Title: AFTER ALL
Author/pseudonym: Candy Apple
Rating: MAO
Pairings: J/B

Status: Revised and Expanded 
Date: 2-6-99
Archive: Yes
Archive author: Candy Apple
Series/Sequel: First Story in "These Two Hearts" Series

Disclaimer:  All characters who have appeared in the UPN-TV series,
"The Sentinel" are the properties of UPN and Pet Fly Productions.  All
original characters belong to the author.  No infringement on the rights
held by any to "The Sentinel" characters, name or stories is intended.  No
money is changing hands or profit being made on this story.                               

Song lyrics are taken from the song "After All", performed by Cher and
Peter Cetera.  No copyright infringement is intended.   It's not mine.  
Lyrics to the song "How Deep Is Your Love" belong to the Bee Gees, I
think.  It's not mine either.

Summary & Warnings:  When Jim rescues Blair from a physically and
sexually abusive relationship, he discovers his real feelings for his
partner.  Together, they try to rebuild their lives, and bring to justice the
man who abused Blair.  NC-17 for m/m sex, violence, language and
references to rape, sexual abuse and S&M (the violence *does not*
occur between Jim& Blair!).  H/C, romance and a little smarm included,
too. :)  

Author's Notes: This story was previously released.  This is an updated,
revised and expanded version of the story.  The basic plotline hasn't
changed, but additional scenes have been added and some editing done. 
Hope you enjoy the changes.


AFTER ALL 

By 

Candy Apple


"After all the stops and starts, 
We keep coming back to these two hearts, 
Two angels who've been rescued from the fall. 
After all that we've been through, 
It all comes down to me and you. 
I guess it's meant to be, 
Forever you and me, 
After all. . ."

******

     Blair looked in the mirror and winced at his appearance.  The
worst of the swelling was gone, but the split on his lower lip was still
colorful, and the bruising around his eyes had just faded to a sort of
sickly yellow-green.  He put his sunglasses on, and sighed with a little
relief that they covered most of damage.  Casting a glance at his current
lover's recognition plaque, earned at the awards ceremony three nights
earlier, he shuddered at the memory of the stark terror he'd felt when he
realized he'd gotten his dates mixed up again.  Vince was being honored
at a dinner hosted by the Rainier Athletic Boosters Club for his
achievements in coaching the University's wrestling team.  They'd never
had a record as strong as the one they had now, under Vince's direction. 
And Blair had come back home to their apartment about nine o'clock
that night, momentarily puzzled that Vince wasn't there, until it all
dawned on him.

     No amount of backpedaling and sweet-talking had saved him
from Vince's wrath, and now, three days later, he was trying to put
himself together to go out for the first time.  There was almost no food
in the cupboards, and somewhere along the line, Vince had decided that
Blair was his housekeeper as well as his sex partner.  Grocery shopping
seemed to have become a permanent part of Blair's responsibilities to the
household.

     "Wonder if they still sell rat poison you can mix into stir fry,"
Blair pondered aloud, picking up his car keys from the dresser and
heading out to his car.  He looked down at the key ring in his hand, and
felt a little stab of pain.  Jim had bought it for him one day when his old
one broke, and he'd carried it ever since.  It was a leather tab with a little
gold circle with Blair's initials on it.  Jim had dismissed the gesture as
merely an effort to get Sandburg a decent quality one so the keys to
*Jim's* loft didn't end up strewn all over Cascade.  He closed his hand
around it momentarily, as if he could somehow touch Jim by holding the
small object tightly.

     Swallowing what should have been a happy memory because of
the pain it caused, he unlocked his car.  The early April air was cold, but
the rare sunshine was compensating for it nicely.  At least a little fresh
air and sunshine might make him feel better.

     "Good morning, Blair!"  Mrs. Halstead's voice carried from her
porch to the spot where Blair stood.  Their elderly next door neighbor
had taken quite a liking to him in the four months he'd lived there.  He,
in turn, had gone to her more than once for a little motherly TLC when
he was hurting.

     "'Morning, Elaine.  Gotta go restock the food supply," he said,
forcing a little smile.  The elderly woman had come over the morning
after the beating, once Vince left, and done her best to tend to the bruises
with ice and a vast repertoire of over the counter remedies.

