Author's webpage: http://www.skeeter63.org/~k9kennel/

Author's disclaimer: PetFly not me, they get any money, I get the joy of dreaming about these two special men. Donald Bellasario owns Magnum PI. But I always wanted to play with Thomas.

Author's notes: Discussion of rape, does not occur "on screen" so to speak, but it did happen prior to when this story takes place. This is a result of the recent discussion about Garrett Kincaid and how he appeared to "appreciate" Blair in Three Point Shot. It is not an AU, but a PU, kind of. Takes place four months after Four Point Shot and contains minor spoilers. In this story, no other episodes occured.

Warnings: Angst, h/c

Homeward Bound
by alyjude

Deputy District Attorney Beverly Sanchez looked up from her paperwork as the private door swung open. The tall, very handsome man who walked in as if he owned the place, smiled at her, folded his lanky frame into the chair opposite her desk, slid down, crossed his unsocked ankles, hooked his hands behind his head and waited.

"You're early, Thomas."

"Nope, it's two o'clock, on the dot. You lost track of the time ~ again."

She gave a quick glance at her rolex and grinned. "Damn, you're right."

His smile broadened, and he waited. She reached over, plucked up a file folder and handed it off to him. He took it, opened it and began to read. When he was done, he let it drop back onto the desk, slid back down and again, waited.

"I need you to find this young man, serve him, and bring him back to Cascade. His testimony will be key to the Kincaid trial."

"Let me get this straight. Kincaid breaks out of jail, holds an entire stadium hostage, on National television, you have two dead bodies, thousands of witnesses, and several famous basketball players as additional witnesses, and yet you need this, Blair Sandburg?"

Beverly studied the man sitting across from her, took in the casual attire, jeans, polo shirt, loafers, no socks, took in the handsome features, the slight graying of the temples, and the hazel eyes, studying her. Thomas Sullivan Magnum, the best investigator she'd ever worked with, and she was damn glad he'd decided to re-locate from Hawaii to Washington, but sometimes he could be deliberately obtuse. Like now.

"Thomas, you read the papers, right? You know as well as I do, that Kincaid could walk. He has three of the most successful and powerful attorneys in the United States. And Preston Crawford isn't alive to defend himself, or to give us the truth. But Blair Sandburg is. And can. I need him. We need him."

"I'm still in the dark here. Enlighten me."

"I have it on good authority that his legal team will be working on more than their insanity defense. A little bird has been twirping that they are also working on a conspiracy theory, starring none other than Blair Sandburg and Preston Crawford. If their plan works, Kincaid walks in less than two years."

"And if this Sandburg is a part of some conspiracy?"

"Thomas, I know Blair. He's a good man, and was as much a victim as the others. He was a hostage, nothing more. I need you to go to San Francisco, find him and bring him back. And we don't have a great deal of time. Thanks to some heavy lobbying by the stalwart defenders of the oppressed, the trial has been moved up to the end of September."

"Why San Francisco?"

"Blair left Cascade three weeks after the stadium incident. Detective James Ellison, who'd been his room mate, gave me the one letter he'd received, with Blair's current address. There have been no further communications, so that address is your starting point."

"He left just after the stadium takeover? And that doesn't sound suspicious?"

"I don't ~ know what happened, and no one over at Major Crimes, where Sandburg acted as a consultant, is talking. Maybe they don't know."

"Ticket?"

She opened her middle drawer, pulled an American Airline envelope and handed it to him.

"You're flight leaves in two hours. Pack light."

Magnum folded the ticket and slipped it into his back pocket then stood and gave her a mock salute, followed by, "Aye, aye, Captain."

She grinned and waved him out with an affectionate, "Shoo" and as the door closed behind him, she turned her head to look out on her city.

Why had Blair left Cascade? She desperately hoped that bringing Sandburg back, was the right thing to do. So much depended on him.

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"Jim, coffee?"

"No, thanks, I'm fine. What's up, Simon?"

"Sit, Jim, sit."

Ellison looked at his boss, saw the wary expression, the fatigue, and sat. This was going to be bad. But then, hadn't everything been bad since Sandburg had left?

"Spit it out, Simon."

"Just talked with Beverly Sanchez. She's sending an investigator to San Francisco, to locate Blair."

Jim's heart actually skipped a beat. But outwardly, his expression didn't change.

"And?"

"Thought you'd like to know. The case, the Kincaid trial, seems to be getting a bit ~ complicated."

"An insanity plea is always complicated. They don't have a prayer."

"Beverly seems to feel that they do, they could have, a prayer. More than a prayer. It seems, there is a theory floating around, a theory that puts Blair right in the middle of the whole thing."

Jim gave a tight smile at that and asked, "Blair? In on a conspiracy? With Kincaid? Who thought that one up?"

"Jim, I don't have the facts, Beverly doesn't have the facts. But Blair was alone with Kincaid, after he and Daryl were seperated."

Jim stood then, and some of the anger of those past days, reared up now. Anger at Simon, anger at himself.

"You think that just because Sandburg took Daryl with him, risked his life, that he could have been involved, in any way, with Kincaid? Because if you do, you're not the man I thought I knew."

"That's not what I'm saying. I'm saying he was alone, and therefore could have heard things, saw things, that Beverly can use. I know I was angry with Blair, hell, it's been four months and I'm still angry, but no, I don't for a minute believe that he was involved in any ridiculous conspiracy."

Jim seemed to calm down, but his body language said, "tense".

"Anything else, Captain?"

Simon looked at his friend, and felt an overwhelming sorrow, but he just shook his head and watched Jim walk out.

God, what had gone so terribly wrong? Yes, he'd been angry. Violently angry that Blair had risked his son, and Jim had seemed to understand, but then, after three weeks of being shut out of Major Crimes, while he, Simon Banks, tried to calm down, to forgive, Blair had left the loft, had left Cascade. And in four months, Jim had received one letter. A letter saying he'd settled in San Francisco, that everything was fine, and thanking Jim for three great years. That was it. And now, a trio of friendships, gone.

Simon looked down at the work on his desk, his eyes seeing nothing. Had he been so wrong? In his anger? An anger that had left the lives of two men in shreds. And his own, a mere shadow of what it once had been. Joan had taken Daryl to Portland, Oregon, where her family lived, and Simon would be lucky to see him twice a year now. The only bright spot in this whole trial business was that Daryl would be coming back, to testify.

He rubbed his suddenly exhausted eyes, grabbed up a cigar and chomped down. He'd have to face Sandburg. And soon.

And Jim hadn't been a Sentinel for four months.

Because he'd lost his guide.

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The end of the day, and a drive home that Jim didn't remember. He'd obviously made it safely, but whether he'd made it legally? He didn't have a clue.

The meeting with Simon had shook him. Someone was going to San Francisco for Blair. And it wasn't him. It should have been, but it wasn't. He should have gone after him. Four months ago he should have gone after him, but Simon's anger, his own ineffectual behavior in the face of that anger, all combined to render him useless. Directionless. Numb.

He'd been an asshole. He'd let Bank's anger destroy Blair, but he'd been so sure it would die down, and he'd been so afraid that Simon would pull Blair's pass that he'd gone along with the Major Crimes exile that had been imposed on Sandburg. Big mistake.

And now, no Blair. Empty extra bedroom, empty refrigerator, empty bathroom, empty ~ heart.

He cringed at the last words Simon had said to Blair, so much like his own, after discovering the truth about Alex.

"I don't want to see your face in this building, Sandburg, what you did destroyed any trust I'd placed in you. I suggest you leave before I decide to pull your observer status."

He closed his eyes, saw Blair's face, literally stricken, jaw quivering with supressed emotion, hands shaking, body trembling. And the shock. Complete, utter shock. And that shock inflamed Simon as he let out with more stinging words, more and yet more, until finally, Blair moved out, head down, through the department doors, looking neither right nor left, to the elevator, then down and out. He never set foot inside the Cascade Police Department again.

Three weeks later, he'd told Jim it was over, that he knew he would never be accepted in Major Crimes again, that it was time he moved on, that to stay would only hurt Jim. They'd talked, with Jim trying to convince him that Simon's anger would end, and he'd thought he'd succeeded, until he'd come home on Sunday, from the gym, and found Blair gone, a note taped to the fridge, telling him it was for the best, that they'd been moving in this direction since Alex, and that he'd let him know when he settled, that he'd hoped they could still be friends. Somehow. And that if Jim needed any help, Blair would be there.

One week later, a letter from San Francisco. And nothing since.

Jim let it happen. He'd let it all just happen. The story of his life. Events moving around him, and if he couldn't control them? He just let them happen. For the best. For - the - best.

No more Sentinel of the Great City.

But now, maybe Blair would be coming back, and maybe Jim could stop "just letting things happen", tell Blair how he felt, try to start over with his friend, the friend he'd come to realize, too late, that he loved dearly. The friend he couldn't live without. Couldn't function without.

Maybe, now, Blair would come home.

The noise, the smoke, the music, were all getting on Sandburg's nerves tonight. He should be used to it, but for some reason, it was working it's way under his skin, inside his brain, like a sharp knife, twisting, turning, ripping him up, leaving him breathless in the pain.

"One scotch and soda, one martini, and one Long Island Ice Tea."

The voice belonged to Terry Weber, one of the waiters. Blair's hands automatically moved to bottles, glasses, ice, mixing, and then placing the requested drinks on the tray in front of him.

"Hey, Blair, you okay?"

He looked up and into concerned brown eyes, nodded, smiled and turned to a customer, who was yelling over the din, "TWO MAI TAI'S", Terry shrugged and moved out with his order.

Two more hours, just two more hours before end of shift. So why did he feel this strange, overwhelming need to run? Run far, and run deep? Like something was coming, something he didn't want, something ~ horrible? And yet....at the same time, a strange, excitement?

His mother would say it was the energy around him, negative energy, that he was feeling and that until he came to terms with it? Things would never feel right again. How true. He definitely had tons of negative energy, but he had come to terms with it. Come to terms with the event. Sort of. Okay, he could no longer interact with anyone, outside of a work environment, and so what if he walked, always walked, now with head down, not meeting any gaze, not looking at people. So what if he barely spoke to anyone? So what if he'd suddenly developed a slight stutter. He had come to terms with it.

And so what if he wasn't anyone he knew? He existed, he worked, he functioned. Hell, you couldn't ask for more than that. Well, maybe, a dog? He could use a dog. Maybe tomorrow, his day off, he'd go to the pound, get a dog. Something warm, sweet, friendly, just for him, loving him. Yeah, a dog. Do away with the negative energy, get a dog.

He felt instantly better. He had a plan now. Something to do for his day off. And the pet shop, buy stuff, like food, a bed, toys, flea collar. Maybe he should right this stuff down? Before he forgot? He forgot a lot of things lately, yeah, he'd right it down.

His own dog. A pet. Had he ever had one? He thought, as he mixed another set of drinks, as he smiled, nodded at a customer, no, he was sure not. No pet. Too many moves. Naomi's allergies. Wait, hadn't there been a hamster? Or was that a rat? A rabbit? He shook his head, didn't matter, he'd soon have a dog.

Felt good making a decision.

How much longer til end of shift? Oh, yeah, two hours. He could make it, he always did. And tomorrow, a dog. Maybe a retriever? Or a Lab? Nah, too big for his little apartment. Okay, a terrier of some kind. He'd heard those Jack Russel Terriers were great pets. Or maybe, just a mutt, like him. A mutt would need him. People didn't like mutts, they never adopted mutts. Okay, another decision made. He'd get a mutt.

Two more hours.

Magnum looked at the piece of paper in his hand to confirm the address. He glanced up at the several flights of stairs and remembered just what it was about San Francisco he'd never liked - the eternal stairs. He sighed and started climbing. He was fifty-four, in good shape, but he just knew that by the time he reached the top, he'd be fifty-six, at least. A guy could get a nose bleed climbing this high, and just how many flights was this, anyway?

