Author's webpage: http://www.geocities.com/Athens/Parthenon/9335/fiction.htm

Author's notes: although i have not been posting to sxf, this is the auction story that owlet bought so many months ago and so it belongs here. thanks for waiting, featherhead :) i love my squash

Past Storm's Touch - part one

It was Simon's birthday. For as long as anyone could remember he'd refused to reveal his age. Curious colleagues with the appropriate computer skills could check his personal file, but they found at least five different years listed on various forms, one of which would make him over seventy and another that would make him barely legal to drink. Like BJ Honeycutt's first name on MASH, it was the best kept secret in the Cascade PD. And every year they celebrated like it was a big one, just in case. And Simon liked that just fine.

Most of the division was already at the restaurant when Jim finally arrived, nearly thirty minutes late and looking ruffled. Blair trailed in his wake, a smaller ship tossed on Ellison's wake.

"Sorry." The detective spoke to his captain in particular and the table in general. "Romeo here had a damsel in distress to rescue."

Sipping from a glass of red wine, Meghan sat it down and flashed Blair a sympathetic grin. Taggart pulled out a chair for the younger man, several seats away from the one Simon had kept for Jim at the large table.

"I was under the impression Romeo got damsels into distress, he wasn't the one that went rescuing them." Rafe also grinned at Blair. Uncharacteristically, the grad student didn't return the expression, only raised an eyebrow and picked up his menu, studying it like he didn't already know it by heart but wanted to.

"So tell me who does rescue them, in case I need to know." Meghan turned her attention to Rafe, who perked up under that gaze and started chatting.

"Well, I'm a purist, but my choice, if the damsel in question was important to me, would be Robin Hood."

"Robin Hood!" Brown protested. "English nobility turned vigilante? Why?"

Settling next to Simon, adding a small gift wrapped in dark red paper to the pile at the end as he went around the table, Jim reached for the wine bottle and poured himself a glass. He held it up and looked across the table at Blair.

"Well, he fought for a good cause and he would never try anything because he loved Marian." Rafe defended his choice.

"All that horseback riding." Meghan feigned a shudder. "Henri, who would you suggest? Not that I can't take care of myself, but -"

"Just in case!" Joel, Ryan, and Henri finished for her.

"Hm, let me see...." Brown folded a fist under his chin and thought it over. Blair nodded to Jim and held out his glass and the detective half-rose and leaned over the table to pour for him.

"We went ahead and ordered appetizers." Simon spoke to Jim. "I knew you'd get here eventually. So what was it this time?"

Watching as Blair drank about half the glass, Jim frowned and sat back, arms crossed over his chest, his own glass held near his lips.

"Not that big a deal, really. One of the TA's was having car trouble and he offered to give her a ride home. But he forgot he didn't have his car today and when I arrived to pick him up he somehow convinced me to drop her off before coming here. "

"No big deal. A random act of kindness, eh, Ellison?"

Draining his glass the younger man gave him an exasperated look.

"I had planned on getting here early, sir. She lives about fifteen miles out of town - the other direction."

"Ah. I wonder how Sandburg talked you into that." Lifting a breadstick from the basket, Simon passed it to his friend. "Eat this, it will absorb some of that wine you're inhaling."

Jim accepted it, tore it in half, and reached across the table to set the second piece on Blair's empty bread plate. He was rewarded with a quick smile and Blair took a bite, closing his menu and leaning back as well, looking more relaxed.

The smile prompted one from Jim, a small one because his mouth was full of garlic bread.

With a roll of his eyes Simon exchanged a knowing glance with Joel, who shook his head slightly, regretfully.

Dinner was delicious. Italian food was often the perfect balance for Jim, just enough spice but not too much. He has classic lasagna, while Blair got daring and had a seafood dish with mussels and scallops and shrimp and squid. He traded bites for Meghan's grilled swordfish while the others made disparaging comments and ate heavy sauces over tons of pasta, washed down with more of the house red wine, the sauces wiped up with dozens of breadsticks. Finally, stuffed, they sat back to watch their captain and their friend open his gifts.

Everyone had found something special this year. Jim gave him a pair of tickets to a Jags playoff game, refusing to tell how he'd gotten them, and Joel had found him an autographed copy of a book Simon had loved, about the Negro Baseball League, called 'Only The Ball Was White'. They shared an interest in their history, especially in sports. The other three had pitched in together and gotten him a copy of 'The Barbecue Bible' and a nice set of wooden-handled barbecue tools. Simon appreciated it and, even more, the fact that they hadn't included a silly apron.

Blair's little box, wrapped in bright paper decorated with cartoon dinosaurs, was the last to be offered. It was clear when he handed it over that he was unsure. Last year had been the first year he'd been included in the party, he had given Simon a card and a gift certificate to a popular bookstore. So this was the first actual present he'd given him.

The box was small, but heavy. Simon turned it over in his hands several times. Face tightening, Blair shot a glance at Jim, who slapped the captain on the back.

"Come on, Simon, quit teasing the kid. You're scaring him to death here."

With a smile Simon set the box on the table and opened it.

The smile faltered when he pulled back the cotton batting and lifted out two figurines, both about four inches high.

"Sandburg, I don't know what to say." Carefully he placed them on the table, one long finger touching first one and then the other. Two figures, two angel, both wearing long robes and carrying African-style drums instead of harps. A man and a woman, both were slightly faded and smudged with age. "I think I've seen these in collector guides, but I've never actually seen any like them."

"Excellent choice, Sandy." Meghan spoke up, not understanding the seriousness of the gift. "Where did you find them?"

"I, um, there's a guy down in Texas. He runs an antique store. Anyhow, I put a message out to all of the mailing lists I'm on, including the popular science one, and he got right back to me. He says they aren't worth much, because they're not in the best condition, but I thought you'd like them. They're from the thirties, he said."

"This is a remarkable gift. The aging just makes them more special." Simon said softly. "Thank you, very much, Blair."

The younger man beamed.

"I knew you'd like them. I was just nervous, y'know, didn't want to seem too familiar, but Naomi always said a gift should mean something...."

The birthday cake, alit with candles and accompanied by a hoard of waitstaff whose only goal in life was to embarrass birthday celebrants, saved them all from a Naomi anecdote.