     "You think you're all right to drive?"  The small, gray-haired
woman stood on the porch, holding the blanket she'd been shaking in the
fresh air.

     "Yeah, I can manage.  Thanks."

     "Be careful," she responded, waving as she headed back into her
apartment in the one-floor four unit.  

     //I'm safer in my car than I am in that damned apartment,// Blair
thought dismally as he eased himself into the car, groaning a little at the
protest from his ribs and the pressure of the hard seat on other tender
areas of his body.

     Happy to have picked a seemingly quiet time to shop, Blair
moved slowly down the aisles with his cart, collecting the items on his
list.  

     "Sandburg?"  A voice startled him from behind.  He turned to
look up at Simon Banks, standing in the aisle holding a large foil tray
that looked as if it had come from the deli.

     "Simon.  Long time no see," Blair said, feigning happiness at
seeing his old friend.  A part of him was glad to see Simon, another part
lamented that it couldn't have happened at a worse time. 

     "I'd shake hands, but if I drop these spicy chicken wings, the
guys'll kill me."

     "You got elected for the take out run, huh?"  Blair added, trying
to keep his tone light.

     "It's Rafe's birthday.  This is the main course."

     "Oh.  Tell him I said Happy Birthday."

     "Why don't you tell him yourself?"  Simon suggested.  "You
know us, we always have enough food to feed a small nation at one of
these parties.  Drop in."

     "No, I can't.  But thanks."

     "Looks like you've been picking up the wrong guys' girlfriends,
huh?"  Simon said jokingly, nodding toward Blair.  The younger man's
hand automatically went up to the split in his lip.  Then Simon's eyes
narrowed.  "What happened?  Looks like you really went a few rounds
with someone."

     Blair reached up and took off his sunglasses.  Simon's eyes
widened a bit at the damage revealed.

     "It wasn't anything that exciting.  I fell down the stairs at the U. 
Got pretty banged up all over."

     "You fell down the stairs on your face?"  Simon asked, the
skepticism plain in his voice.  

     "Sort of face down, yeah," Blair answered a little nervously,
putting the glasses back in place.  For that brief second when he'd
followed the impulse to take them off at all, he'd wanted to blurt out to
Simon what he was going through, to take advantage of the protection he
knew he'd get from his old friends at the Cascade PD, but there was too
much at stake, and Vince didn't make idle threats.  There was no way to
protect everyone his lover would go after if Blair were to make an
attempt at escaping from him.

     "There's more to this than you're telling me, kid.  I know you
better."

     "Hey, Simon, come on.  You know me.  I tripped and the rest is
history."  Blair laughed a little uneasily.  "Your wings're gonna get cold."

     "Yeah, I guess.  Any message you want me to take back to Jim?" 
Simon probed, still uncertain of what the falling out had been that had
split his best team apart ten months earlier, and still very uneasy with
Blair's explanation of his bruises.

     "Uh...no.  That's okay.  I know where to find him."  Blair tried a
little smile, but it held no happiness.  "Great seeing you, Simon.  I better
get going."

     "Take care of yourself, Blair," Simon said, loading a great deal of
concern in the simple statement.

     "You too."  Blair continued down the aisle, turning the corner
and stopping to expel a long breath when he was safely out of sight and
earshot of the police captain.  

*******

     "I saw Sandburg at the store when I went to pick up the wings,"
Simon said conversationally.  He chose a moment when he and Jim were
somewhat separated from the other cops who were scarfing down the hot
wings and other snacks in the bullpen.

     "Really?"  Jim didn't appear terribly interested, but Simon had
learned to read the cool, disinterested act years ago.

     "Looked like someone really worked him over."  Simon waited
while that registered and Jim's head snapped up from his concentration
on his plate of food.  

     "What're you talking about, Simon?"  

     "Split lip, fading bruises all over his face, and he was moving
down the aisle like a little old lady."

     "Didn't you ask him about it?"

     "He said he fell down the stairs at the university."

     "You don't buy that?"

     "I'm not saying it isn't possible.  I just had a bad feeling about the
whole thing."  Simon let out a long sigh.  "I don't know what went down
between you two, but I have to say I'm a little surprised you don't even
talk to the guy anymore."