Huffing and puffing, he did finally reach the top and checking the mailboxes he located number 3C and immediately sighed again, because of course, 3A was the ground floor, 3B was the second floor and 3C was the third floor - and no elevator. Steeling himself, he started up the new steps, wondering what the age of sixty would feel like, as he'd be there very soon. But finally, a blue door.

3C - Danny Pritchard

No Blair Sandburg listed on the door. Magnum knocked and after a few seconds the door was cracked open and one green eye peered out at him.

"Yeah?"

"I'm looking for Blair Sandburg? He does live here, right?"

The eyes, which a moment ago had looked merely tired, and slightly interested, now closed off, as if the man had pulled down a set of blinds.

"Used to - moved." The man started to shut the door.

"My name is Thomas Magnum, I work with the Cascade District Attorney's Office and it's urgent I reach Mr. Sandburg." In the old days, he'd have obfuscated, tried the old, "I owe him money" gambit, but he was older, wiser and really didn't have the time for games. He pulled out his wallet and flashed his ID, and added, "Mr. Sandburg is needed to testify in a very important case, so I really need to locate him. Can you help?"

The door opened wider.

"Testify? Blair?" Pritchard asked, incredulously.

Magnum could see the battle waging across the freckled face, so he kept his eyes on Pritchard, showing only sincerity. Finally, "Just a minute, I'll get you his new address", and with those words, the door was shut.

Just as the investigator had begun to believe that he'd been royally flim-flamed, the door opened again and Pritchard stuck out a piece of paper.

"It's not far from here, just a couple of blocks and today is his day off. He'll be there, he doesn't ~ go out much."

Magnum took the paper, thanked the young man, and turned to go, but Pritchard's voice stopped him.

"You better be telling the truth, man, cause Blair has real friends here and if you're lying or you hurt him? San Francisco will be the last city you ever see." The words were spoken quietly, but with great intensity and Magnum didn't doubt them for a minute. He nodded and walked away, wondering at the kind of man who could instill that kind of loyalty and protectiveness.

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Blair stood in the middle of his tiny apartment, hands on hips, trying to look stern as he gazed down at the small, brown, furry mop that sat staring adoringly up at him.

"You.....ate my s-shoe. You ate my shoe."

The furball cocked it's head at the sweet tone, then promptly stood, squatted and did his duty on the rug. Blair's eyes widened at this newest assault on his home, then melted as the small animal finished, looked up, beamed, then trotted clumsily over and plopped down on Blair's bare foot.

Remembering the words of the handler at the pound, telling him to be firm, to keep his tone neutral, he stooped, picked up the bundle and holding it away from his face, trying not to laugh at the pink tongue trying so hard to clean his face, he immediately showed him the "wet spot" on the rug, said a firm, "No", then walked over to the back door, and pushed the mutt gently through the newly installed doggie door and out onto the small patch of grass that had come with this particular apartment.

He watched through the window as the dog sat there, clearly confused, and Blair held his breath and was rewarded as the pup turned, padded over to the grass and squatted again

"YES-S!", he exclaimed and quickly joined the puppy, cooing and praising him, then scooped him up into waiting arms and allowed the tongue to bathe him, kissing the soft fur in response.

"Good poochie, very good doggie," he continued the lavish praise as he moved them both back indoors and sat down on the couch, tickling and petting, the puppy now delirious with joy, paws batting at his fingers, tongue still trying to reach his face.

"I really must-t name you, uh?" And he looked at the dog, at it's short, brown fur, strong, long puppy body, and the name came to him...."Joey. How's that? Joey Sandburg?" The brown head tilted, listening, then the tail thumped madly and Blair's pet became Joey Sandburg.

The two played a brief tug-of-war with Blair's shirt cuff, and just as the pup's eyes lit on Blair's earrings, the doorbell rang.

Keeping Joey tucked under his arm, he opened the door to a tall, handsome man in his early fifties.

"Blair Sandburg?"

"Yes-s."

"My name is Thomas Magnum and I work with Beverly Sanchez", Magnum didn't believe he'd need to say more, and judging by the young man's expression at Beverly's name, he was right. The door swung all the way open, as Blair pushed the screen door out to allow Magnum to enter.

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The first thought that Magnum had was that Blair Sandburg looked "nothing" like the picture he carried in his shirt pocket. A picture that showed a clearly ebullient Sandburg, huge grin on his handsome face, energy evident even in a one dimensional photo, surrounding the compact, muscular body, and most telling, the strange, erotic mixture of ancient wisdom, maturity beyond his chronological age, and youthful mischief radiating from incredible blue eyes.

The man who stood before him now, was so still, so ~ "immobile", he could have been the photograph, and the eyes, so expressive in the picture, were now almost, blank, or maybe, "shuttered" would be a better word. A simplicity seemed to be the only thing visible in those eyes, and without a glimmer of the intelligence so evident in the photo. This man gave no feeling of strength, rather, an extreme sense of "fraility" surrounded him, as if the slightest breeze would blow him away, and Magnum found himself feeling very protective, almost, fanatically protective toward this vulnerable young man.

Only Magnum's daughter, Lily, had ever brought out this protective streak so ferociously, until now.

Blair offered him a seat, with a movement of his hand and Magnum sat, his eyes watching the interplay between man and dog, and a twitching started around his mouth and soon blossomed into a full grin.

"New puppy?"

Blair put Joey down and walked carefully over to the chair opposite the couch, carefully because Joey was trying to walk on his feet, as he answered, "yes-s, new, yest-terday."

No one had told him about a stutter, and he was surprised, after all, the man had been a teacher, and a very good one, by all accounts. How the hell would this go over with a jury?

"You don't seem surprised that I'm here, Blair. May I call you Blair?"

"Yes. And no, I'm n-not. I read."

"So you were expecting someone?"

Blair just nodded, having already said more to this man than he had to any other human in weeks.

Thomas felt the subponea in his pocket, and at that moment, he knew he wouldn't use it. Couldn't use it. Not on this wounded man, because that was what he was, one of the walking wounded, and he'd seen that haunted expression too many times not to recognize it.

The puppy had somehow managed to "crawl" up Blair's pant leg and was now curled up in his lap and sound asleep. Blair's hand was absently petting the furcoat, allowing the action to calm him, to ready him for what he knew was now inevitable, his return to Cascade.

"Beverly want-ts me to....t-testify?"

"Yes. I'm afraid so, but I'm sure we can do without, somehow."

Blair's head tilted, as he looked at his visitor, puzzling at his new words. "You fly all t-this way, t-to not use - me?"

Caught. Redhanded. To cover his discomfort, he stood and walked around, looking at the items on shelves, at the books, on Anthropology and Police Science, on artifacts, gracing the walls, and he knew Blair was watching him, gauging him, so he walked over to one set of shelves, noting the several framed pictures, one of which was a copy to the one he had in his pocket. He looked at each photo, saw Blair and another man, fishing, saw several men, in tux's, at a racetrack, saw a few of a younger Blair, obviously on expeditions, and then his eyes stopped, froze, on one picture. A picture of a young woman, maybe 16 or 17 years of age, with long red hair, sitting under a tree, an open book on her lap, smiling for the camera.

Naomi.

Blair had a picture of Naomi. Controlling his voice, he asked, "Who is this?"

"My mother."

Of course, his mother. Naomi. Blair.

He could no more have stopped the questions, than he could have stopped breathing.

"Do you know when this was taken, and where?"

"I t-think, Maryland. Summer, 1968."

But of course, Thomas "knew" that. He'd taken the picture.

August and September, 1968. Two months of wonder, of passion, of love. With a woman named Naomi, Naomi Iris. And then, the Naval Academy and she was gone. And he'd suffered through his first broken heart. His first real love. His "only" real love.

He turned to the man, sitting in a deathly stillness, watching him and he felt the words come, words he didn't even want to stop.

"When were you born?"

And Blair, a frown knitting his forehead, answered, "May, 1969."

Thomas turned back to the picture, picked up, turned around and said, "I took this picture. But she wasn't Naomi Sandburg. We had two months together. August through September. I left for the Naval Academy on October 3, 1968. She was devastated, so certain I wouldn't go, but I had to and I hoped she'd understand, but she ~ didn't. I never saw her again."

If it was possible, Blair's body became even more still as he said, "Iris. She t-told me once, she used her favorit-te flower, the iris, as her last name."

Blair glanced down at the puppy, whuffling in it's sleep, then back up to the tall man standing at his bookshelf. "I never knew my.....fat-ther. She said she didn't-t know, who.....".

"We were together for two months, Blair. No one else, just Naomi and me."

"I was conceived in late September, according to Naomi."

Magnum's legs would no longer hold him, and he collapsed onto the chair, behind him. Naomi, Blair, his ~ son? Yes, his ~ son. Had to be. Could be argued, but he knew. There were blood tests, but he also knew they would be unnecessary, a simple phone call, to Naomi. But for him, even that wasn't needed. He knew.

He looked at his son and smiled, a gentle, experimental smile, then waited.

"What-t should I say?"

"What are you thinking?"

"T-that I seem to have found my father. Should I call Naomi?"

"Not for me, Blair. I don't need the call. Other than to talk.....with her."

"T-this was....quick. One minut-te, testifying, the next, a picture, a fat-ther."

"Yes, quick. But I couldn't not say, not tell you, I'm, glad, you see?"

The curly head dropped down, the voice, muffled, "won't be."

Thomas sat forward, concern written in every line of his body, as he asked, "What? What did you say, Blair?"

"Won't-t be. Glad."

Blair stood suddenly, and with a burst of manic energy began to circle his apartment, Joey chasing after him, Blair's arms waving at his surroundings.

"I'm not-t anyone you would-d be glad to know, now, t-this is who I am. And you don't-t know me, can't know.....me."

Thomas was up and by Blair's side in one long stride, his hands on Blair's shoulders. "Wrong, I do know you, I'm an investigator, I made it my business to know the man I was sent to bring back to Cascade. And I'm glad. That isn't going to change."

Blair shook his head in resignation, because he knew it would change, would have to change, once he testified, but in the meantime, he'd pretend, hold onto this for awhile, luxuriate in having a "father", and maybe, when the trial was over and he was back here, the feeling would keep him going, keep him alive a bit longer.

"When d-do we leave?"

The change of subject threw Magnum for a loop, but he bounced back and answered, "Blair, we have time. Time to get to know one another a bit better, and you don't really need to come back, I'm sure we can handle the case without your testimony." But of course, he wasn't. He hoped Beverly would understand, would see that Blair testifying was not the thing to do, but if not, then he'd be there with him, making it as easy as possible.

Joey had started to whimper, probably at being ignored for so long, so he was quickly gathered up in Blair's arms and cuddled to his chest as Blair looked at Magnum and smiled, shyly, and asked, "Where are you st-taying?"

"I have reservations at the Hyatt, downtown."

Blair stroked Joey, who'd managed to turn over so his tummy was within rubbing range, and without looking up, said, "You could-d stay....here, couch, folds out-t, kinda comfortable."

"I'd like that, Blair. I'd like that very much. Let me go down and get my bag and then we'll get this "getting to know each other" stuff started."

He was back in minutes, his garment bag over his shoulder. Blair smiled and asked, "Okay, so where d-do you want to start?"

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Cascade, Wa.

Jim Ellison sat in front of the television, remote clicking aimlessly, eyes focused but not seeing. He was not really there, at that moment, but rather, he was in a place he'd been frequenting a great deal lately - the past. Reliving moments, words, laughter. Remembering a particular laugh, a laugh that could move through his body, like some magical elixir, sending pleasure waves from the top of his head all the way to the bottom of his feet. And a voice, with words that could mean nothing and everything, a voice that could warm Jim Ellison like a toasty fire in December, with snow billowing outside, and nothing but heat and safety inside.