While the cake was being consumed Simon turned to Jim. One hand was on the table, still touching the figurines lightly.

"I got a message just as I was leaving today, from the District Attorney in New York."

"Ferguson?" Jim asked, licking frosting off his fork like a big kid. He and Blair had caught Ricky Ferguson ten months ago, ending a ten-state manhunt and rescuing the ten-year-old girl the man had stolen, planning to sell her to a rich man down in Mexico. The kidnapper had come here to hide out until the storm blew over, but Jim had been alerted by the report of a sighting and hunted the man down despite everyone's belief that he was crazy. Ferguson had been prepared to kill Tracy Nunan but between them he and Blair had stopped him.

The jurisdiction was a nightmare, but at last New York got the case, since that was where the girl was taken from and a judge had decided it would be easier on her and her family if they didn't have to add travel to the trauma of testifying against him.

"Yes. Everything is being covered, plane tickets, hotel and food. You'll probably be there at least a week, I can swing a bit more if you want to stay."

"We'll play it by ear. I'd like to be there and see him get what's coming to him, but Sandburg has classes. I'm not sure how long he can get somebody else to cover them for."

"You'll have to leave the day after tomorrow, the case starts in the morning,but they shouldn't call you before then. So take tomorrow off to get things in order, okay?"

"You don't have to tell me twice." Looking across the table again, Jim grinned.

Blair was leaning back in his chair again, eyes blinking sleepily as he tried to follow some convoluted story Meghan was telling, peppered with odd Aussie phrases like 'chundering' and 'lizzie'. It seemed that he felt Jim's eyes on him because he sat up straighter and shook his head a little, trying to wake up.

"Ready to go, Chief?" Standing, Jim went around the table and took the back of his roommate's chair. "You're dead on your feet here."

"I'm not on my feet, Jim." the anthropologist corrected, but the yawned. "Yeah, it's been a long day. Eight a.m class after writing 'till three, I have got to stop doing that."

"How is the dissertation coming, Sandburg?" Simon asked.

"Oh no, I'm not telling you, Captain Banks, sir." Blair stood and gave him a crooked smile. "The minute I turn that thing in you're gonna kick me out on my academic butt."

"You know better than that." Taking the joking words seriously, the captain lifted the female angel and rubbed his thumb over the age-worn smoothness of her long white robe. "This proves it."

"Yeah." Now Blair smiled for real, a serious, content expression. "I guess I do. How's that for weird?"

Goodbyes were exchanged, Meghan had to hug Blair, and then they were back out at the truck and Jim was reaching across the front seat to be sure Blair was buckled tightly in.

"Hm, thanks, man." The younger man leaned his head against the window, watching Jim as he drove.

"That was a great gift, Chief." Looking at the road, the detective didn't see the soft look on his partner's face. "I don't think I've seen Simon that emotional about a gift before."

"It was something I thought he might like." Blair replied, still watching him.

"You were right on target." Stopping at a light, Jim glanced over and inhaled swiftly.

Blair's eyes were large and luminous is the dark of the cab. Fixed on Jim, they offered many things; love and life and laughter.

It had taken a while, but Jim had gotten used to seeing Blair look at him this way. Lately, it had even felt like maybe he might have the same expression on his face when he looked back. Without a mirror handy he couldn't be sure, but he could see how his small, contented smile made his roommate relax further and move marginally closer on the seat.

It had been happening for months. They worked together, lived together, played together most of the time. As with all roommates, certain boundaries had been suspended; it was okay to borrow each other's clothes (Blair) and use each other's shampoo (Jim) and see each other running around in their boxers occasionally. Even sit on the couch in them and watch a ballgame together or a cop show or the news.

But some level had been passed. Some boundary had been tugged up gently along with the others that was meant to stay.

Jim couldn't say that it bothered him. It was more like he didn't quite know what to do about it. If he wanted that line marked again, he would have to be the one to mark it, anyone looking into Blair's eyes when he smiled like that would know that.

So they played, and lived, and worked together, and sometimes Jim noticed Blair sitting a little closer to him on the couch while they watched a game or watching over the edge of a book when Jim wandered by in his boxers or Jim found himself brushing up against the younger man in the kitchen, close enough to touch when there was plenty of room, and he didn't mind it when Blair wore his clothes and it all felt very comfortable.

Almost like it was meant to be.

*******************
1968, New York City
*******************

"Vincent?"

Swiftly the tall teenager grabbed the small mirror he was contemplating and hid it beneath the edge of his bedclothes, turning again to face his visitor as the man entered his chamber.

It was a new chamber, he'd only moved into it a few weeks ago. After his troubles of the past year, the council had decided that it was time he had his own space and asked him which if the currently empty chambers he would prefer. Since Demon had left, and Cynthia, he'd had no reason or desire to stay in the dormitory with the younger children, and had asked for this one. On the edges of the populated region, below where most people were comfortable, he liked it because he could hear the Chamber of the Winds from here in the dark of the night.

"I'm in here, Father." He spoke slowly. It was only recently that his voice had stopped cracking and breaking and the deep, rough timbre it held now almost startled him when he spoke.

"This walk gets longer every day, son." Setting aside the cane he carried more for show than use, the man he called Father came into his chamber and sat in one of the three chairs that surrounded the large square table he had chosen. "How are you feeling today?"

"I'm fine." Backing up, he started to sit on the bed, then remembered the mirror and moved to the end of it. "Do you have to examine me every day?" There was a hint of normal adolescent whine in the voice, sounding incongruous.

"We have to monitor your condition very carefully. If you were to relapse...." Trailing off, Father waved one gloved hand in the chill air eloquently.

"I want to go above, Father. I'm tired of being caged up down here." Clearly grumbling now, the teenager ran his hands through his hair. It hadn't been cut while he was having trouble, because it had been too dangerous then, and now he'd decided to keep it long, despite Father's chiding. Reaching the ends of it, strawberry blond and thick like a mane, he tugged at it.

"You'll pull it all out if you keep doing that." Father offered a smile. "Easier to cut it if it bothers you."

"It isn't bothering me. I like tugging on it." Vincent said shortly, repeating the movement to prove his words.