     "That's not my call.  I've left messages on Sandburg's voice mail--I even 
stopped at his office one day, but he was in class.  He doesn't call
me back.  I guess I finally got the message."  Jim paused, toying with a
chicken wing he had no plans to eat.  "Was he all right?  He'd been to a
doctor or something?"  Jim asked.

     "I don't know that.  He didn't say.  It looked like the bruises were
a few days old, and he was getting around on his own, so I reckon he'll
be all right."

     "I'll leave another message for him.  I don't have his home phone
number."

     "You're kidding."

     "No.  Simon, I told you, Sandburg wants it that way."

     "Are you ever planning on telling me what happened?"

     "Blair and I had some serious differences of opinion on a couple
of things.  We parted amicably," Jim shrugged.  "I don't know what else
there is to tell."

     "I get it, Jim.  It's personal.  But whatever it is, forget about it and
check on the kid, huh?"

     "Yeah, I will."

********

     Jim sat on the couch, took another swig of his beer, and dialed
the number of Blair's office.  He hoped that maybe he could catch Blair
before a night class, which generally started at seven.  It was six-thirty. 
Instead, the recording greeted him...again.

     "Hey, Chief, it's Jim.  Simon mentioned he'd run into you today,
and that you'd managed to bang yourself up pretty good."  Jim paused,
hating that the machine was fastidiously recording his every pregnant,
uncertain hesitation.  "Uh...I just wanted to know if you were okay, and
remind you to go to the doctor.  I know you don't always do that, but you
know, with falling, sometimes you can hurt something and, uh, not
know...you know, they could do an X-ray or something."  Jim searched
his mind for something to say that would prompt a response.  "If there's
something else going on, uh...I could help you out.  I remember you
telling me that friends did that.  Give me a call, will you?  If I don't hear
back from you this time, I guess I'll just figure you don't want to hear
from me.  I probably should've gotten that message by now, but I was
just...concerned...  Um, take care, Chief."  He hung up the phone.  He
didn't expect to hear from Blair, and his presumption would prove to be
right.

*******

     Watson's nostrils flared as he listened to Jim Ellison's voice on
the recording.  Blair was sitting at the table, typing away on his damned
laptop, his nose in a book like it always was as he tapped notes into the
little machine in front of him. //So the little bitch is still getting messages
from his old boyfriend.// He shook his head and pressed the right key on
the telephone to erase the voice mail message.  He'd managed to find
Blair's passcode a while back, and listening to the other man's messages
was a good way to know for sure if he was being honest. //Now he's out
flaunting his bruises at his cop friends.  Talking to them, keeping in
touch...what's next?//

     Hanging up the phone, Watson moved toward the table where
Blair was working.  He gave the younger man's pony tail a sharp yank.  

     "I'm ready to turn in," Watson stated coldly.

     "I'll be right there.  I just have to finish typing this up--" Blair's
words were cut off when Watson grabbed the restrained hair and pulled
Blair's head back as hard as he dared.

     "I said I'm ready to turn in.  That doesn't mean in another hour.  It
means now."

     "I only need five minutes, man," Blair managed, trying to keep
the fear out of the wide eyes that looked up at Watson.

     "You know what the problem is?  This fucking computer!" 
Watson let go of Blair's hair and slammed the lid of the laptop down
violently, barely missing Blair's fingers as he yanked his hands clear.  

     "Vince, come on, I just--"

     "Shut up, *Chief*!" he added bitterly.

     "Don't call me that," Blair shot back in a firm tone, not caring at
that moment if Watson killed him for it.  Nobody else was going to call
him by that name.   Least of all the man who was abusing him.

     "Struck a nerve, eh?"  Watson chortled derisively.  "What are you
gonna do about it, *Chief*?"

     "Dammit, Vince, stop it!"  Blair got up out of his chair and stood
facing his irate lover.  All 6'4" of him.

     "You're still in love with him," he accused Blair bitterly.

     "Where'd you hear that nickname?"  Blair challenged, suddenly
wondering how Vince knew what Jim called him.

     "Don't you know by now that there isn't anything about you I can't
find out if I decide to?"

     "Let's just drop this, okay?  I'll finish this stuff tomorrow."  Blair
turned to open his computer and turn it off, but Watson grabbed hold of
it and picked it up in one large hand.  "What're you doing?"