The loft darkened as night came, and still, the Sentinel, who was no longer a Sentinel, sat, unmoving, living only in his mind, smiling and nodding as he heard that voice and responded to it, as if it still resided there, with him, instead of in his memory.

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San Francisco, Ca.

The park was nearly empty, with only a few joggers and one or two couples occupying blankets, enjoying a picnic inspite of the complete absence of the sun.

Thomas sat at one of the park tables, a plate of leftover Chinese food in front of him, taking some bites every now and then, but enjoying the antics of Blair and Joey more than the food.

Blair was on the grass, Joey crouched a few feet away, in harness and leash, but watching Blair's socked toe, as it waved and invited a thorough pouncing, which, if Joey's butt was any indication, would be forthcoming. Thomas wasn't disappointed, as with one last wiggle of his butt, Joey pounced and with small teeth, latched onto the toe, to the joy of Blair. They tussled a bit more, but finally Blair scooped him up and joined Thomas at the table.

He swung a leg over the bench, grabbed a juice bottle, twisted off the cap and swigged some down, then placed the puppy on the grass under the bench, where he quickly fell asleep, spreadeagled, content, with his head on Blair's foot.

They'd had twenty-four hours together, and in that time, Blair had learned everything about his father, including the fact that Blair had a sister, Lily, who was a student at Rainier. He knew about his naval days, his time as a private investigator in Hawaii, living on the estate belonging to a favorite author of Blair's, Robin Masters, and he learned about his friends, about how he'd finally found his daughter, and about the two months spent with Naomi.

But Thomas had yet to learn anything significant about Blair, other than what he'd already known. Blair had been an anthropologist, an observer for the Cascade Police Department, and a teacher. And now he worked at a club, the Deep Six, two blocks west of the Castro District. Not good for an investigator with almost twenty years in the business.

"Your boss going to be okay with this time off?"

"Yeah, he's cool. Besides, I work several shift-ts, for some of t-the guys, they'll cover me."

Magnum's pocket began to "ring" at that moment, and with an apologetic smile, he reached in and pulled out his cellphone and hit send.

"Magnum."

//I hope you've found him, because they just got the trial moved up to this Friday//

"Hello to you too, Beverly. And yes, I'm with him now. And I'll call you later." With that, he hung up before Beverly could say anything else.

"Bev-erly?"

"Um, yes. The trial has been moved again. To this Friday."

Blair immediately began stuffing containers back into the duffel bag, knowing his time with his father was over.

"Blair, there's no rush."

"We both know t-there is. Friday and t-today is Wednesday."

He had no choice, he began to help and moments later, with a now wide awake Joey taking the lead, they went back to the car.

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Magnum pulled up in front of Blair's apartment house, shut down and turned to his son.

"I'm going to take Joey for a bit of a walk, we'll be in shortly, okay?"

Blair wasn't fooled, he knew his father was going to call Beverly back as soon as he left the car. He nodded, grabbed the bag and slipped out of the car. He didn't look back.

Thomas watched as Blair went inside, then he pulled out his phone again, punched in Beverly's number and she answered on the second ring.

//Magnum, this better be you//

"It is. I couldn't talk with Blair sitting right next to me. Why didn't you tell me about the stutter?"

//Stutter? What stutter? What the hell are you talking about?//

"Blair's stutter. He's in no shape to testify, Beverly. And what the hell happened to him in Cascade? He's so ~ fragile, a stiff breeze would break him apart."

//Jesus, that's not the Blair Sandburg I know. He could talk you silly, but no stutter, ever. And he has to testify now. I've received some information, and don't ask about my source, that they have tied Blair to Crawford, and that Blair had sex with Kincaid, that that was how he controlled Kincaid, in order to milk Crawford's company out of all that money. It will be Blair's word against Kincaids. We need him//

"Fuck. Beverly, you don't believe any of that, do you?"

//I've told you where I stand regarding Blair. But do I hear a change of tune with you?//

"I....know him, now."

//Well, then, you must want to protect his reputation as much as I do, not to mention keeping Kincaid off the streets. You're booked for American Airlines Flight 216, leaving SFO at six o'clock, arriving here at eight thirty. I'll meet you. I've made reservations for Blair at the Connaught//

"Cancel the Connaught, he'll stay with me."

He could almost hear Beverly's sigh of relief.

//See you at eight thirty. And my office, tomorrow at ten//

He disconnected and looked up at the apartment house. There was too much he still didn't know about his son. He got out and as promised, took Joey for his short walk.

<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^

Beverly Sanchez cradled the phone and pondered what Thomas had said. Blair Sandburg, frail? Never. Not the man she'd known. And a stutter? What the hell had happened to him? She shivered as she thought of spending any time alone with Garett Kincaid, and wondered for the hundredth time why Kincaid had kept Blair but sent Daryl to join his father. Why? It didn't make sense. And then to release them all? All except Blair? Maybe she'd have some answers tomorrow.

She gazed down at her witness list. Short, but impressive. And tomorrow, Daryl Banks was her nine o'clock deposition. Maybe he could shed some additional light on all of this, before her appointment with Blair.

<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^

Walter Turnbull considered the man sitting across from his desk, in his corner office of the Turnbull Building.

"Are you certain about this information?"

"Absolutely. Professor Sanderson worked with Sandburg at Rainier and Crawford requested specifically, to meet Sandburg on not one, but two seperate occassions. And yes, Sandburg was fired, for failing to turn in his dissertation and for absenteeism."

Turnbull templed his fingers and nodded, a small, tight smile appearing. It couldn't be better if Sandburg really had been in a conspiracy with Preston Crawford. As it was, with the bits of information they'd accumulated, they would be able to shovel enough manure on Blair Sandburg that the jury would have to accept the insanity plea, the plea that Kincaid had been manuevered, had been a pawn in Preston Crawford's plan to "steal" money from his company, in the guise of paying off Kincaid during his takeover of the Stadium. This was just too good. Even if they found Blair Sandburg, what could he say? No, he hadn't been a part of it? And who would they believe, by the time the Defense was through with man?

"You'd better be right, Mitchell. Kincaid is paying us a great deal of money to ensure his freedom."

"It's foolproof, Walter, foolproof."

"Hope so, hope so. Dismissed."

<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^

San Francisco, Ca.

Thomas watched Blair pack, watched the economy of movement, watched as only necessities went into the one duffel bag, and then watched as the bag with Joey's "stuff" was nearly filled to bulging. It had taken some phone calls, but the end result was that Joey was going with them, in a special carrier, and up front with them.

He was worried about Blair, who hadn't said anything to him, since he'd come back inside, who'd only spoken to Joey, but who'd taken one look at his face and had gone into his room and started to pack.

"Why did you name him Joey?"

The hands never stopped, as more toys were stuffed into the bag, but he answered, "Seemed-d t-to fi-t-t."

Shit, the stutter was worse.

"You don't mind staying with me, do you? Beverly had reservations for the Connaught, but I told her, you'd be staying with me."

Blair stopped then and lifted his head, searching Magnum's face, and finally just nodding.

"Well, looks like we're ready. Cascade, here we come."

He hefted the duffel bag over his shoulder, picked up his own garment bag and watched as Blair carefully took the carrier and Joey's bag and followed him out of the room, out of the apartment and back to the car.

They had one stop to make, to the Deep Six, so that Blair could collect his paycheck and tell his boss how long he thought he'd be gone, having warned him earlier of the possible need to go to Cascade to testify.

They made their flight easily and by six fifteen, were airborn, on their way to Cascade. And the closer they got, the smaller Blair seemed to get. He seemed to withdraw into himself, much like a turtle, and nothing Thomas could say or do, seemed to bring him out of it. So he just talked, talked about Lily, about Rick, T.C. and Higgins, about their many escapades, and other than one hand, the hand Blair kept inside Joey's cage, petting him, soothing him, there was no other sign that Blair even heard, or was even alive.

What the fuck had happened to Blair?

<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^

Cascade, Wa.

Beverly had meant them at the airport, and had barely managed to conceal her horror at Blair's appearance. She hugged him and felt bones even through his layers of clothing, and when he didn't speak, she looked covertly over at Magnum, who shrugged, and put the garment and duffel bag over his shoulder and guided them both out of the airport.

In the car, she'd explained that on Thursday, Blair would be deposed, and that she had him listed as the second witness for Friday. He'd just nodded and Beverly decided right then and there, that telling Blair anymore that night would be useless, so she made some reassuring noises, told him to get some rest and she'd see him in the morning. She'd also decided that depending on what happened the next day, she just might let Kincaid walk. That Magnum was right, Blair was in no shape to testify.

<^<^<^<^<^<^<^^<^<^<^<^<^<^^<^<^^<^<^<

Magnum opened the door to Beverly's office and with a hand on Blair's back, he guided him in, and watched in surprise as Beverly's Assistant, Marion Lee, immediately got up, went around her desk and with open arms, greeted Blair.

"Blair, it's so good to see you again. And you're too thin, young man. But we'll soon fix that up." She then gave him a big hug, as Blair mumbled a, "Marion, hi."

Marion waved to Thomas, indicating that he should go into Beverly's office.

"She's waiting for you. I'll keep Blair company until she's ready for him. Her nine o'clock was late."

He looked at the two of them, nodded and went inside.

"I have some chamomile, how would that be, Blair?"

"F-fine."

"Okay, you sit, make yourself comfortable and I'll be right back."

Blair took off his coat and sat in the chair by the door, which gave him a good view of Cascade. He gazed out at the vista before him, and realized that he was looking at the Cascade Police Department, that Jim was there, probably at his desk, talking with Megan or maybe Joel, and Blair could picture him, sitting there, smiling, a smile that Blair used to crack jokes just to see, a smile that transformed that granite surface into a warm, funny, inviting face, a smile that Blair had seen all too rarely, but that when it did come.......he abruptly turned away, plucked up a magazine, and pretended to read.

<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<

When Magnum walked into Beverly's office, it was to see a young man, of maybe seventeen, seated with a woman, obviously his mother and they were aruging.

"Please, Joan, this will go faster if I talk with Daryl alone, please?"

"Mom, go. Now. Wait outside."

The woman stood and addressed Beverly, "I'll wait outside, but if there's any problem......".

"Mrs. Banks, I'm not the enemy, remember? We're all here to ensure that Garett Kincaid stays behind bars. Daryl and I will be finished soon, I promise. And I have him scheduled for first thing. In and out. Easy."

Somewhat mollified, Joan Banks turned to go out the door Magnum had just come in, but Beverly stopped her.

"Mrs. Banks, you can wait in my private waiting room, right through this door. When we're done, I'll send him out to you."

Joan nodded and with a final look at her son, she walked out.

"Well, Thomas, have you met Daryl Banks?"

He moved in, hand outstretched, and they shook as Beverly introduced him.

"Thomas works for me, Daryl and he'll be sitting in on while we finish, if you don't mind?"

"No problem, and I apologize for my mother, but this has been very hard on her."

"I understand. Why don't we pick up from where we left off? You and Blair Sandburg had just seen your father taken prisoner by Garett Kincaid......".

Beverly hit the tape recorder as Daryl spoke.

"Yeah, Blair was watching, counting the men surrounding us, so I snuck away, figuring I could help my Dad, and that Blair would stop me. But I guess Blair came after me, cause I got into the back of the stadium, came around a corner, and ran smack into three of Kincaid's men. They didn't say anything, just aimed and were about to fire, when Blair flew out from the opposite hallway, and bowled them over, then he grabbed me and we ran. He was taking me back out, and I was angry at him, because I thought we should have been helping Dad, but then we came around another corner and smack into Kincaid and five of his men."

Daryl had to stop then, trying to control his breathing as he remembered so he didn't notice Beverly's face, or the surpirse now written so clearly on it. He looked up and grinned, somewhat selfconsciously, and at her smile and urging, he continued.

