a sadness that startled Simon. The usual sparkle was gone, and it seemed like the energetic fire was being extinguished . Looking up from the coffee maker now, Simon was under the impression Blair'd just woken up. The kid flinched at Simon's shouting, and Blair's look of being lost and alone in the world made the captain cringe.

Without saying a word, the two men entered Simon's office. Like well-trained dogs, they stood in front of the desk, waiting for a command. At Simon's nod, they automatically sat down.

"What's wrong with the two of you?" Banks began without much ado.

"Sir?" Jim raised his eyebrows.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Simon could see Blair grimace at Ellison's feigned innocence. "You know what I mean," Banks replied.

Jim shrugged. "It's private, captain."

Blair nodded but didn't meet Simon's eyes. "Nothing to worry about, Simon," he tried a poor reassurance.

"I beg to differ, Sandburg," Banks retorted. "For a week or so , you guys have acted like...," Lacking an appropriate comparison Simon sighed. "....strange." He looked from Ellison to his partner. " You barely talk to each other and when you do, it's only associated with work." Figuring it would be best to attack the anthropologist with his question, Simon added, "as far as your talkative manner is concerned, that's novel."

"Does this conversation concern our job?" Jim asked.

Simon sat down on the edge of his desk, facing the two men, his eyes warm with the concern of a worried father. "No, it concerns you."

Jim stood up. "If has nothing to do with my work, or Sandburg's, there's nothing tomore to say, sir."

"Sandburg?"

The young man followed Jim's movement and stood up.

//For once they agree on something,// Simon thought bitterly, watching the young man's quick glance at his partner.

"With all due respect, Simon, this is none of your business," Blair said quietly. "As Jim said it's between him and me. " He joined Ellison at the door.

"That's all, sir?" Jim inquired, a notch too polite for Simon's taste.

"Does it have to do with this Sentinel thing?" Simon didn't give up, grasping for any explanation he could get his hands on. To his surprise, Sandburg laughed out loud.

"Simon, we can't blame every shitty thing that happens on Jim's senses. This time it's pure and plain James Ellison." Seeing the confusion flashing over Banks' face, he added quickly, "Don't worry though, we're 100%."

With that the door closed behind the two men, leaving the captain puzzled and worried about what had transpired between the two partners.

The phone rang.

Yellow tape separated the crime scene from the rest of the house. Bright lights illuminated the place, a police officer roaming around and securing the premises. Occasionally a reporter's camera flashed from behind the barrier. It appeared to be an ordinary crime scene-- a homicide, as horrible as it was, but still terribly regular these days. However, nothing was ordinary anymore.

Clifford Franklin was dead.

//Finally// Jim thought bitterly, entering the victim's bedroom. His kidnappers, now his killers, had cold-bloodedly disposed of the corpse in the man's own house where Franklin's parents had found him.

"Oh man....," Blair groaned at the sight of the dead body, turning away momentarily.

Jim reached out and touched his partner's shoulder lightly. "Take it easy, Ch--." He went silent, his face taking on a shocked expression when Blair flinched away from the comforting touch. "Whatever," the detective mumbled, frustration replacing the concern. When simple touches repulsed Blair, what would happen to...

//Us?// Ellison banned the upsetting thought to a remote corner of his mind and focused his attention on the victim.

Dan Wolfe, the medical examiner, scribbled on a chart, writing down undecipherable words and medical terms. The big man circled and underlined certain things. He looked up, smiling friendly as always.

"Hi, Jim. Blair." He wrote a final comment on his chart and straightened up. "That's one big mess we have here." Wolfe shook his head. "It'll be a feast for the media."

"What's the cause of death?" Jim asked, sensing Blair's presence beside him.

The ME grimaced. "Internal bleeding. Caused by a bullet wound in his rectal area." Adding another note to his report, Dan added, "His large and small intestines are all over the place and it looks like someone shoved..."

"Excuse me," the words came over Jim's lips before the doctor could finish the gruesome sentence. Two pairs of puzzled eyes met his. "I need to..." The Sentinel rushed out of the room. Locating the bathroom, he threw the door shut behind him.

"That's actually always my line," Blair muttered surprised.

Dan chuckled. "You know, Sandburg, I always say it depends on what you've eaten. Soup or steak, fries, salad... If your stomach is comfortable with the food, you're safe to view and hear stuff like this." He laughed. "My wife can't make mashed potatoes with spinach when I'm at work."

Blair nodded mutely. He didn't make an attempt to check on his partner. Instead the young man carefully leaned against one of the chairs, waiting for Ellison's return.