     "This is half the trouble between us.  Your old boyfriend, Ellison,
is the other half.  But this goddamned computer gets more attention from
you than I do.  Well, I've had it!"  Watson hurled the machine across the
room, smashing it against the wall of the living room.

     "Damn you!"  Blair shouted back at him, angry enough to forget
the consequences of a remark like that.  He hurried over to the destroyed
machine and started to examine it.  Watson followed him, pulling him
by the hair out of his crouch.

     "By the time I get done with you tonight, you're never going to
talk back to me again."  Watson moved his lips close to Blair's ear.  "Tell
me you're not in love with Ellison.  Better yet, say he's a no good asshole. 
Then I might believe you."

     "Please...leave me alone," Blair pleaded, unable to free himself
from the iron grip in his hair without losing a chunk of it by the roots.

     "Say it!!"  Watson gave him a shake, pulling painfully on his hair.

     "No more...please leave me alone," Blair shouted back again,
tears in his voice now.

     "Goddamn you, say it!!  Ellison's a no good asshole!  Come on,
say it!"

     "Ellison's..."  Blair bit his lip, igniting the old pain of the healing
split.  "NO."

     "What did you say?!"

     "I won't say it!"  Blair shouted back.  Rebellion was an ill-advised
path at this moment in time, but Blair's submissive streak had snapped
now, and he rode the tide of not caring what Watson did to him--at least,
not until he started doing it.  "Let go of me!"

     "Oh, I'll let go of you.  You run back to Ellison.  See how long he
wants to hang around with you when he sees you on film."  Vince smiled
sadistically, feeling a little of the fight leaving his captive.  "Wonder
what that captain of his--what was his name again?  Captain Simon
Banks, Major Crimes, Cascade PD?  I wonder what he'd think of one of
those tapes I made of us together?  Wonder what he'd think of his star
detective being shacked up with a two-bit male whore for three years,
huh?"  

     "Please...don't..."

     "Don't what?  Please don't *what*?"  Watson sneered.  "Show
them the tapes?  Don't go visit mommy in LA and show her a good time? 
Tell me what you want, Blair."  Watson paused, then his tone turned
decidedly lecherous.  "Ask me for it."

     "No," Blair moaned, less a protest than a lament of misery.

     "Ask me for it, baby.  You know how to say it."

     "No."

     "Fine.  You need a little attitude adjustment, bitch.  And you're
going to get just what you need."

*******

     Elaine Halstead stirred and picked up the ringing phone on her
bedside table.  The elderly woman had gotten very little sleep, hearing
the sounds she knew only too well through the inadequate walls of the
four unit.  Now, at seven in the morning, the call was an unwelcome
intrusion.

     "Hello?"

     "Elaine?"  The voice on the other end of the phone was broken,
to say the least.  

     "Blair?  What is it, dear?"  She sat up in bed, hearing the pain in
that one word.

     "I...I need help...I...Vince left...I'm...There's blood, and I can't get
up..."  The voice trailed into tears.

     "It's going to be okay, honey.  I'm calling an ambulance right
now."

     "NO!!  Please, just come.  Use your key.  Vince is gone."

     "If you're bleeding and you can't get up--"

     "Please, Elaine.  I need help.  Please come.  Don't call anyone. 
Please don't."

     "Okay, dear.  I'm on my way.  You just hang in there."

*******

     Jim made his way into the bullpen, stifling a yawn.  For some
reason, sleep had eluded him all night, and he'd been plagued with
memories and thoughts surrounding his absent partner.  There was no
reason to think Blair was lying about falling down a flight of steps, and
he had every right to his own life.  Jim had no claim on him.  No way to
insist on keeping in touch.  

     He sat at his desk and logged in to his e-mail.  He was surprised
to find a message there from Blair entitled "Your Phone Call".  He
opened the message, feeling cheered up already at this little sign of
response from Sandburg.

     "Jim,

     Thanks for the concern.  I'll be fine, and yes, I saw a doctor.  Just
tripped over my own      feet.  Nothing serious.  I'm seeing someone now,
and he's a great guy who's there for me      if I need anything, so all
bases are covered.
     
     Blair."