"Two men grabbed me, and two others grabbed Blair. Kincaid recognized us both, and he came up to me and said that he'd bet I'd want to be with my dad and I remember nodding, and he turned to Blair and said, "Ah, Mr. Natural, we meet again. But this time it'll be different." Then he told the two men to take me to my Dad, and they hustled me off, but just as we went around the corner, the one big guy, named Lomax, stopped and told the other one to wait, he'd be right back. And he went back to Kincaid and they talked."

Daryl seemed unable or unwilling to go any further, so Beverly tried to prompt him.

"Did you hear what they said, Daryl?"

The boy's head nodded, but still he didn't speak.

"What did they say?"

"Lomax asked.....when.....he should do it and Kincaid said as soon as he let all the spectators go, that was his cue to.......execute.....us."

The last word was the merest whisper.

Beverly was becoming a master at hiding her surprise, and she was surprised, because none of this was in any statement.

"Then what, Daryl," she asked gently.

"Lomax came back and I heard Blair, pleading with Kincaid, telling him he would be making a big mistake, that right now, maybe a lot of people were even on his side, but if he killed a young boy, and several basketball players, the world would turn against him. And Kincaid, I heard him ask if maybe he and Blair could negotiate, that obviously he had something Blair wanted, our freedom, and that Blair had something Kincaid wanted.....and that was all I heard, we were moving then, and I was with my Dad."

"Daryl, none of this is in any report."

"Dad did the report. And Mom took me, the next day and we went to Portland. Dad didn't believe there would ever be a trial."

Beverly nearly snorted. Typical Simon Banks. And she couldn't fault him, trying to protect his son.

"I never even got to say good-bye to Blair. And Dad and I never got a chance to talk. But of course, you had Blair's statement."

"I understand, Daryl. And don't worry. Tomorrow, I'll ask you, just like today, to tell the jury what you just told me. When were you released?"

"With the spectators. I was so certain we were going to die, but they opened the door and we walked out and there was Joel, and we were alive, and I told them Kincaid still had Blair, and I was so afraid that he'd killed Blair instead of us, maybe he was so mad, from last time....But Jim and the others caught up to Kincaid and Blair was okay. I just wish I could have talked with him, apologized, thanked him. I tried to call, but, well, I was settling in and Mom was a wreck and I was having nightmares again.....".

"It's okay, Daryl, I'm sure Blair understood. You did good. And don't worry about tomorrow. You'll do fine."

They talked a bit more, as Beverly clarified a few more facts, but finally she let Daryl rejoin his mother and she and Magnum sat there staring at each other.

"You were surprised more than once, Beverly, why?"

"Surprised that none of that was in any report and thus surprised by the information. How the hell did Blair talk Kincaid out of killing Banks, his son and the five players?"

"I don't know, but I don't like the sound of it, any of it. I think we're about to hear a few more surprises and maybe the answer to why Blair left Cascade."

And why he stutters now, and why he's a ghost of his former self, and Thomas Magnum, new father, had no doubt that the reasons would be more than he or Beverly wanted to hear.

"Marion? Would you send Blair in, we're ready for him now."

Blair entered Beverly's office and without a glance at his father, he sat down and waited.

"Blair, I'll try to make this as easy as possible, but you know the drill. Is there anything Marion can get for you, before we get started? Coffee, tea?"

"I'm f-fine. Let's just-t do it."

The stutter, as described by Thomas, was indeed noticeable, but oddly enough, it didn't detract from Blair, and might even enhance his testimony. Beverly almost shook in her seat as she realized what she'd just thought, and immediately chastised herself for being such a "lawyer" when she should have been thinking of Blair, not about how a stutter, a symptom, might make him a better witness. Sometimes, her zeal truly frightened her.

She brought herself sharply back to the task at hand as she marshalled her thoughts.

"I've already briefed Detective Ellison, Captain Banks, and the players, and you should know that the video of Garett Kincaid taking over the game has already been accepted and acknowledged by the Defense, and as they are not contesting Kincaid's actions, but rather the reasons behind his actions, we'll be dispensing with the dozens of witnesses we could have called." Beverly paused in her recitation, for both herself and Blair, knowing she was about to discuss the most difficult aspect of the Defense and their strategy. She fiddled with some papers in front of her, as she continued.

"The Defense is going to attempt to tie you in with Preston Crawford and," she took a deep breath, "and they are going to allow Kincaid to testify. Information has come our way, that says he will testify to having had sex....with ~ you."

Beverly had been twisting her pen around in her hand, but as she finished, she let it drop and made eye contact with Blair. He was staring at her, wide-eyed and pale, his breathing shallow. Sweat had started to bead up on his forehead, and one hand was convulsively knotting and unknotting on his leg.

"I've never - met-t Crawford. I'm sure. I think-k. He was very ~ generous t-to the Universit-ty, t-to the Archaeology and Anthropology Department-ts particularly. But-t I'm....fairly certain that I never met-t him." Blair stopped and looked, for the first time, at Magnum, then quietly added, without taking his eyes from his father's face, "I did-d. Have ~ sex, with Kinc-caid."

It took every ounce of willpower that Thomas Magnum possessed to keep from showing anything on his face but support. The horror and fear, he kept down, and the urge to take his son into his arms, he also pushed down and away, somehow knowing that Blair would not want that now. So he just nodded his encouragement and moved away from the window, where he'd been standing, and took the seat so recently vacated by Joan Banks.

Beverly was also struggling with her feelings and thoughts, and with the need to appear unphased by the confession just uttered by her star witness.

"Blair, maybe you'd better just tell us, in your own words, what happened that day?"

He returned his gaze to Sanchez and nodded.

For the first few minutes, his story paralleled Daryl's. But eventually he reached the moment when he and Daryl had been seperated and now, his voice, his body language, changed. His arms crossed his chest and he dropped his gaze from Beverly's, concentrating instead, on his legs.

"I t-tried to convince him, that-t killing Daryl, Simon and the players, was a bad thing....I'd been - handcuffed, and Kinc-caid pushed me against the wall, his knee between my legs...and asked-d me if.....I'd be willing t-to negotiate for their release."

For Beverly and Thomas, the room seemed to fall away, and through Blair's words and his voice, they were suddenly there, at the stadium, with Blair........

<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<

Blair felt the pain as he was slammed against the wall and found himself, once again, looking into the ice cold glare of Garett Kincaid.

"So you think it's a bad idea? Killing one of the soldiers of the devil? One of the powerful enemies of this great country? Maybe you're right. Maybe you can convince me. You willing to negotiate? Eh, Mr. Natural?"

Talking was difficult, what with Kincaid's arm across his windpipe, so he just nodded, letting Kincaid lead him where he would, knowing the man was insane, knowing he couldn't be reasoned with, only placated.

"Good man. Well, you want something from me, that young man's freedom, and his father's. And isn't it coincidental, that I want something from you?" And with that, Kincaid moved in even closer, his body pressed against Blair's and Sandburg was no longer at a loss as to what, exactly, Garett Kincaid wanted from him.

"You give me what I want, no fighting, just ~ surrender, as long as I so choose, and I'll let 'em walk out, with the others. I don't believe in taking what can be so freely given. Just nod, "Lieutenant" Sandburg, just nod if you like my deal."

"After", he managed to rasp out.

Kincaid's eyes narrowed, then an ugly smile spread across his face.

"You watch 'em walk, then you and I will have a little "talk". Deal."

He pulled Blair roughly away from the wall and literally threw him at his men.

"Take this man up to the Video Room. Secure him to the console, and I want him facing the monitors, cuffed across the Control board. And turn on the Stadium floor monitor for him." With those words, Kincaid and three of his men walked off.

Blair was taken up to the VR, and after one of the men unlocked the door, he was yanked in and pushed over to the large console against the far wall. Neither man spoke, but as one flicked some switches, the other grabbed Blair's arms, stretched him over the work station, and with another pair of cuffs, locked him place, using the rails welded to the back of the mobile console. Blair was chest down, stretched painfully, and unable to really move, as he'd been pulled so far forward, he was actually on his toes.

The two men left and Blair heard the door lock behind them. He was alone, and at that moment, all he could think about was Daryl and Simon, and keeping them alive. He added a little prayer for himself, that maybe, somehow, Jim might be able to do something, to get to Blair in time, but he was only one man. Blair knew that realistically, Jim wouldn't even know what had happened, and the priorities would be the civilians, the players, and Daryl. Which meant that Blair was on his own. And completely helpless.

His turned his head and focused on the monitor, on the picture of the Stadium floor, and the cheerleaders, still performing at Kincaid's command. All he could do now was wait and hope that Kincaid let Daryl, Simon and the others go free.

Less than fifteen minutes later, the door was unlocked and Kincaid walked in.

"Are you watching the monitor, Lieutenant? I think you'll like what you see. Check the side door, there, on the bottom left of the screen."

Blair watched as suddenly, the doors to the Stadium were opened and men began firing into the air, and the people turned into animals in their desperate attempts to escape. At the bottom left, he saw a side door open, and several people were ushered out. Simon, his arm around Daryl, was followed out by five Jag players. As poor as the camera angle was, Blair could still see Joel Taggert running up to meet them, and all quickly moving out of the way, as more people poured out of the door.

An arm reached beyond him and hit a switch. The monitor went blank.

"I kept my word. Now it's your turn."

Blair found his body immediately covered by Kincaid's, and a hand reached around, grasped his zipper, and pulled.

"Don't struggle, I want it easy, I don't have to fight for what I want. But note, I'm leaving you cuffed, after all, I'm not a fool. And I'm afraid I don't have much time, for our first "meeting", so finesse is out the window."

Blair felt his jeans tugged down, over hips, to his ankles, and immediately felt Kincaid's hardness, pressed up against his butt, and he shivered, at the coldness of it all, at the insanity of it. Could his men really know this was happening? That their fearless leader, a man who wanted only to "cleanse" the nation of impurity, was about to fuck another man?

Blair had done his best to prepare himself, to mentally prepare himself, for his "choice", and he expected pain, was ready for it and as the airconditioned air hit his rear, and he realized his briefs were now down around his ankles as well, he searched frantically for that safe place in his mind, for that haven, and his mantra, the only way to survive, to send his mind elsewhere, and as the pain hit, so much worse than expected, his mind seemed to fail him, and he cried out silently, just one word, and the word was, "JIM!". And it seemed to work, as he floated outside himself, away from the sweaty body, slamming against him, from the grunts, from the intense pain, and he was safe, and it was quiet and he closed his eyes and floated.

<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<^<

The present crashed down around Thomas and Beverly, as they were brought back to the here and the now, and Beverly found tears, as yet unshed, but waiting, and she blinked hard and noticed her hands, clenched so hard, that she knew she would be bruised.

For Thomas, it was so intrusive, so unspeakable, that he had yet to let it penetrate. But if asked to speak, he knew he would not be able to utter a sound. The tightness in his throat, the hard, knot of pain in his stomach, bespoke an anger, a hatred for the man who'd done this to his son, a hatred so intense, that to give it a name would unleash it, so he stomped it down, refused it and concentrated on the gentle, quiet voice of his son, who was still talking, telling them what happened next.....

"He left-t for a few minutes, but-t came back-k and as he uncuffed me, he gloated. About-t Crawford, about-t how he believed he was in charge, and how he was about-t to find out how lit-tle control he really had, not even over his death. I was pushed out-t of the room and it's pretty hazy from th-then on, I.... know I was put in a van, and we ended up at-t the docks, but I don't remember much."

The truth was, he chose not to tell everything that had happened "after" the rescue.