"It's your hair." With a long-suffering sigh, Father reached for a book on the table and lifted it from the wobbly stack. "What's this? I thought I knew everything you've been reading." Flipping it open, his eyes widened and then he stared at his son, worry written on his face. "Vincent, what is this?"

"It's a book, Father." Standing from the bed, he reached for it, his hair falling into his face and half-concealing his sharp, odd features. His hand was large, too large for the wrist it was attached to, and the candlelight caught the reddish hairs that coated the back of it, highlighting them. Snatching the book with one of those inhumanly quick movements, he tucked it beneath the pillow of his bed.

"But that kind of book?!" Standing, Father pushed past the young man, who was taller than he and still growing, and retrieved it. "The Joy of Sex? Where did you get this?!"

"It was Demon. He said I could have anything he left behind." Defensively the teenager answered. "Why can't I go above, Father? I used to, all the time at night. Pasqual could go with me."

"Pasqual is busy with his duties in the Pipe Chamber. He's learning the skills he'll need to take over there." As if to add credence to his words there was a sudden flurry of metallic sounds and they both paused to listen to the message.

"That's not an answer." With a hint of anger, Vincent reached for his book again, only to have Father move it out of reach. "That's mine."

"Why would you want to read this, Vincent?" Sounding confused, Father allowed him to take it when he made a second grab, and sat on the bed. It seemed that he missed the mirror, there was no sound to suggest otherwise.

"It's not like I'm very going to have a chance to use it." Despondently, the teenager folded himself into one of the straight-back chairs. It looked uncomfortable.

Father's face softened. He went to stand behind the teenager and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Vincent. What - what happened with Cynthia - we don't know that's the way it's always going to be."

"I know, Father. I can feel it. I know what I look like - I'm always going to be alone."

Unable to offer any more hope for that, Father was silent.

"I need to breathe, Father." The bright blue eyes were pleading now as they stared up at him. "I need to hear the city, and smell it and see the people. Being down here all the time - it's like I'm condemned for something I didn't do."

"It's better than being in a cage or dissected." The answer was sorrowful but firm. "The world above is not safe for someone as special as you are."

"It's not safe for anyone, Father." Shrugging off the comforting hand, Vincent stood and looked around his chamber. He seemed to grow several inches as he did, his back straightening and shoulders squaring.

He turned and faced Father.

"I'm going above tonight. I feel fine, I am fine."

"Vincent, NO. I forbid it." Hands on his hips, Father had to look up to meet the younger man's eyes.

"And how are you going to stop me?" Crossing his own arms over his chest, Vincent met the stare. "Eventually you're not going to be able to tell me what to do."

"I'm asking you." Simply put, Father stepped out of the way. "If you respect me you won't do that."

"Damn." With a groan Vincent turned and threw himself fulllength on the bed. There was an ominous crack, but he ignored it.

"Vincent?" Worried, Father stepped closer.

"Leave me alone! You can get me to do what you want, Father, but you can't make me like it!"

With a sigh the older man stared at his son's back for a few minutes. Then he shook his head, picked up his cane, and left the chamber.

"I'll be in the library if you want to talk. Or maybe we could play chess." He said as he left. There was no answer, Vincent just grabbed a pillow and bunched it under his head.

He lay like that for a long time. The pipes rattled and once or twice voices drifted in from the passages outside the chamber, but no one interrupted him.

Eventually the broken frame of the mirror became uncomfortable to lie on any longer and he stood, lifting the bedspread and exposing the remains.

The frame was broken neatly ion two, the mirror cracked but not broken, a spider-web spreading across the silvered surface. Picking it up, Vincent studied himself in the new reflection, his coarse, animalistic features doubles and tripled and reflected back at him many times over.

With a heave he threw it at the wall above the bed and watched it shatter into a billion sparkling glass pieces, the frame smashing solidly into the rock.

He looked up at the roof of the chamber, and spoke aloud.

"I'm sorry, Father. I do respect you, but you just don't understand. I'm suffocating here."

The words spoken, the decision was made. There was a long cloak, made of patchwork pieces of fabric and leather, lying across the foot of the bed. Grabbing it, he swung it on and blew out his candle, then padded barefoot out of his chamber in the dark.

It was raining. It was raining, and she was cold.

Spying a thick clump of trees surrounded by solitary ones, the girl called Fire picked up her feet and trotted to it, one hand holding her broad hat tight to her head while the other clutched the thin shawl closer around her thin shoulders. Rain splashed on the brim of the hat and poured over into her face.

What had happened? Where were her friends, Star and Angel and Storm? The questions bounced through her head in slow motion as she reached the shelter and crawled beneath heavy branches that drooped almost to the ground.

Underneath it was dryer, the ground padded by years of fallen leaves that soaked up the moisture that managed to seep between the thick boughs.

Leaning her back against the biggest trunk in the middle, she pulled the shawl closer and tried to think.

It was hard. Her thoughts were sluggish, a sensation she was familiar with. It was the mellow end of a very pleasant high, but she'd never felt this out-of-it before. Not just from smoking pot, and that had been all she'd done tonight. Pretty much all she'd done in her life, if she didn't count that one time she got very brave and tried those dried mushroom thingies Storm had brought back that one time.

She shivered. Her light dress was soaked through, her red hair, the envy of her friends, was plastered to her pale skin like icy ropes. New York in the spring could be just as cold and cruel as New York in winter.

With an effort she tied the shawl into a knot at her throat and rubbed her hands briskly together, trying to warm up and get the blood flowing. She would think better if she were warmer. It was hard to keep her thoughts on track. Had she been thinking about her mom? She did that sometimes, when she was lonely. It had been a long time since she died, but her daughter still missed her.

She could call her dad. Get out of here, find a phone. He would send somebody to pick her up right away, she would have a warm hotel room and hot food.

A hot shower sounded like heaven right now.

But he was in Europe right now. At least, she thought he was. So she couldn't call him from a payphone, not without her purse and checkbook and cash.

Her purse! That was it, her purse was missing! Frantically she searched the ground around her, ruffling the piles of leaves and digging into the soggy earth before she realized that it wouldn't be here. It would be wherever her friends were, wherever she had left it.