Dr. Wolfe closed his medical bag. "I'm finished here. Tell Jimbo he'll get my report as soon as possible, okay?" He patted on Blair's shoulder. "Maybe it was your cooking," he joked.

The ME left the crime scene just as Jim emerged from the bathroom. The detective looked pale, almost shaken, and the wet spots on his shirt indicated he'd washed his face, splashing water to cool down his...what?

//Emotions? Surprise? Shock?// Blair mused, pushing himself off the back of the chair he'd leaned at.

"You okay?" The anthropologist asked, his voice neutral.

Jim scanned the half-covered body of Clifford Franklin with keens eyes. "I'm fine."

"You don't look fine," Blair observed. Part of him wanted to feel disinterested, cold, but his heart ached to simply hug the big man and gently make him feel better. The younger man couldn't tell which part of him was stronger.

"You've forgot to turn on your puppy-dog eyes, Sandburg," Jim replied coldly and knelt down by the corpse.

The words cut through Blair's body like a sword. He felt his aching heart start to bleed, and his own anger and pain returning. Swallowing hard, he knew Jim could hear his heartbeat, the thunder inside him, and Blair struggled to calm his emotions.

"Are your senses picking up anything?" the police observer inquired.

"Don't know." Jim inhaled deeply, the gust of air turning into a sharp exhale of breath as the overwhelming scent of blood and bodily fluids assaulted his sensitive nose. The Sentinel shuddered. "I can't." The statement barely left his mouth when a soothing touch of Blair's hand on his back helped him to relax and focus.

"I'm here, Jim. Listen to my voice and try again," Blair instructed gently, his hand never leaving the Sentinel's back. "Trust me," he whispered.

The detective closed his eyes. With the room deserted now, they could risk using his extraordinary abilities -- with Blair at his side, he dared to go as deep as possible. Jim's mouth opened slightly, his breathing becoming even... Concentrating on the hand on his back, the subtle stroking of Blair's warm fingers, Jim let his senses flow.

Blair's scent, Blair's touch, Blair's soothing voice. The sensual information led to vivid mental images in his head.

Blair's hair, Blair's eyes, Blair's body.

"Try to stay with me, Jim," the anthropologist misjudged the Sentinel's deep level of concentration. Rubbing Jim's back, Blair stepped closer.

In Jim's secret dream, the smaller hand traveled further, massaging his taunt shoulder muscles. A second hand joined its mate, doubling the caress. From behind the hands roamed over his shoulder, collar bone, and into the opening of his shirt. Nipples grew hard at the subtle tweaking and rubbing. He imagined a gasp escaping his mouth as Blair carefully pinched the sensitive nub. Desire raged through Jim's body, starting in his throbbing little peaks, surging into his groin. The mane of dark curls tickled his face as Blair bent over, kissing his face and searching for his mouth. The hands never left their targets, long fingers twirled his nipples, teasing, pleasing and making him writhe with pleasure. For a second, the magnificent ministrations ceased, and Jim was about to utter a complaint. However, he watched with fascination and growing need when Blair probed Jim's lips with his index finger, inducing the detective to invite the digit. Licking and sucking greedily, the loss was overwhelming once the finger withdrew again. Jim opened his mouth to protest weakly. Moments later though, the finger, slick with his own saliva, moistened his nipples. Blair's mouth came down on his while squeezing the erect nub.

"Jim?! Hey, Jim... Come back to me, listen to my voice....," the concerned voice of his Guide penetrated the fog of his day dream. The roaming hand on his back increased its motions, trying frantically to bring him out of what must seem to Blair as a zone-out. "Breathe, man, deep and steady... Yes, slowly... Now come back to me."

Feeling the sudden tenderness in his groin, his balls tightening dangerously, the Sentinel followed his partner's instructions. Inhale, exhale, concentrate, breathe... Jim opened his eyes.

"Jim? Are you with me now?" Blair knelt beside him, watching him with those incredible, keen blue eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm okay," Jim shook his head to clear the erotic cobwebs.

"Did you pick something up?" Blair asked, his hand supporting Jim's back as the older man stood up.

Jim sighed. He hadn't needed to try anymore and pick up more clues at this crime scene. He knew who'd done this. Everything was so clear all of a sudden; the detective could've burst out into hysterical laughter at the fact he hadn't seen it before.

"Yes, thanks, Chief," Jim replied.

Blair let his hand fall and turned around. "Okay, I guess you can tell Simon without me, right? Gotta get some work done at the U."

The police observer left the room. He'd accomplished his job helping Jim with his senses. Like he'd promised three years ago.