He remembered the pain, the men, the officers, moving rapidly about, taking Kincaid's men out of the gased sub, and Jim, hauling Kincaid out, as Blair sat, virtually unnoticed, still cuffed, but left behind by Kincaid when all hell had broken loose. Blair watched, in a detached fashion, shock having set in, as Simon faced a bleary Kincaid, and as the terrorist spat out words, and Simon, uncontrollable in his anger, almost striking Kincaid, but Jim and Taggert, pulling him away, and Rafe, plucking Kincaid off, and stuffing him a waiting squad car. And then.....Simon, turning, seeing Blair, still sitting where he'd been left, wondering, vaguely, why no one was helping him, but his attention diverted to Simon, who was yelling at Jim, telling him to, "....keep Sandburg away from me!", and Blair, realizing that Kincaid must have just told them all what had happened, and for the first time realizing what he'd done, that the choice was wrong, somehow, so he checked around him and saw the looks, and the "non-looks", and his world seemed to crumble then, so he looked where he always looked when he was in trouble, he looked to Jim, and found him pushing Simon away, soothing him, and glancing back, and frowning, and turning his back on him.....

At that moment, Blair Sandburg felt his own inner death, and didn't care. He'd made a mistake, there was obviously something else he should've done, but he was too tired to figure it out, and finally, someone had come to him, a blanket had been wrapped around him and the cuffs removed, and he got up when he saw one of the officers heading for his squad car, and he pleaded for a ride, and was granted asylum.

On the way back to the station, Blair realized that he needed a doctor and thought of his friend, Paul Olson, at the clinic near Rainier, so he had the officer drop him off at the University and he painfully walked the two blocks to the small building.

He'd been taken care of, and lectured to by Paul, blood taken and Paul even did a rape kit, shrugging and saying it might be needed, and eventually he'd released him, with antibiotics and pain meds and had even gotten him a ride back to the station.

But Beverly didn't need to know all of that, just maybe, about Paul, so he told them and watched as Beverly wrote it all down, as if it were important.

He was finished, that was no more to tell. Maybe he could go back to his father's place now, see Joey.

The office was completely silent, as Beverly and Thomas took it all in, and as Blair thought only of Joey, of the comfort the little mutt could provide. Blair wasn't expecting any more questions, so the next one jolted him.

"Blair, why did you leave Cascade?" Beverly asked gently.

Wasn't it obvious? How could he not? But how to explain to her?

"I couldn't-t st-ay. Too hard. So - I left-t."

For both Beverly and Thomas, the same thought occured, that they hadn't heard everything. Oh, they had all the pertinent facts regarding the trial, but not everything pertaining to Blair and his leaving. And everything about the man said, "Stop now", so they did.

"Blair, I think it would be best, if....we brought up what happened to you. Take the wind out of their sails, so to speak. I understand why this isn't in your statement, why it isn't in any statement, I'm sure no one believed it would ever be required. But here we are, and to not address it ourselves, well, we do have the upperhand here and it would be foolish not to use it."

Blair nodded, after all, it was no more than he'd expected, and saying it again, tomorrow, well, he'd manage. It wasn't as if the people he cared about most didn't already know. Now if he could just go home........

"Thomas, I'll have this typed up and sent over to you later, for Blair's signature, and in the meantime, take him home."

His thoughts exactly.

"Come on, Blair, lets go release Joey and take him for a walk."

Beverly looked up in surprise, "Joey?"

"Blair's puppy. We brought him with us and I guess you could say this is his first time alone."

"Maybe I'll bring the paperwork myself, Blair. I'd love to see him. Would you mind?"

Blair just shook his head. Words were beyond his ability, just then. Retreat more inviting.

"Blair, would you give me a few minutes? I'll be right out?"

Again, he just nodded and moved away, and out into the main office.

As the door shut, Magnum turned to Beverly, his features unreadable.

"There's something you need to know, now. While I was in 'Frisco, Blair and I discovered that we're related. I'm his ~ father."

Beverly felt the air "whoosh" out, as the words made it to her brain.

"Thomas, I don't know what to say. Except, maybe, congratulations?"

"That'll do, for starters. I'm telling you because my objectivity is out the window. I'm not, at the moment, your investigator on this. I can't be."

"I understand and agree. Go, take him home, take care of him. And if he needs to see anyone? While he's here? Well, you know, I can recommend someone."

"Thank you, and I'll let you know."

"Thomas, you don't have - any frame of reference, where Blair is concerned, so listen. We don't have it all. This Blair, this Blair is the product of a great deal more than we've heard. I don't know what, but I do know Blair Sandburg, and he's a fighter. This young man, he's not, fighting. Find out, Thomas, find out."

Magnum agreed completely, except about one thing; Blair was a fighter, yes, but he was also fighting now ~ to stay alive.

Blair could feel his strength ebbing, flowing out of him like milk from a spilt bottle, trickling, then gurgling and bubbling out, making that weird sound that only milk can make as it exits a bottle or carton.

But now was not the time for him to lose his milk, he still had to make it through tomorrow. Just tomorrow. That was it, so why didn't people come with a plug? A stopper? He could just reach into his pocket, grab the little chain and whip that sucker out, plug it in, and Voila! Energy conserved.

He gave a quick, hopefully unobserved glance over at his father, saw the grim line around his mouth, and gave an internal shrug. It was nice while it had lasted, very nice. He thought Thomas liked Joey, maybe he'd take him, when Blair was gone? Maybe. He would, Blair knew it, deep inside. His father would keep Joey and care for him and Joey would be okay.

So. His decision had been made, finally, irrevocably made. The how and where were the only parts unresolved, but he knew a place, back in 'Frisco, at the beach, where a reckless person could be trapped, by the tide, if not careful. That thought soothed him, and he relaxed, sliding down in the seat, checking the view, watching as his city flew past him, watching buildings he knew by heart slide by, like Jon's Butcher Shop, where he used to buy that prime hamburger, just for Jim, 33% fat, to make the best, juiciest burger in town, and the drug store, and the NatureAide, where he used to buy his herbal remedies and the indigestion remedy that he used on Jim, after eating one of those juicy burgers.....

He was glad he was seeing Cascade, one more time. It had become a real home, for awhile. Three years to be exact, even tho' he'd lived here for over fourteen. Home. Such a powerful word, did people know how powerful that word was? How wonderful a home could be? So wonderful that even leaving it to go to work was hard? Especially if the person who made it home was going somewhere else. When he went to the station, he'd taken home with him, because Jim was there. Such a simple thing, this home.

He gave himself a mental shake. He needed to concentrate, pass the thread through the needle, just one more time, then he could rest, for as long as he wanted.

"Blair?"

His father's voice brought him back and he turned in his seat to smile and ask, with his body, "What?".

"Are you okay? You gonna make this?"

A few more words, he could get out a few more words, right?

"I'm f-fine. No - worries."

"I am worried. This shocked me today, and if I'm dealing with a whole lot of shit from this, I can only imagine what you've been carrying with you for the last four plus months. Did you see anyone, after? Anyone to help you through it?"

That question surprised Blair, floored him really.

"Deal with it-t? You don't have to deal with a choice, a mistake, you just move through it. I made - a choice, a bad one. I live with it-t. I've made a career....of bad-d choices. I'm a mast-ter of bad choices."

Okaaay, that was a lot of verbiage for the Blair he'd known for fifty some odd hours. Was this a good sign? Did he just hear a bit of anger? Was this the opening he needed? Yes.

"Blair, I'm confused. What choice did you make? I listened to you, lived it with you as you spoke, and at no time did I hear or feel a choice."

"That's you."

He swung into the underground garage and pulled into space 17, shut off the engine and twisted in his seat to face Blair.

"That's not just me, Blair, that's anyone. There was no choice."

Blair's hand popped open the door and he was out and striding to the elevator before Thomas could even swallow. He quickly followed.

As Blair neared the elevator he started to shake, because his father wasn't reacting the way he should. Dammit, he knew the truth, and he was damned if he was going to explain it to Magnum. Hell, Jim knew, Simon knew, everyone knew.

"Blair, wait up. I have the elevator key, you can't go up without me."

He caught up with him, stuck the key in and pushed the up button. Blair was shaking and he wanted to take him in his arms, but damn, he was almost thirty years old and they were just getting to know one another, and he still wasn't sure if that kind of affection, from a newly discovered father would be wanted, so he kept his arms to himself, and wondered how he'd blundered, and how he could make it up to Blair.

They stepped into the small cabin and Thomas thought that giving Blair his space would help, so he stayed silent as they rode up.

Amazingly enough, the first thing both men heard as they walked down the hall to Magnum's apartment, was Joey, yipping his acknowledgement that someone was coming. Blair's pace picked up and as soon as they walked in the door, Joey launched himself into waiting arms, his butt wiggling and his tongue flying a mile a minute.

The laughter that bubbled up from Blair's chest was pure music to Thomas and all he could do was watch, tears stinging his eyes, as the two tussled over the act of animal kissing, with Joey fighting to get in the licks as Blair tried to capture his face and kiss his jaw. Blair plopped down on the rug, and began a game of tug of war with the pup, looking all the world like a relaxed, happy man. And everything Thomas had heard, the facts of Kincaid's act, all seemed to melt away, to be unreal, in the face of the joy he was witnessing.

But eventually, the fun had to end, as Joey, like all puppies, ran low on energy and flopped down in the middle of the rug, in the middle of chasing a finger, and slept. Blair sat a few minutes, enjoying the sight of a sleeping puppy, but a growling stomach from Thomas got his attention and he jumped up and headed into the kitchen to fix lunch, stripping off his jacket on the way.

"How does a salad sound?", he asked his father.

"Whatever you'd like, will be fine with me."

"Salad it-t is."

As Blair worked, he took stock of his surroundings, something he'd not really been able to do earlier, and realized, with a small grin, that even if he hadn't known before, he'd wonder now, because Thomas Magnum lived exactly as Blair Sandburg lived. Messy. Piles. Clothing where dropped. Highly organized in his disorganization. At least he was sure that's what his father would tell anyone who asked, just as he'd often told Jim.

As Blair prepared the vegetable salad, Thomas tried to engage him in discussion again, but Blair was blatant in the "ignoring" of him. So, talking was out. For now. But later, Thomas promised himself, later they would talk.

But later never came, as after lunch, Blair took Joey for his walk and upon his return, he pleaded exhaustion and a nap. A nap that turned into an exhausted, restless sleep, but a sleep that moved through the late afternoon, then early evening and when it was obvious that Blair was getting what he needed, rest, Thomas went about his business, playing with Joey, walking him, feeding him and at ten o'clock, just before turning in himself, letting the puppy into Blair's room.

Joey jumped onto the bed, snuffled a bit, did some crazy rotations, then settled down in the curve of Blair's body and closed his eyes. Thomas watched, grinning, as he leaned against the wall, hands in pockets, watching the puppy ritual. When it was obvious that Joey was done and asleep, he continued to watch, aware suddenly, of what he'd missed, that he'd missed Blair, as a baby, sleeping, and as a small boy, missed the teenager, missed so much. Which only made him more determined to make sure he missed nothing else in this man's life.

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Friday - Cascade Courthouse

Trials were strange creatures, alive, moving, and this particular trial had the added ingredient of the media. A man who'd taken an entire stadium hostage, now on trial, a man who was already sentenced to life, but who, with an unseen power behind him, had managed a trial, that he fully expected would result in his freedom. Add to the mix, Washington's wealthiest man, Preston Crawford, and you had a newsperson's dream trial. O.J. Simpson was a cheap flea circus compared to this.

What saved this trial was Judge Margaret Rawlings. A tough old bird, who despised the media and all that they could represent. She'd made it clear that they would not be allowed in the courtroom, nor would television cameras. No televised court for her. She further ruled that the media would be restricted to the area outside the court, not inside and that only court artists would be allowed inside the courtroom.

As a result, Jim Ellison, Simon Banks, Joan Banks and Daryl Banks had a gauntlet to run, with microphones shoved in their faces, bulbs exploding in their faces, and the closer they got to the steps, to the massive doors leading inside, the tighter the gaunlet became. But between Jim and Simon, physically shoving their way through, they managed to get Joan and Daryl safely inside.

The difference was night and day. Mass hysteria outside, calm, cool, quiet inside.