If she had her purse she could get her own hotel room.

The burst of energy she'd expended had exhausted her. Sinking back, she felt the rough bark of the tree dig into her back. She shivered again, harder.

She was so cold.

As much as Vincent loved thunderstorms, there was no reason to stand out in this one and get soaked. He'd wandered the park for a while while it threatened, but now it was coming down in sheets and his oiled-leather cloak was threatening to soak through. He was warm enough, with his fur and layers of clothes, it wasn't as cold up here as it was Below tonight. A few stray drops dripped off the hood of the cloak and the cold tickled his nose.

He was walking through a grove of trees, weaving between them. The sneeze was explosive, loud,but he was startled when a thin voice called out "Bless you!" from only a few feet away.

"Um, thank you." He called back, though not too loudly. His voice was steady and didn't crack.

"Are you from around here?" It was a girl's voice, he was sure. Taking a step closer, he listened and heard a muffled cough.

"Not really. I guess." He replied. Mentally he was debating what to do. A girl out here, it wasn't safe, and tonight was awful. Cold and wet, it could be dangerous.

"Oh. I was just wondering..." her voice trailed off into a sigh and then she was silent.

"Hello?" Taking a step forward, he used his natural night vision to peer into the grove. But there were too many branches in the way, so he had to kneel down in the wet. "Are you in there?"

Still no answer. And now he could make out a small huddled form, pressed against the darkness of a tree trunk. Her dress was pink, and the shawl had been white. Now it was grey, like the two wide, frightened eyes that stared at him, tendrils of red hair stuck to the pale face.

"I'm coming in." He said loudly, not wanting to frighten her. It was dark and she couldn't see him he reasoned, so it would be okay. Besides, she would get sick if she stayed out here all night.

"'kay..." sighing again, she nodded.

The branches slapped against him, almost making him lose his balance, and he stumbled. She reached a hand up as if to catch him, and he sat heavily on the ground beside her, his long legs stretching out in front of him as he sprawled.

"Hi." She said, her hand still on his arm. "I'm Fire. Well, I'm not really, but that's what my friends call me. Because of my hair." With her free hand she flipped a lock of it forward and studied it, holding it before her eyes as if she could actually see it.

"I'm...I'm Vincent." He said, at a loss. She was acting rather oddly. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Just cold, y'know. I was with my friends, and we smoked this joint, and the next thing I knew I was lost in the park." Eyes wide, she looked around the small area protected by the trees. "I am still in the park, aren't I?"

"Yes, you're in the park." Listening to her, he decided that was why she was acting so strangely. She'd been taking drugs. And that must be why she wasn't frightened of him. As he watched she tucked the hair behind her ear again and shivered strongly. "Here." His hands hesitated at the ties, but then he undid them swiftly, turning his head away as the hood fell off, shrugging out of the side of it and offering it to her, holding it out.

He stiffened in shock as her slight weight pressed up against him, Slender arms wrapped around his chest and her face pressed to his neck, cold enough to make him shiver.

"Thanks. You're really warm." She snuggled in and all he could do was automatically bring the cloak around her and his arm landed on her shoulder and she sighed, relaxing against him. "It must be all that nice fur." She said.

Vincent opened his mouth to say something, anything, but then she giggled.

"I must be really stoned. I'm going to wake up in the morning and I'll be all alone and wet and cold, but at least I'll have this nice dream in the meantime."

Closing his mouth, Vincent wished he could smile. Without any help from him at all she'd found the perfect excuse for him to stay.

"Just a dream." He sighed into her hair, tilting his head to sniff at it. She smelled good, like rain and flowers, with a bitter tang that he supposed must come from the marijuana.

"Do dreams have names? You said you were Vincent." Cuddling even closer, she threw a leg over his and slid into his lap, seeking his warmth and strength. It was a very intimate position and he shuddered and sat very still, embarrassed and afraid as arousal flooded his system.

"Y-yes. That's my name. Vincent."

"Well, Vincent the dream-lion...like Aslan. He was a God in his land." Sitting up, his cloak over her back, shadowing her face in the dark, she straddled him with more purpose, her hands coming to his chest. "I think you're beautiful. That must be why I dreamed you up. And since I dreamed you it's okay if I touch you, right?"

Before he could object her clever hands found the leather laces that tied his trousers and undid them. Then shock held him silent and still as she reached inside and touched him.

"You are a dream, aren't you?" She smiled down at him, wriggling seductively in his lap as she worked her panties off. "I don't know what was in that weed, but I'm glad you're here to help me take care of this."

Everything in his mind screamed that this was wrong, this was dangerous, but as soon as she touched him his strength fell away and all he could do was growl softly, his hands sliding down her shoulders beneath the cloak to hold her waist and stroke her bare flesh where she revealed it. Her hands were busy working their way under his shirts and he made a sound - small, desperate - that she understood for what it was.

Fear.

"There there." The girl called Fire brought her hands up and cupped his face. "Even if you are a dream, I know you haven't done this before. I bet no one ever took the time to look past those hands and see this beautiful face."

"I'm not beautiful." He protested.

"Ah, but this is my dream, so you are if I say you are." Pleased with her logic, she reached one hand down between her legs while the other traced his face. "And you don't have to be afraid in dreams. My mother always told me that."

"I - I never knew my mother." The inanity of the conversation they were having under these circumstances, struck him, and he shook his head, trying to clear it. His hair flew, whipping across her face, and she laughed aloud.

"You arebeautiful, and if you were real I would fall in love with you!" She declared. "But you're not, so I'll have to settle for just making love to you. Making love is good for anyone, anytime. It's the best thing one person can give another."

"No, I can't-!" His words were cut off as her hand grasped him and she sank slowly down, taking him into her body, and her closed lips pressed to his.

"See, of course you can."

She moved quickly and fluidly, her lithe body touching him all over. His hands tightened on her waist and he worried that his claws were hurting her the way he had hurt Cynthia, but then everything was perfect and he heard her gasp as she tightened around him and then he was exploding, feeling things he had never felt before.

Within minutes she was curled again in his lap, fully dressed again, and her head on his shoulder.