They'd laughed, enjoying the ordeal he suffered, making fun of every whimper or gasp of pain. His hands were tied up behind his back - in handcuffs judging from the cold metal. Agony shot through his body with each movement. Ropes encircled his ankles, bringing his burned and beaten thighs together. Cold air brushed over his skin; he shivered and his teeth clattered against the gag in his mouth.

Moving. Vibrations. Darkness. The different sensations confused his mind, causing nausea to torment his empty stomach. He was in a moving vehicle. A car? A van? The man tried to extract more information from his environment, but before he could muster enough strength, he was lifted up. A gust of wind, an ice-cold breeze swept over his exposed body. Hinges squeaked. Traffic. Cars.

Instinctively, the man wanted to reach out, to extend his arms stopping the violent impact his body would be subjected to any second. Trapped in his restraints, the man grunted once as he hit the asphalt.

Darkness claimed him. Finally.

Five days earlier...

Of course, no one believed him. That is - no one would've believed him, if he told anybody. Jim had debated about tell Simon or Sandburg what he'd found out at the Franklin crime scene. But with only his unique senses providing evidence, it would be impossible to make his story believable. Surely, the two men would believe him, but what then? It was far-fetched at best for any outsider, and even Ellison was only following a hunch, his instincts - and his memories.

The medical report had proven Dan Wolfe's initial statement. Clifford Franklin had died of extreme blood loss due to severe injuries in his digestive track. Lab analysis found traces of gun power in the remains of the man's ripped off anus where barrel had been brutally inserted and fired.

Jim knew.

Franklin's killers, or, singular, killer, eventually had made the mistake that would reveal his face. Nothing else, the ransom notes to the victim's family, the phone calls, would've led to him. A perfect crime - with simply the wrong method of execution.

Needling his truck through the rush hour traffic of Cascade, Jim swallowed hard, memories racing back to him like they had so often these last few weeks. He felt the searching glance of his partner resting on his face, but the detective wasn't ready to offer an explanation as to where they were heading. Blair simply stared making the older man ponder if he were purposefully trying to make him uncomfortable. A bitter smile played at the corner of Jim's mouth. The anthropologist was probably adding mental notes to his thesis.

The cold barrel of a gun.

Black metal, shining in the soft light. Polished for the mere task it was used for ten years ago - and probably even today should an interrogation go wrong or didn't bring satisfying results. Who knew?

The long shaft probed the poor captive's ass, first touching the quivering cheeks, tracing the delicate cleft, and finally tickling the spasming orifice with the hard breath of its deadly promise. Eyes wide with horror, the once strong voice reduced to weeping, pleading little sounds. For a last time, the question was asked, a whisper into the prisoner's ears. The gun prodded deeper, causing a tiny trickle of blood, and emphasizing the seriousness of the threat. Once the trigger was cocked, Peter McAllister had screamed out his horror, the information pouring out of his mouth in sheer panic.

Fear could work miracles. The trigger was never actually been pulled. They'd never intended to. Just... a sick way to reach the goal.

And now?

Revenge was sweet.

//...like love.// Jim abruptly stomped on the brakes at a red light. Beside him, Blair jerked forward in the seatbelt, those damn soft curls flying around his head.

Holding onto the dashboard, the young man threw him a look the Sentinel couldn't quite read. Annoyance mingled with the threat of laughter and pity perhaps. "So, care to tell me what we are going to do?" Blair asked calmly, relaxing back into the passenger seat.

"We're gonna have a little talk with a suspect." Turning left, Jim pulled the truck into a halt. The engine died in the same instant Jim released his seatbelt.

Blair raised his eyebrows. "Where? Here?" The police observer looked around, discovering nothing that would deserve the detective's scrutiny.

"Over there," Jim pointed to the entrance of The Cascade Towers, one of the city's first-class hotels. "Stay here, if you want," Ellison offered, mockery coloring his voice. He opened the driver's door.

"You wish...," Blair muttered and climbed out of the truck, following his partner into the noble hotel.

Continued in part two.

Actions

Kudos

grlewis, BashfulMangaka, Lady_Bex, mvernet, TotsieBee, aimaru, cr8zymommy, and Tamarrion as well as 7 guests left kudos on this work!

Comments

Sorry, the Archive doesn't allow guests to comment right now.

Archive of Our Own^beta

Actions

Work Header

Cop of the Year

Montserrat [archived by 852_Prospect_Archivist]

Summary:

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

Cop of the Year

Actions

Kudos

Comments

Footer

About the Archive

Contact Us

Development