"Jim, I'm going to take Joan and Daryl upstairs, get them settled, I'll meet you inside the courtroom."

Jim nodded absently, his head acting like a searchlight, searching out one person, almost wishing his senses were back so that he could see and hear for Blair.

As Simon guided Joan and Daryl to the elevators, he gave one last glance back to his detetive, frowning, knowing exactly who Jim was looking for and once again feeling responsible and again wondering if his anger had been out of bounds.

"Simon, it's alright, I know where to go. You stay here with Jim. I'll take Daryl up to meet Beverly. It's alright, go."

He searched his ex-wife's face and found only sincerity. "Thank you, Joan," then he turned to his son and asked, "You okay son?"

"I'm fine, Dad. Honest. As long as I know you'll be there, in the courtroom, I'm fine."

"I will son, right there."

They hugged and Joan moved her son into the elevator and gave Simon a small smile as the doors closed.

"Jim, he's probably already upstairs. Beverly said her investigator, Thomas Magnum, would be bringing him in early, to avoid the crush."

"I know, you're probably right, but I want to look first, you understand?"

"More than you know, Jim. More than you know. Let's go, friend. Let's find Blair."

But Simon was right. Blair was already upstairs, secluded in the small anteroom, where the Cascade justice system kept their witnesses until time to testify.

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Blair sat at the table, hands crossed and resting on the table. His head was bowed and anyone who didn't know better would swear he was praying. He wasn't, he was attempting a meditation, and it wasn't working.

The door opened and Daryl walked in and immediately cried out Blair's name. A moment later, they were hugging.

"Oh, man, Blair, have I missed you."

"Same here, Daryl. How are you?"

Daryl wasn't given the opportunity to answer as Joan came through the door and spotted the man she believed had put her son in danger. She grabbed Daryl's arm and swung him away from Blair as if he were some kind of monster, and turned to Beverly, who was just behind her.

"I want another room, Ms. Sanchez. I won't have my son in the same room with Mr. Sandburg. Move us, now."

Beverly was stunned, completely. What the hell? But Joan was pushing and a moment later all three were outside and Joan's voice was rising and Daryl was talking and questioning and Beverly looked over at the Marshal, who immediately pulled out another key and indicated the door on the other side. Beverly ushered the Bank's inside, and took a few minutes to calm Joan Banks before rejoining Blair.

Back in the other anteroom, Blair stood, frozen, eyes wide. If Joan Banks had wanted to personally destroy Blair Sandburg, she couldn't have done it any more effectively than what had just transpired.

Somehow, by some miracle, Blair managed to pull himself together, to breathe, to move. Visions of his beach, of the tide, moving in, beautiful, relentless, kept him just this side of sane. He sat back down and quietly waited for his turn in front of a jury.

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Courtroom B12

The room was full, the jury seated and waiting and Jim found himself restless, the need to see Blair almost consuming him. He hadn't wanted it to be here, in the courtroom, while Blair was testifying, he'd wanted it to be in private, but the fates were, so far, conspiring against him.

With the usual flourish, the crowd stood and the judge entered, everyone sat back, and the trial of The State of Washington against Garett Kincaid began.

Beverly's opening remarks were brilliant, as she promised the jury a short witness list, because she realized they wouldn't need any more, that they were intelligent, and would undoubtedly be able to sift through the Defenses many magical misdirections. She told them she had every confidence in them, and that she knew and trusted that justice would be served. She sat down. Fifteen minutes. Short, to the point. The jury already loved her.

Walter Turnbull, on the other hand, took over forty-five minutes, and said nothing. But he was a master at saying nothing and making it sound like God's own words. Walter did manage to make one very important point; he made it clear that any doubt of Garett's sanity, and the jury would have no choice. But still.....forty-five minutes to fifteen? Score: Prosecution - 1....Defense - 0.

Daryl Banks was called as the Prosecution's first witness, and he walked straight and proud to take the witness stand. His voice, as he took the oath was strong and loud.

Beverly deftly took him through his experience, spending most of her time with how he'd come to be a prisoner of Garett Kincaid, and when Daryl answered, only those seated in the immediate area around Simon Banks and Jim Ellison, could hear the sharp, intake of breaths, the pained, "Dear God," as spoken by Simon, and the, "Sweet Jesus" uttered by Jim Ellison. Thomas Magnum, seated at the Prosecution's table and thus just in front of the two men, heard both the gasps and the words. He turned to look and saw one man, pale, and shaking, all color having drained from his dark, handsome face, and the other man, jaw clenched and body rigid. He recognized both and wondered what was wrong. Certainly they knew these facts, didn't they? Didn't ~ they?

Before a vague idea could complete it's formation, Daryl was talking again and Magnum turned back.

Beverly spent some time with Daryl's testimony regarding what he'd heard Garett say, and asked Daryl what he'd thought, and the jury leaned forward, as Daryl said he'd believed that he was going to die, but then added that he somehow believed that his father would make everything right, would protect him. Beverly wisely questioned him further, about being let go, and why he thought Kincaid had done that, and many in the crowd, Walter Turnbull being one of them, thought that question a mistake, but Beverly knew exactly what she was doing, and even though this hadn't been discussed with Daryl, the young man didn't let her down.

"I think Blair did something. I think, he somehow, talked him out of it. Blair's a good talker, he could've talked King Kong down from the Empire State Building."

It was good, it was honest and it was youthful. The jury ate it up, they were primed for Beverly's next witness. They already knew him, knew how he'd tried to save Daryl, how he went after him, tried to protect him. Walter Turnbull, wisely, declined to cross examine Daryl. You don't destroy a teenager. Not when you can take down a hero.

Daryl finished and was excused. He stepped down and as he passed his father, their hands touched, and he was escorted out.

Beverly addressed the Judge, "The Prosecution calls Blair Jacob Sandburg."

The back doors opened and Blair was escorted in and took his seat. He took his oath, his voice almost as strong as Daryl's had been. He was ready, until he saw Jim. He almost froze, right then and there, but a cough got his attention, and he saw his father. He straightened his shoulders.

Beverly took him rather quickly through the duplicated events, simply making sure that the jury saw the parallels, heard Blair gloss over his own part. But now, the difficult testimony.

She carefully led him through the events leading up to the implied bargain, between he and Kincaid, doing her damndest to ensure that Turnbull couldn't make an objection, and that when he did, she just waited, knowing that the judge would overrule.

They were in the VR room, she led him to describe the room, how he was cuffed, then to Kincaid's entrance, to watching the release of the spectators, she interrupted to ask why Blair thought they'd been released, and as expected, Turnbull objected, but Beverly explained that Blair could be considered an expert, that three years of working with the Cascade P.D. and a minor in pyschology gave his opinion weight, and again, the judge overruled Turnbull's objection and allowed Blair to answer.

"It-t was....I believe, a - delaying, tact-tic. The pandemonium that-t ensued, prohibited the police from, immediat-tely pursuing Kincaid and his men, many of whom, escaped with t-the crowd."

"Very intelligent of Mr. Kincaid. Doesn't sound very "insane", does it, Mr. Sandburg?"

Turnbull was on his feet instantly, his objection strong and clear. This time his objection was sustained. But Beverly had gotten her point across.

Beverly led Blair back to the moment and gently led him to the assault. The gasps in the crowd and among the jury were loud and sympathetic.

"So Garett Kincaid raped you?"

"No."

Beverly moved in front of the table and with a look to the judge, silently asked permission to approach her witness. The judge nodded.

"Blair, why not rape?"

"I said - yes. Not-t rape."

"I see. So to save several lives, you said yes to a physical assault?"

"Yes."

"Thank you, Blair. That's all for this witness, your honor."

Beverly sat down, knowing the worst was still to come, as Walter prepared to cross-examine her very fragile witness.

Judge Rawlings addressed Turnbull.

"Mr. Turnbull, do you wish to cross-examine?"

"Oh, yes, Your Honor, the Defense will cross-examine Mr. Sandburg."

While Turnbull took a few seconds to gather his paperwork, a tactic designed to unnerve his prey, Blair looked to his father, but his eyes seemed to go instinctively to Jim. And what he saw, nearly undid him. Tears. Rolling down Jim's face, and his expression, as he stared at Blair, held no disgust, no - hate, only love. So much love, that Blair felt his breath leave him and thought he would drop through the ground, but he wanted desperately to stay, to fall instead, into that rapt expression, and he almost reached out to it, to see if it was tangible, real, but a voice stopped him, and he realized Turnbull had started.

"Mr. Sandburg, you were an observer with the Cascade Police Department at the time this incident took place?"

"Yes."

"And an anthropologist and graduate student at Rainier University, going for your Doctorate?"

"Yes."

"You no longer live in Cascade, correct?"

"Yes. San Franciso."

"Are you attached to any school in California?"

"No."

"What do you do now?"

"I'm a bartender."

Turnbull let that information sink in. He was surprised Sanchez hadn't objected yet, but he wasn't worried, she wasn't exactly on a par with him.

"A bartender? I'm surprised. Or maybe not. Isn't it true that you were fired from Rainier? For failing to turn in your dissertation, and for excessive absenteeism?"

"No."

"Excuse me, Mr. Sandburg, did you say "no"?"

"Yes. I was not fired."

"Mr. Sandburg, did you turn in your dissertation?"

"Yes. Two weeks after the incident."

"That would mean you received your doctorate, should I be calling you Dr. Sandburg?", he asked snidely.

"Yes."

Walter Turnbull was a master at his craft, and the fact that he was rattled didn't show, not one bit.

"Mr. Sandburg, are you trying to tell this court that you weren't fired, that you have received your doctorate?"

"I'm not-t trying, I am saying it."

"Maybe we need a clarification of the word "fired". Why aren't you still with Rainier?"

Blair paused then, not out of nervousness, but because Simon and Jim had leaned forward, and he knew what they were thinking, what Jim had to be thinking....

"They wanted me t-to give, permission, for my paper to be published. By Simon and Schuster. I refused. We came to a mutual agreement and I backed out-t of my contract-t."

Turnbull shouldn't have walked into it, but hell, even he wanted to hear this.

"You're telling this court that you refused to have your paper published by Simon & Schuster? That's a major publishing firm. Now you've really got me interested. Why would you refuse such an honor? Not to mention the fame and the obvious money?"

"The paper was on the Cascade Police Department. Such notoriety would only hurt-t them, interfere with the job they need t-to do. It was never intended for that kind of publication. So I refused. These are good men, they work hard to prot-tect us, and while I'd love t-the world t-to know....t-that wasn't the way."

As Turnbull listened, his hands were scrambling for the next nail for the coffin he'd been unsuccessful in putting together, so far.

"I see. Very interesting. Very noble, " he managed to make the word "noble" sound like disease. "Let's look at something else. How many times have you met Preston Crawford?"

"Never."

"Mr. Sandburg, Preston Crawford was a favorite at Rainier, and it's well known that two departments, the Archeaology Department and the Anthropology Departments were favorites of his. I would have assumed that a meeting would be SOP."

"No." Blair was back to one word answers, and that was clearly driving Turnbull crazy.

"My records indicate, and I can easily present witnesses to corroborate this, that Preston Crawford made an express wish to meet you in in October of 1996, at a special party prior to the opening of an exhibition you worked on for the University."

"That may be, but-t we didn't meet."

"We just have your word for that, don't we?"

"No. You have police records and my passport-t. I was in Peru at the time of both t-the party and the opening. One of my - many, unauthorized absences."

"Peru?"

"Yes, a friend, was - in t-trouble, and Detective Ellison went to help......and I went-t with him."

Turnbull felt some of his case crumbling, but when the going gets tough.....he pulled out another paper and made as if he was puzzling over it, that he was confused. Finally, he put the paper down and stepped in front of the table.

"What about a specially requested meeting, that took place on May 7, 1997. A meeting Preston requested of your Department head, a meeting with the only purpose being to meet you?"

Blair frowned as a vague memory surfaced, and he remembered that planned meeting.