"I wish you were real." She sighed into his neck, one hand resting over his chest, where his heart still raced. "I would fall in love with you - if you were real."

Thunder rolled above them and a fresh wall of rain began falling and the girl, exhausted, but now warm and sated as well, fell asleep.

Still in shock, feeling so many things he couldn't begin to sort them out, Vincent held her until the storm tapered out just before dawn. Then he carried her to a bench near the sidewalk and lay her on it, slipping one of his overshirts over her sleeping body to keep her warm, and leaving her there as soon as he heard the approach of a mounted policeman.

*****
1998
*****

Back home at the loft, Jim and Blair were relaxing after the party. With a bottled water for Jim and fresh hot green tea for Blair - they'd both had enough alcohol for an evening - this was a sort of ritual - the two of them, sitting, watching the news or Blair working while Jim read or watched TV. It was comfortable, and familiar. Sometimes, if Blair had his things spread around him the way he often did, Jim would sit in the armchair to the side. And other times, like tonight, Blair wouldn't have stuff scattered about, and Jim would sit on the couch with him.

And maybe he would scoot a little bit closer, and his leg might touch Jim's, and Jim might smile at him for a minute, just sipping his water from the bottle while Blair watched him over the rim of his mug, steam adding mysterious edges to his wide blue eyes.

"So, Chief, have you ever been to New York?" Setting the bottle on a coaster on the coffee table, Jim half-turned. The movement caused his arm to brush against Blair's and they both shivered at the slight contact.

"No. Naomi doesn't like New York. When she was sixteen she was traveling cross-country with some friends, but they turned out to be not such good friends after all. They slipped her something one night when they were getting stoned and she had a pretty vivid hallucination. Ran through Central Park in a storm, woke up the next morning on a bench. A cop found her, and he wasn't exactly enlightened. Arrested her as a vagrant and took her downtown. Her friends had taken her purse and wrote bad checks on her account. My grandad was really pissed at that. He always says she trusts people too easily."

"I'm pretending I didn't hear most of that, Sandburg." Jim shook his head ruefully. "What was she doing out there on her own at sixteen?"

"Just discovering the world, man." Blair grinned mischievously. "I've been there and done that too. Traveled across four states on my own when I was sixteen."

"I'm glad you're talking about the traveling and not the drugs." Cuffing the side of the curly head gently, Jim stood and stretched.

"Well, that was the last time she did it. She got pregnant with me right after that, and decided that drugs weren't good for unborn babies. Lucky for me."

"How did your grandad feel about that?" Walking around the couch, Jim leaned on his elbows on the back of it, idly stretching his calves as he did so.

Blair shrugged, turning to prop an elbow next to Jim's, resting his cheek on it.

"Mom has always been a free spirit, Jim. Grandad says that he knew he wasn't going to cage her up, even when she was a baby she went where she wanted. She had the insurance money from her mother's death and didn't need his support, so he just told her to be careful, to be safe, and let her go. If he had tried to keep her she would have hated him."

"But she wound up pregnant at sixteen, Chief. That can't have been a good thing for anyone but you."

Now Blair stood as well, a soft understanding smile on his angled face.

"Nah, you're missing the point, Jim. Naomi says that having me gave her life a purpose. She'd never had that before. Because of me she grew up and became the terrific lady she is today."

"I hear you." Jim said, deadpan. Then he grinned and Blair glared.

"Spoken like a white middle-class american male." He scolded. "Hey, it's not late, you want to watch a movie or something?"

"Sure. Just let me get out of the work clothes. Check and see what's on pay-per-view."

He was stripped to his boxers when Blair shouted up, debating if he needed to put on a shirt or not.

"Lethal Weapon Four starts in ten minutes. Want to give it a try?"

Leaning over the railing, Jim answered as he pulled a tshirt on. It was red and clashed with his blue plain boxers.

"We never did get to the movies to see it, yeah, that would be good."

"Want some popcorn?" Blair asked as he came down. The younger man was standing in front of the television, choosing the movie from a highlighted cable menu.

"I'm stuffed. Go ahead if you want some."

"No, I have some fresh pineapple I've been saving." Turning, Blair handed him the remote. "Be right back. Save my seat."

Making a face at his retreating back, Jim settled on the couch and watched previews until Blair returned, a tupperware dish with a red lid in one hand, wearing a grey tank and baggy sweatpants.

"We're really fashion hounds here." Jim observed.

"Comfort will always outweigh fashion in my book." Blair replied, taking a seat in the middle of the couch and hanging his legs over the side. The top of his head brushed Jim's leg. "So we're going to New York to testify? How long will we be gone?"

Not surprised that the younger man had figured it out, Jim answered thoughtfully.

"At least a week, but Simon says we can take longer if we want to. Stay to see the end."

"Cool. I've always wanted to see Central Park and the Empire State Building. Thom owes me for last semester, he can cover two of my classes and I'll trade Shelly for the other two. She only has a half-load this semester. The museums there are great."

"Great, right." With an exaggerated sigh Jim silently agreed to accompany his friend to the museums, easily keeping up with the sudden change of direction. "Hush, the movie's going to start."

They laughed and cheered and shouted at the screen, the way they couldn't in the theater, and somehow Blair ended up with his head pillowed on Jim's leg, but that was okay.

Everything was okay.

"Naomi? Mom! Damn, I wanted to catch you home. Listen, Jim and I are going to be out of town for a couple of weeks. We have to go to the big apple to testify in a big case and we're going to try to make a vacation out of it. I'll call you with the number when we get there, but Jim has his cell if you need to reach us."

Turning, Blair hung up the phone and lifted a shoulder at Jim.

"Sorry, I just wanted to try to get her one more time. Are we ready?"

"Everything's in the truck but these, Sandburg." Lifting his arms Jim displayed the laptop bag and Blair's backpack. "The plane leaves in an hour, let's get this show on the road." Giving the smaller man a nudge with his elbow in the small of his back, Jim got him moving toward the door.

Blair cast one last longing glance at the phone and then went out the door.

Pulling the truck into traffic, Jim heard their phone ring upstairs and the answering machine click on.

"Blair? Are you there, sweetie? I just got your message. You know, I don't think it's such a good idea for you to go to New York, dear. Call me and we can talk about it."