"Yes, I was invited to a party at Professor Lawson's home, but-t I didn't make it-t."

If Turnbull had bothered to look at a certain Detective, he would immediately have switched to yet another topic. Jim Ellison was smiling, broadly. He knew exactly what was coming.

"You didn't make this one either? Um, you were, perhaps, in the Andes this time?"

"No. T-the hospital. Bullet in the leg. And t-that's not accurate. At the t-time of the party, I was several hundred feet-t in the air, screaming obscenities at my - part-tner. I had t-to be airlifted out of t-the Canadian Rockies. Then I was in the hospital."

Turnbull broke the rule, his rule. Never badger, never get angry at a witness.

"Rescuing another friend, no doubt?", he spat out.

"I - just tagged-d....along. Detect-tive - Ellison, he did....t-the rescuing."

No meeting with Preston Crawford. The conspiracy theory just went down the very large drain. Which meant plan B. Destroy the witness's credibility. Easy. One, two, three.

"Do you do drugs, Mr. Sandburg?"

Beverly jumped to her feet, her objection loud and firm.

"Your Honor, that question has no bearing on this trial."

"Your Honor, it goes to credibility."

"Over Ruled. Dr. Sandburg, you must answer." But in calling him Doctor, the judge went a long way to giving credibility back to the witness.

"No, I don't-t, nor have I ever done drugs. I rarely t-take aspirin."

Turnbull pulled out a sheet of paper and requested permission to approach the bench. The judge nodded.

"Your Honor, we'd like to enter this as evidence to be marked 1A. It's a hospital bill for Mr. Sandburg."

The judge looked at it, looked with some surprise at Blair, then handed it to the baliff for marking.

"So entered."

"Mr. Sandburg, on January 12, 1997, you were admitted to Cascade General Hospital for a drug overdose. You overdosed on a designer drug called Golden. Do you deny this?"

"No, but....".

"Thank you, Mr. Sandburg."

Jim Ellison tapped Beverly's shoulder and as she turned, he gave her a note. She read it, turned back, and gave him a thumbs up.

"Mr. Sandburg, you said you work as a bartender. What is the name of the club?"

"The Deep Six."

"And where is it located?"

"On Harrold St. in San Francisco."

"Harrold St......isn't that in the Castro District?"

"No. T-two block-ks from t-the Cast-tro District-t."

Blair was angry now, and his stutter increased, as his emotion robbed him of the ability to control it.

"The Castro District, it's a primarily gay area, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"And your club? Frequented by the gay population?"

"Yes, and....".

"Thank you. Mr. Sandburg, are you gay?"

Again, Beverly sprang to her feet, but again she was over ruled as Turnbull pointed out Blair's earlier testimony and that an assault and his sexual preference were directly related. In some states his remark would have been challenged, but Washington wasn't one of them.

"I ask again, are you gay?"

During the exchange, Blair's brain had been running on all cylinders. He wasn't gay, but he was in love with a man, so he was? How did he answer this without lying?

"If you mean, have I had-d sexual relations wit-th men, before or aft-ter your client, no, I'm not-t gay."

Turnbull was out of ammunition. And only one bullet had struck home. But that one bullet, involved with drugs, and that the jury was still recovering from that one, yes, he could use it later to discount Mr. Sandburg's testimony. He was done with the Doctor.

"I have no further questions, Your Honor."

Judge Rawlings turned to Beverly, "Re-direct, Ms. Sanchez?"

"Yes, Your Honor. Blair, the incident Mr. Turnbull alluded to, regarding your hospital admittance for a drug overdose....did you ingest this drug? This Golden?"

"Yes."

"Was it voluntary?"

"No."

"Tell us what happened, Blair."

"A case, Detective Ellison was aft-ter the manufacturer's and dist-tributors of Golden, and his cover was compromised. They st-truck back, by buying several pizzas, loading them with t-the Golden and having t-them delivered to Major Crimes. I t-took delivery and....at-te a piece. I nearly blew....the whole place up. But-t Detective Ellison, he t-talked me down."

"How long were you in the hospital?"

"Four days. I don't-t remember much."

"You almost died, didn't you?"

"Yes. So they t-told me."

Beverly started back to her table, but stopped, turned and addressed Blair again.

"Just one more thing, Blair. What do you believe would have happened to your friends and the players, if you'd told Kincaid to go fly a kite? If you'd refused?"

Blair was clearly puzzled by the question, but the jury, to a man and woman, leaned forward, holding their breaths.

"I, he would.....have....k-killed-d t-them."

"I see. And you? What would have happened to you if you'd said no?"

He blinked, his hands, his fingers, digging into his pant legs, his breathing started coming in short pants, so Beverly gently repeated the question....

"I don't-t.....know, didn't think."

"But Simon Banks and his son, the players, your friends, would have been dead, right?"

"Yes."

"So, you had no choice, did you?"

He stared at her, his lips parting, then he began to blink again, rapidly....until......

"no."

"And isn't that rape, Mr. Sandburg?"

"yes."

"Thank you, Blair. I have no more questions."

Judge Rawlings looked to Turnbull, her expression daring him to cross-examine again.

"No questions, Your Honor. But Your Honor, the Defense would request a short break."

"Very well. Mr. Sandburg, you may step down, and since it is close to the lunch hour, this court will recess until one-thirty. Court dismissed."

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Oddly enough, no one really moved as the Judge exited. But Blair got down and walked unsteadily to the gate and the door that would take him out of the courtroom. Beverly and Thomas started around the table, to intercept him, but something stopped them.

Jim had stood up at the same time as the Judge, and now waited in the aisle, seeing only Blair. His expression and his body language screamed out to Blair, forcing Blair to see him, and Blair's legs could only go in one direction, and he moved toward Jim, their eyes locked on each other, and as Kincaid was led out, screaming at his lawyers, and as Turnbull moved out to the side exit, with his team, arguing and shouting, Blair moved through the gate and stopped as he reached Jim, and Ellison gazed down at him, saying so much without uttering a word, and his arm reached out to safely encircle the man in front of him, and together they moved up the aisle, with Beverly and Simon falling in behind the two men and Thomas pushing ahead, moving everyone gently out of their way, until they passed through the doors, then Beverly guided them to another private room, and Jim and Blair went inside, but the others, Thomas included, stayed outside, discretion being the better part of valor.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

The door closed behind the two men, and Jim turned to face Blair.

They were only a few inches apart, eyes drinking in every inch of the other, thirsty emotions needing this drink, desperate to reconnect, and the last several months ~ years, seemed to funnel down to this one moment, this instant, and Jim's arms came up and without hesitation, Blair moved into them, his own arms wrapping around Jim, taking comfort and as was his way, giving comfort in return.

It was not a hug. It was a hold. The urgency to feel, to experience the heat, the flesh and the bone, to move into each other, was primal, mental, spiritual, elementary, basic. It went back to man's first steps on this earth, his need to be with and connect with, his fellow man, and ultimately to find that one, the other part of one's self, to move through this world with that one individual, side by side, to face demons, trials and tribulations, to come out the other side, stronger, because you were complete.

But these two men had tried to move through the demons, the trials, the tribulations, alone, and the struggle had left both broken, but not unmendable. Because sometimes, something can be torn apart, but when put back together, can become stronger, because it's no longer the same, because it's now different, the parts aligned now in strength, the weakness of one part, now shored up by the strength of the other, creating one, single, strong, almost invincible entity. Such was the case with The Sentinel of the Great City and his Guide, his Shaman.

As Jim stood, holding for dear life, to his lifeline, he felt, in a split second, Blair's blood, moving through his veins and arteries, and he heard Blair's lungs, and the air, moving in and out, and his heart, beating, steadily now, in syncopation with his own, and his heart swelled with the love of the man, the love for the man. For Blair, it was a hold that pulled him back from the brink, from death itself, from insanity and he had no desire to move, to step back from the warmth, the incredible light he was experiencing inspite of the darkness of his buried face and a phrase came to him, "The Incredible Lightness of Being" and he understood it differently now, understood that it could mean this being, being in, with, attached to, this man, that it could give his life a lightness, a brightness, that could never be dulled, as long as they could be as one.

So they stayed in their hold, breathing in each other's scent, just standing, giving thanks, shoring each other up, to face the world, to talk, to clear, to share.

Blair didn't want the "hold" to end, but he did want desperately to see Jim's face, so he pulled back just a bit, to a groan from Jim.

"i just want t-to see you. see your face," he whispered.

He looked up and saw beauty, tears, love, and a gaze so deep, so urgent, that he lifted himself up a bit, to reach that face, and let his lips rest against Jim's.

"God, Blair. Oh, God. I should have known, should have asked, should have come...."

Blair's hand went flush against his mouth, his head shaking, but his eyes never leaving Jim's.

"Should have, could have, would have.....means nothing now, for either of us. How many of t-those have there been, in three years? In the last-t eight months? In a world of living?"

"But you need to know, to.....no, that's wrong, I need you to know....Simon believed that you went after Kincaid and took Daryl with you, that you endangered Daryl, that you didn't think, and I was so afraid his anger would result in your pass being revoked, that I went along with keeping you away, do you see? And do you understand what we've learned today?"

Blair frowned as his brain tried to work this information in, to take it apart, to comprehend, and the small marble, on the track of his brain, rolled down slides and runways, through tunnels, around curves, cloverleafs, and some additional cylinders fired up, illuminated the travel of the marble, and pieces clicked, allowing the enormity of the miscommunication to hit him, and the months of loneliness, the collapse of his support system, all that because of not talking. And yet, the only emotion he could discern was the intense need to laugh.

"For want of a nail, Jim, for want of a nail."

Jim heard the words and comprehension dawned. He smiled and said, "We seem to have a great deal of trouble with that damn nail, don't we?"

"Um, and each time, we come closer to losing the war. I think, maybe, we'd better tack that nail on the wall, above the door."

"And never leave home without it?"

"And give it it's own basket, by the door, in case we forget to put it back, on the wall."

Jim's smile grew as he gazed into the soul of the man in his arms.

"So much, unsaid. So much time lost. I look back, to the docks, and see you sitting there, and now I see the pain, the shock, the lost look in your eyes, and I wonder how I missed it all. A Sentinel, and I failed to see what was happening with the one person I care most about - you."

"Isn't that how it-t so often happens, Jim? Haven't I had more than my share of losing sight of you, the person I care most-t about? But we haven't lost the war, have we? We have this second chance now, don't we?"

We, a word that he was just now realizing, Blair used a great deal. They were we to him. They were a cube, equal sides, equal blame ~ equal.

"I'm beginning to understand that with you, Blair Sandburg, I have No Fault Insurance."

"Don't forget the deed t-to the farm."

Jim couldn't hold back any longer, he had to join the man in his arms, had to get closer, so he leaned down and tried to recapture the feeling he'd experienced when Blair had touched his lips to him.....

And the world exploded, and the feeling multiplied, and multiplied again, as their lips did touch, and open, and one small part of their bodies came together ~ joined, leaving them quickly breathless, and Blair Sandburg did laugh then, a free, rippling laugh, that was soon joined by Jim's laughter, and now they held to actually hold themselves up, and the irony of the laughter only served to increase the laughter, until tears ran unchecked down both their faces, and Jim had to pull Blair in again, to bury himself in the compact body, to revel in miracle of holding him.

Blair mumbled something into his chest, and Jim heard it, understood the declaration of love, and smiled as he slid his face down a bit, to rest his lips against Blair's temple and to say, "Me too, Chief, me too."

They stayed like that, for several more minutes, glued together, loath to seperate, but life has a way of intruding just when you want nothing more than for it to freeze. In this case, it was knocking on the door, and Beverly, sticking her head in, smiling.

"I hate to intrude, but you'll thank me for it."

At Jim's nod, she moved in, but not alone. Simon and Thomas followed.

"I just finished with Mr. Turnbull, and he's changing Kincaid's plea. The trial is over."

Blair's knees chose that moment to give way. He started to slip down, but Jim caught him, and they both moved to the table, where Thomas already had a chair pulled out. Blair collapsed, thankfully, looking at the faces around him, at Beverly's joy, her face crinkled in satisfaction, the grin looking every bit like the "Cheshire Cat", and Simon, glad, but wary, so Blair just smiled at him, an easy smile, and Simon's shoulders relaxed, and his breath moved out, free. They would both have much to say later, but for now, the bridge was there, slightly damaged, but passable.

Thomas was leaning against the wall, content to watch, puzzled by the relationship between his son and Detective Ellison, but knowing that something major had changed, that the change was working a miracle on his son. Change was good, and time would reveal all to him, soon enough, and Thomas Magnum was a patient man ~ now.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

The media was cheated out of their chance to photograph the only two witnesses for the Prosecution, the witnesses who turned the tide, who forced Garett Kincaid's lawyers to pack it in, the witnesses who put Kincaid back in jail, in maximum security. Joan and Daryl were helped out by several members of Major Crimes, who being the great detectives that they were, managed to slip right past the best of the media, but not before Joan made her own apology and Daryl and Blair had a few moments to talk, before both were whisked away by their private guardians.

Thomas and Simon, after a little fun and games with the media, and not a little bit of misdirection, got Blair clean away, with Simon providing the distraction and Blair slipping into Thomas' car, followed by Jim, who'd originally come in with Simon.

Jim and Blair sat in the back seat, waiting for Thomas, both content to just hold hands like two teenagers, allowing the quiet to envelope them, speech, words, unnecessary.

Thomas finally arrived and as he sat down, Blair decided now was a good time to tell Jim about his two new family members.

"Uh, Jim? Have you met Thomas Magnum? Beverly's investigator?"

Magnum turned in his seat to stick out his hand, and Jim took it as he answered, "No, we've never met, but I've heard of your work, Mr. Magnum."

"And I, of yours, Detective Ellison."

"Oh, I think you t-two should use first names, don't you, Dad?"

Thomas smiled as he watched Jim, who started to respond, to call him Thomas, and then realized exactly what Blair had just said.

"Um, Blair? Did you just call.....".

"Yep. Dad. Thomas is my father. We discovered our ~ relationship, in San Francisco. I have a sister, t-too, Lily. Whom I hope to meet, soon."

"Very soon, Blair, as soon as possible." Thomas added.

"And Jim, that's not all."

"Wife, you have a wife, you got married in San Francisco," Jim said, weakly.

"No, just a son. Joey."

Jim just stared. Saw the glimmer, narrowed his eyes, and said, "Four legged?"

"Four legs, four paws, one tail, a lethal weapon, fastest t-tongue in the west, a mutt."

The name penetrated.

"Joey?"

"Yes. Joey. Joseph. As in James Joseph."

"He doesn't have blue eyes, right?"

"Brown, shorthaired, very shorthaired, brown eyes, cold, wet-t, black nose. Squats, doesn't lift, loves squatting on rugs. Really must learn to lift, macho male dog that-t he is."

Jim began to mutter, something about the sound of how many sets of nails? Running, scraping, tapping on hardwood floors, and yapping, mutts yap, right? A poke in the ribs stopped him, but not before he swore he wouldn't walk the mutt, ever.

"Yeah, I always knew you weren't the diaper changing t-type. Too - aloof."

That shut the man up, but good.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Decisions were made. Thomas' apartment first, to gather up Joey, and Blair's few belongings, then an very early dinner.

Joey was ecstatic to meet his namesake, so excited that he leaped from Blair's arms to Jim's, nearly causing a heart attack in the detective. Jim was smitten, almost immediately, and was goo-gooing, and gaa-gaaing like an old pro inside of five minutes.

They went to one of Blair's favorite restaurants, Murphy's, and tucked into a booth, in the far corner, the three men ate, talked, and did their best to get as much knowing as a three hour dinner allowed. As the men ate, talked, made more decisions, Joey slept contentedly in the car, windows cracked, body burrowed in Blair's jacket.

Most of the decisions were easy, like Blair quitting his job, making a trip back to San Francisco to say his good-byes and to pack the few things he'd taken with him, but other decisions weren't so easy, like what Blair would do once he officially returned to Cascade, so that was shelved, for discussion at a later date. Another decision was Blair's. He gave Thomas Naomi's phone number in Vermont, where she was currently visiting an old friend, female, Blair was quick to assure his father. Thomas looked at it, smiled gently and carefully tucked it into his shirt pocket.

Dinner had to end, the talk had to cease, at least for now, and Thomas finally understood the relationship between his son and Ellison, understood that it was new, or at least the added dimension was new, and that maybe it was time for these two men to be alone, so he paid the bill, and with Jim's directions, drove them to 852 Prospect Ave. He refused their generous offer to come up, pointing out that Blair was practically dead on his feet, and smiled at his son, a smile that father's have been sharing with their son's for generations, a smile that caused Blair to guffaw, loudly, since the smile was about Jim, and Jim was not exactly the picture of a woman about to be deflowered on her wedding night.

The three men said their good-byes, with plans made for another get together on Sunday, wisely leaving Saturday for aloneness.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Jim unlocked the door, then moved back to allow Blair to enter first, Joey cradled in his arms.

He stepped in and stopped, his breath catching in his throat.

Everything of his, that he'd packed and stored, was back in it's place. Everything. And he knew that if he went into his old room, it would look the same, clothes and all.

"jim?", he whispered.

"I searched every storage facility in the city, until I found your stuff. I used my badge to get it out. I'm despicable, using my position that way."

"Despicable, yes, t-that's the word, you jerk."

Both men had been grinning madly as they spoke, and Blair let Joey down, and both watched as the puppy made fast work of claiming the loft as his own.

But still, Blair didn't move.

"Chief?"

"Say that again, please."

"Chief."

"I missed that almost as much as I missed you. How do you manage t-to make it sound like the most wonderful word in the English language?"

"It's the man, not the nickname."

"Umph."

Jim moved in close behind Blair, wrapping his arms around him, resting his face against Blair's and asked, "You gonna stay in this one spot all night?"

"I'm thinking about it. I'd forgotten how good it-t smelled. Of you."

The clicking of nails alerted the men that Joey was on the move again, and he started upstairs, but stopped about half way up, yipped and waited, tail wagging vigorously.

"Good dog. Knows where we belong, where you belong. Shall we?"

"Yes."

They walked up slowly, savoring the moment, and once at the top, moved to the bed, where Jim carefully took loving charge. He pulled the sweater over the patient head, unbuttoned the shirt, slipped it off, then urged him down, then unbuckled, unzipped and gently pushed Blair back, and slid the slacks over hips, down legs, stopping just long enough to pull off shoes and socks, then slipping the pants the rest of the way off. He let the clothing remain on the floor, and quickly added his own, as Blair slipped under the covers, and waited.

Jim climbed in, and several awkward moments were spent finding a comfortable position, settling, deciding who fit where, and Blair, sighing with impatience finally pulled up Jim's right arm and put it around him and turned into Jim's body and said, "Stay, don't move, this is perfect."

So they lay, wrapped up, and they whispered, and Jim felt Blair's body relax, mold itself to his, and he discovered that no body had ever fit this well into his before, that no body had ever been this right before, and he squeezed, and was rewarded with a return squeeze, and felt brave enough to bring up a subject that needed addressing. He'd been so shocked earlier, not only at his first glimpse of Blair, at the thinness, the pallor, but also at his speech, at the stutter, which had scared him more than any other sign of what Blair had been through.

"Blair, I think you need to see someone. Talk with someone, maybe Angela Kirby, the psychologist Rafe saw when he shot that boy?"

"So you don't t-think love conquers all?"

"Do you?" Jim asked as he crooked his head to look into Blair's eyes.

Blair's eyes took on shadows, the blue darkening, as he remembered his all too recent plans for his future.

"No. It-t helps, but it's not the cure. I admit, I haven't been exactly there mentally, lately. You won't believe this, but, I haven't been t-talking much."

"I know. I lost my ~ senses, while you were gone. Simon assigned me to desk duty, said I was a hazard."

"Fuck. God, I'm sor....".

This time it was Jim's hand, flush against a mouth.

"Don't even go there, Chief, they're back, today, when you and I touched."

"Right-t, nails, horseshoes and senses."

Blair settled back in, slipping his leg between Jim's and considered the psychologist.

"I'll call her on Monday."

"I'll take you, and make my own appointment." At that statement, he felt Blair's smile, against his chest, and asked, "What? You don't think I'm capable of seeking help?"

"God, where would I get-t an idea like that? You, who always sought my assistance, you who I never had t-to nag, to plead, to accept my help? Nah."

"Funny, Chief, very funny. So, Monday."

"Monday."

The shadows had begun to lengthen, as darkness encroached, and Jim watched them, as they took over their usual corners in his room, but with Blair in his arms, the shadows, these same, harmless shadows, that had previously left him cold, and frightened in his bed, now only foretold the night, so he watched them, as Blair's breathing slowed, and he slept.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Thomas Magnum sat in his livingroom, in the dark, and contemplated the small paper he held in his hand. Slowly, he reached over, picked up the phone and dialed.

<Hello?>

"I'd like to speak with Naomi Sandburg, please?"

<Just a moment>

Fingers drummed nervously.

<This is Naomi>

"Naomi? It's - Thomas. Thomas Magnum."

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

A hand, running slowly up and down his thigh woke Jim, and it was a damn fine way to wake up, he thought.

"Is it morning?", he rasped out.

"Somewhere, I'm sure."

"Still dark."

"Um."

The hand moved up a fraction, and began to run gently up and down something else, and Jim groaned.

"I figured....you'd sleep..... around the clock", he gasped.

"You know me and unfinished business. Can't sleep until it-t's resolved."

Jim had always been fascinated by Blair's hands, always moving as fast as his words, but now, slow was good, very good.

"Business......unre....solved....".

"Shut up and let me resolve."

Blair's hands really were incredible. And his body soon followed, as he began to move against Jim, in time with his hands, and Jim was pretty sure Blair had never done this before, but damn, he was a quick study, always had been, but this was the first time Jim really cared about Blair's studying capabilities, and God, when Blair added the sound effects, with his small gasps of pleasure, and moans, and that it was because of what he was giving Jim, well, that pushed him over the edge, and he came, came so hard, he bit his lip, and as he came down, he realized Blair was coming, and he managed to open his eyes and watch, amazed, that this was happening because of what Blair had done for him.

With his arm moving at slow motion, a sleepy, happy, satisfied Blair pulled his hand out from under the covers and held it up, then, as a semi-conscious Jim watched, he licked his hand, tired eyes suddenly glittering in the dark, and Jim pulled the hand up and lovingly ran his tongue up and down it's length, pulling one finger into his mouth, and sucking gently, then sighing in contentment and releasing the hand, which fell back onto his chest.

"resolutions. love resolutions", he whispered into Blair's ear.

"mm...me t-too."

Jim's fingers found their way into Blair's hair, as Blair's arm snuck over and around Jim's chest, and his head settled just over Jim's heart, and such a peace settled over him, such warmth, that he thought he just might be able to sleep, long, dreamless, and safe. It was good to be home, completely home, home all the way.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Barking and hammering. Hammering and barking. Blair opened one blue eye, found himself alone, heard a loud curse, pulled himself up to the rails and looked over the edge.

Joey sat at Jim's feet, looking up at him, watching every move, as Jim hammered a nail above the front door. He then pulled another nail from his mouth and Blair saw, for the first time, a red string, hanging from the head of the nail. Jim hung the looped string from the first nail, stepped back and nodded, happy with his work.

He'd hung a nail above the door.

Blair smiled, crawled back under the covers, pulled Jim's pillow over to him, tucked it under his chin and promptly went back to sleep.

End - Homeward Bound