Deciding that telling his partner would only delay them further for no real purpose, Jim ignored it and kept driving.

"Papa? Papa!" The boy that walked down the tunnel cocked his head sideways, just slightly. Then he turned the next corner and continued that way, his path sure. Layers of clothing made him appear bulky, his shoulders broad and square.

He walked quickly, but not with the usual energy of childhood. Not a stroll, there was purpose here, but it seemed as if every step was carefully, unconsciously considered, planned three steps before. The gold-blond of his shoulder-length hair bobbed as he moved, with a grace that went beyond childhood despite his ten young years.

Taking one more turn, this one leading to a much smaller and darker tunnel, not lit by candles, he headed for a small pool of yellow light cast by a lantern set into a rough niche cut into the wall.

Near the light a large figure crouched, nimble hands working to repair a section of pipe that oozed sludgy water.

"Papa." Breaking into a smile, the boy bounced over and the large man in the cloak turned in time to catch him as he jumped for his arms.

"Jacob!" The usually quiet voice throbbed with happiness as he was lifted up, so high up, and cradled to a massive chest. "You did a good job finding me. How was school today?"

"Father says I have to learn fractions." Bright blue eyes rolled in disgust. "I'd rather read Tom Sawyer, but he said I couldn't until I finished my math. He took my book away!"

"I'm sure he'll give it back after dinner." Pressing his nose to the child's, Vincent shook his head and Jacob matched the motion, giggling. "If you do your math."

Suddenly tired of being held, Jacob wriggled until he was put on his feet, the top of his head barely reaching his father's waist. One delicate hand closed on the edge of the cloak.

"Is it broken?"

Crouching again, Vincent picked up the wrench - it looked small in his hand.

"Yes. This pipe only carries water when the sewers flood, but if it's broken the water will end up here and it will smell very bad. So I'll fix it. Can you hold the wrench for me?

"Sure."

Locking the jaws of the wrench around the broken end, Vincent waited until Jacob had a good grip on it before releasing. Then he lifted a spring band from the basket on the floor and fitted it around both broken ends and tightened it by hand.

"Here, use this one to tighten that." Taking back the big wrench, he offered a smaller one and watched as his son worked to torq the band. When it got tough Vincent put his free hand over Jacob's and added a touch of his own strength, until it was tight enough to suit him.

"Is that good?" Glancing up at him, the boy questioned with a raised eyebrow.

"That's it." Straightening, his head brushing the ceiling of the tunnel, Vincent paused as a flurry of taps sounded. Tilting his head in unconscious imitation, Jacob listened too.

"Father wants to see you?" He asked, frowning because he didn't catch the end of the message.

"Before dinner, yes. To talk about your reluctance to do math, no doubt."

"Aw, man." The solemn child frowned harder. "I'll do it after dinner, I promise."

"I now you will. Garb the basket and I'll give you a ride back."

"Yeah!" With delighted agreement the child grasped the rough handle. Vincent bent over, one arm crooked, and he used the elbow as a stepping-stone to scramble onto the broad back, where he fit himself into two loose straps that hung from the cloak and wrapped his free arm around his father's neck. "Am I choking you?"

"No, you're fine. Shall I run?"

"Please?"

With a low, rough chuckle, Vincent ducked out of the small tunnel and started jogging when he reached the larger one. By the time he reached the main corridor he was moving swiftly, his burden clinging to him, and the few people out this far smiled and laughed as they passed.

But suddenly Vincent stumbled. Jacob threw his other arm around his neck and hung on.

One arm on the wall, Vincent caught himself. Coming from the other direction Jamie had seen, and now she came running.

"Vincent! Are you okay?"

Leaning heavily against the wall, feeling the cold rough damp of it beneath his fingers, Vincent shook his head. His voice was harsh.

"Jacob -"

The child was struggling out of his 'riding straps', but his foot was tangled in his hurry. Stepping up, Jamie helped him out and down and then hovered near her friend, concerned.

"Papa, what is it?" Hunkering down, Jacob crawled beneath his father's bent form and touched his face.

"Not now, Jake." Striving not to frighten the boy, Vincent swiveled his head to look at Jamie but didn't meet her eyes. "Take him to Father."

"But something's wrong." This woman had known him for many years. And she hadn't seen him like this in over a decade.

"I'm fine. Take Jacob." Insistent.

"Do you want me to go, Papa?"

"I need you to go to Father, Jake." Looking back at him, Vincent met the young eyes that were still so much older than they should have been. "Will you do that for me?"

"Yes, Papa." Obediently the boy moved away and stood. He held out his hand to Jamie.

"He just feels something. He'll be okay." He told her as her hand automatically grasped his. "We'll tell Father and he'll take care of it."

With a last glance at Vincent, who was still leaning on the wall, big hands pressed flat, forehead being creased by the rock, Jamie allowed herself to be led away.

"Blair?" Walking down the exit from the plane, Jim moved quickly as his friend stumbled, losing his balance and almost going down. Catching his arm, Jim steadied him until he got his feet square beneath him. "What happened?"

"Dunno." Standing now, the shorter man swayed slightly. People passing them glanced and then pushed around, but a flight attendant was heading their way, looking worried. "Feel dizzy."

"Is everything okay?" the man in the white shirt and blue vest was polite, standing in front of them, one hand reaching for Blair's carry-on bag, the laptop. He relinquished it without a fuss.

"I think he just overdid the excitement." Jim said, squelching a grin as he obfuscated. He used the hand on Blair's arm to draw him close and slip the other one around his waist. "Hold onto me, Chief. I'll get you to a doctor."

"No doctor, Jim. I just got dizzy. Low blood sugar or something." Although he was protesting, Blair did lean into Jim's strength and allow the older man to lead him into the gate waiting area, the flight attendant flowing behind.

Running over the day in his memory, Jim counted up all that his friend had eaten. Some toast and coffee and the peanuts from the plane, that was it as far as he knew.

"You're going to waste away to nothing if you keep forgetting to eat." Scolding gently he lowered his burden to a cushioned chair by the wall. "I'm going to get our bags and then we'll catch a cab to the hotel, okay?"

"We're not renting a car?"

"The travel voucher won't cover it and this city is hell to drive in anyway. We can walk or take the subway wherever we need to go." Leaning with one hand on the back of the chair, facing Blair and studying his face closely, Jim smiled at him. "I thought you'd like that."

"As long as I get a carriage ride around Central Park." Blair grinned. The attendant set Blair's bag down at his feet and offered to go help Jim find their bags.

"Not too bad." Surveying their room, Jim shook his head and echoed his partner's words.

"Not too bad. As long as we don't want to move much."

"It is kinda close quarters." Blair agreed, sliding open the door on the shallow closet. He set his suitcase on the waist-high shelf and unzipped it, then turned to the beds.

Fullsize, which meant larger than his at home but way smaller than Jim's, they were so close together you could only walk between them if you turned sideways.

"At least it seems clean." Investigating the small bathroom - shower, no tub - Jim came back out and picked up his own bag. "Aren't you going to unpack that?" There was amusement in his voice as he began doing just that, hanging his wardrobe bag and fitting underwear and socks into the small top drawer of a dresser.

"Why? I'll unpack it as I go." Shrugging, Blair began setting up his laptop on the bed closest to the door.

"Let me have that one, Chief." Still stowing clothes in drawers, Jim nodded toward the other bed, which was about a foot from a window. They were up high enough for the view yo be nice.

"This bed? Why, do you smell something funny in the other one?" Eyes narrowing, Blair looked at him suspiciously.

"No, if I smelled something 'funny', as you put it, I would be asking for another room. But it probably wouldn't hurt if you burned a candle or something, one of those vanilla ones."

Picking up his things, Blair obligingly moved to the other bed.

"I'd rather be by the window anyhow, but I thought you'd like it. Since the room is so small and all."

"Normally I would." Closing the last drawer, Jim checked his weapon, secure in the shoulder holster he seldom wore. He was hoping that he wouldn't lose another gun, it was becoming embarrassing. Then he sat on the end of what was now his bed. "But I think I should be by the door this time, just in case."

"Oh!" Understanding lit the dark blue eyes. "That's cool. Blessed Protector stuff. Thanks, man."

"Anytime, Chief. So, you want to try the hotel restaurant or hit the streets? We need to get to the precinct and tell them we're here."

"Can we just call them?"

Jim looked at his friend. Tried to see him with the eyes of a New York City police officer.

Long hair, earrings, those mutton-chop sideburns he'd grown back lately. With that beard, Jim figured he just got tired of shaving. Ripped denims, general grunge look. He'd fit in nicely in Seattle counter-culture.

He'd been given a pretty hard time in the Cascade PD when he first showed up.

"Yeah, Chief. We can call. We'll have to meet with the DA to go over our testimony, but there's no reason to go to the precinct."

"No, it's okay, Jim. I mean, if you want to go. I'd just rather not, y'know? I'll hang in the park or at the library while you're gone."

"Well, they are paying for our stay here. One of us should show up and say thank you to those guys that sent us the case info that helped us catch that slimeball."

"Slimeball, Jim?" Standing, Blair grinned at his friend. "I'm starving. Let's see if we can find Chinatown!"

Accepting the hand Blair offered, Jim allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. Standing face-to-face, he held onto Blair's hand, feeling the warmth and strength and roughness of it.

"No tests, right?" He asked as he finally released it.

"No tests, Jim." Blair answered. They exchanged smiles, and went out the door.

"Okay. I'll meet you at the met around seven, right?" Leaning in the open cab window, Jim ignored the driver's long suffering sigh. Double-parked in front of a police station at four in the afternoon during rush hour traffic probably wasn't going to improve his disposition no matter what Jim did. Cars honked irritably around them, but Jim didn't care. They'd had a terrific afternoon, wandering the streets of Chinatown, eating the best dim sum and egg fu yung Jim had ever tasted, then having snacks at little stands along the way.

"Just tune in and find me." Blair grinned as he spoke quietly.

"I thought you said no tests."

"How else are you gonna find me, huh?"

"I thought we could just pick a place to meet. An exhibit or something. The coffeeshop."

"How do you know they have a coffeeshop, Jim?" Asking suspiciously, Blair leaned a little closer to the window. His chin brushed Jim's arm and the older man leaned discreetly into the contact.

"I knew you were going to drag me there, Chief, so I checked their website. They have a coffeeshop."

"A place for you to sit and munch donuts while I wander, is that it?" Now Blair was laughing gently at him.

"Get out of here. In the coffeeshop at seven, Sandburg. Right?"

"Yeah, man, whatever you say." Settling back into his seat the younger man smirked as Jim's brow furrowed, demonstrating that he'd realized Blair hadn't actually agreed.

"The Met, man, let's go." Blair taped the driver's seat and Jim stepped away, still frowning.

"The coffeeshop, Sandburg!" He raised his voice as the cab, with his partner grinning back at him, pulled away and into traffic with a squeal of tires.

"Wow." Aware that he spoke aloud, Blair glanced around to be sure he hadn't disturbed anyone, but the only other person in the room was a figure dressed in a tattered collection of cast-off clothing, topped by what looked like a heavy cloak sewn from scraps - of wool and leather and blankets, Blair thought. He couldn't tell from behind if it were male or female, though there was a long braid of blond hair ties neatly down the straight back. The person sat on a small bench in front of a wall-sized Georgia O'Keefe painting. Turning away from the small Monet he was admiring, Blair padded over toward it.

The painting, about ten feet high and twelve feet wide, drew him in as he got closer. Feeling slightly overwhelmed, Blair paused about two feet behind the bench, finding it hard to catch his breath.

"It will do that to you, if you don't ease into it." The figure turned and smiled at him, a pretty young woman, with very pale skin and light blue eyes. She looked healthy, her skin had good color and there were no shadows in those eyes. From the twist of her waist Blair could see that she was very pregnant. "I come here at least once a month, just to sit here and think about things. It's almost like sitting inside the flower."

Stepping closer, his attention on the woman - he judged her age at close to his own, maybe a couple of years younger - Blair smiled, not wanting to frighten her. But she didn't seem worried, or even bothered by his presence.

"I've seen her work in books, but the pictures just don't give you the impression of scope that this does." Blair gestured at the painting, trying to take it in.

"A friend of mine says it's like early impressionism, it's easier to see if you don't try so hard to look."

"And how do I do that?" Laughing, but grinning to show it wasn't at her, Blair stepped closer, one hand on the back of the bench. "May I?"

"Of course." She scooted over slightly so he could sit without touching her. Looking back at the painting, Blair inhaled deeply, without thinking, before it occurred to him that she didn't smell bad,the way most homeless people did. She did smell strongly enough for him to pick it up with his average nose, but mostly she smelled of woodsmoke and earth. Did she camp somewhere, then, and cook over an open fire? It would be really cold for that soon.

She gestured at the painting, seemingly unaware of, or politely ignoring, his brief distraction.

"It's like one of those magic eye books the kids play with - stare at it really hard and then blink, and you'll see it."

"Okay, I'll give it a try." Tilting his head so he was staring at the center of the painting, Blair did, but then rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "Ow."

"Try it without your glasses." Her smile was warm and friendly and Blair began to have a nervous thought - what if she was fixating on him somehow? But he dismissed it, thinking that he must be getting pretty egotistical if the only reason a pretty girl talked to him was because she had a thing for him. And she was pretty. Blair could just imagine Jim's reaction if he brought her back to the hotel for the night. She could have the extra bed and he and Jim would have to share the other one...the thought made him smile, it made a tongue of heat curl up in his belly.

Probably not tonight, no. But someday. He and Jim, they didn't need to talk to agree on that.

"Good idea." Taking them off he folded them and slipped them into the pocket of his flannel shirt. Then he closed his eyes, opened them, and deliberately unfocused.

When he blinked a minute later, his eyes beginning to sting, the painting unfolded before him like a flower newly blooming.

"Oh, wow." He breathed, struggling to keep the vision. "I never saw it like this."

"Cool, huh?" Her voice was happy.

There were footsteps coming, and they both turned to look at the entry door. It was a medium sized room, with only a few paintings scattered about, dominated by this one on the right wall.

"It's probably my husband." The woman said, smiling. Then a young man, a few years younger than Blair, perhaps, stocky, with a shock of blond hair, trotted through. Also dressed in a collection of old clothes, his were accented by several dark streaks that could have been mud or grease.

"Mouse!" She greeted him.

He paused, his eyes narrowing, and then hurried over to her, reaching a hand for her. Blair noted that his hands were covered by thick knitted gloves, so badly faded the color was gone, also smeared with some dark substance. His smell was stronger, too, but not unpleasantly so, more like he'd been working hard.

She took his hand and he pulled her carefully to her feet. Beneath her heavy skirt was a large bag with a handle that Blair hadn't seen before. Grabbing it, he held it out to her, seeing the tattered paperback novel lying on top and wondering if this was what she had scrounged today.

"Everything good?" The young man called Mouse asked, a bit anxiously, but Blair could understand that. Standing, she looked very, very pregnant. Like she was going to pop any moment. Caught up in his thoughts, he missed the odd cadence of the short question.

"Everything fine." She answered, smiling at him. She was just a hair taller than he was. "How did your day go?"

"Bricks fall, Mouse fix." The man shrugged. "Arthur made a mess, but Mouse clean."

With an effort Blair made himself look back at the painting, not wanting to be rude. But his ears were tuned to this odd conversation, hearing the ghosts of old patterns in their speech as she asked him questions and he answered cheerfully.

"Are we going to the concert tonight with Father?"

"Concert loud. Mouse stay home, work on stuff. Jamie go with Father."

"Okay. It'd getting late, we'd better get out." Turning, her hand still held by the man she called her husband, the woman who Blair figured was Jamie turned back to him, touching his shoulder.

"It was nice talking to you. Maybe I'll run into you again sometime."

"I'm only here for a couple of weeks. Vacation." Blair answered, wondering what he should do, what he could do.

"Oh, too bad. But you'll spend more time here, won't you? I've been coming here for years and I don't think I've seen everything."

"Definitely." He nodded and grinned. Mouse was tugging at her hand.

"Time to go. Ready to go?"

"Yes, I'm ready. Just go slow, okay?" She patted her belly as he reached for her bag, swinging the long strap over his head and neck so it was slung across his chest and the bag settled on his back.

His hand covered hers on the mound of stomach and his smile held the beautiful innocence of a child.

"Okay, good. Okay, fine." He beamed.

They were halfway to the doorway when Blair felt he had to say something.

"Hey - Jamie? Can I, y'know, get you anything?" he stopped, not wanting to offend. "Do you need anything, I mean."

"No." She smiled from Mouse to Blair. "Don't worry about us. We have everything we need."

They walked out the door, leaving Blair to wish he'd done something more specific. Like slip a twenty into her bag or something. Then he thought, maybe I still can. Getting up, he jogged out the doorway and then stopped in the hall because they weren't in sight. He hadn't thought they could have gone far, not the way she was walking. But she knew the place really well, maybe they had just gone a different route. He'd catch them at the front doors.

Thirty minutes later it was just past seven, and he'd been waiting there for twenty. Deciding that they had either chosen to look around some more or taken some back way out, Blair made it to the coffeeshop just as Jim stood from his table, looking mildly angry.

"Chief, there you are."

"Oh, man, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be late. I met the neatest people, a homeless couple, but, Jim, man, she showed me how to look at one of those giant Georgia O'Keefe paintings so I could really, y'know, see it -"

His words were cut off by Jim's fingers pressing gently across his mouth.

"We have a meeting with the DA in fifteen minutes. Tell me about it on the way, okay?"

Nodding, Blair grinned and followed Jim out.

In front, as Jim tried to get a taxi, Blair walked over to the guard at the doors.

"Is there another way into this place? I was just wondering, seeing all the security and stuff."

"There's a staff entrance in the back." The man answered, eyeing him, but apparently deciding he wasn't a threat. "Why, you gonna break in?" The words were laced with typical New Yorker snottiness.

"Nah, it would be too much trouble to lug that stuff all the way home." Blair grinned and returned to Jim just as a taxi squealed to a stop in front of him.

Continued in part two.
Text version.