     //How did things end up like this, Chief?// Jim asked the message
silently. //We're reduced to a few clipped off words on a computer
screen.  Whoever this other guy is, he's a lucky son of a bitch.  I hope he
knows that.// Jim didn't stop to analyze where that thought came from,
but rather logged off his e-mail without caring who else's messages were
in his inbox.  The thought of Blair with another man sent an irrational
stab of regret through his heart, but he did his best to dismiss it as
mourning the loss of Blair's *friendship*, and picked up the phone to
follow up on a lead on his latest case.

*******

     "You need a doctor, honey," Elaine said softly, helping Blair ease
back down into the bed she had just finished changing.  Helping Blair
tend to the damage Watson had left behind had broken her heart.   "And
you need to let me get you away from here before he comes home."  The
elderly woman drew the blanket up over the shivering form in the bed,
now clad in a too-large pair of her late husband's old silk pajamas.  The
soft fabric had been the only thing that wasn't torment on the angry red
stripes that covered Blair's back, buttocks and thighs.

     "I can't," Blair whispered, a single tear drizzling out of his eye.

     "You're still bleeding.  You need medical attention," she insisted,
holding a cup of water and guiding the straw into Blair's mouth.  

     "Elaine, please...I have my reasons," he managed, holding the
blankets tightly around his neck as he curled on his side.  

     "I know you're afraid, but you can't stay here.  If he...if he hurts
you again, you can't take it, weak like you are now."  She sat on the edge
of the bed and stroked the soft curls that framed the gaunt, pale face on
the pillow.

     "Wherever I go...he'll find me.  And he'll destroy whoever I'm
with."

     "I'll take you.  My sister lives in Boston.  That old Buick is still
pretty roadworthy.  We'll load everything into it right now.  You can rest
in the back seat.  I'll just drive us there."

     "Elaine, that's the other side of the country," Blair said, the pain
straining his voice.

     "Precisely."

     "Thank you."  He smiled shakily.  "But it wouldn't work.  I got
into this.  I'll have to get out of it without involving anyone I care about."

     "How?"  At Blair's prolonged silence, Elaine looked at the frail
figure in the bed, and recalled how vibrant and alive Blair had seemed
when he first moved in with Vince.  A horrible thought crossed her
mind.  "Blair, you don't mean...?  Oh, honey, there's another way," she
said, the tone of her voice the same as it had been when she used to
soothe her own son when he was a child.

     "I don't know what it is," Blair admitted, giving in to his tears and
letting the little caresses to his hair and motherly words of comfort wrap
around him like a blanket against the horrors he'd lived through the night
before.  He'd find a way to hang on, a way to deal with Vince...but
whatever that was, it wouldn't entail endangering this remarkable elderly
woman who stood ready to drive across country to help him escape.

*******

TWO MONTHS LATER...

      Jim waited impatiently while the nurse completed the task of
bandaging the flesh wound.  The bullet had only grazed him, but it had
caused enough bleeding and momentary disorientation to land him in the
emergency room.  Head wounds generally bleed profusely, and this one
was no exception.  

     He realized he'd been distracted on the job, not quite his old self. 
The old Ellison hadn't really been in full swing since his falling out with
Blair.  And then, it couldn't actually be termed a "falling out".  More like
an amicable split over irreconcilable differences. //Too much like a
damned divorce.//  That Blair had *those* feelings for him had stunned
him. Initially, it had sickened him.  Even when the shock wore off, he
just didn't have it in him to pursue a physical relationship with a man. 
Blair had insisted on moving out, telling Jim that living together in
platonic friendship was just too painful a reminder of what might have
been.

     In the solitary time that had passed, Jim had done a lot of
thinking about his absent friend.  Blair's presence had lit up his
previously drab life like a fireworks display.  He was smart, witty, a
good partner--and a first-rate friend.  Jim had confided things to him he
would have never told another soul. //Soul...that's what Blair was...a
*soul mate*// Jim thought sadly. Would making love have really been
such an ungodly stretch of their relationship when they loved each other
in every other way already?  It seemed like it at the time...

     Blair apparently wanted all or nothing, and since Jim couldn't
give all, then they had to live with the alternative.   The utter lack of
contact with Blair and his refusal of Jim's messages and attempts to stay
in touch were probably the most hurtful elements of the whole miserable
situation.  

     When he heard the frantic and all-too-familiar voice outside the
treatment room, he was nothing short of shocked.  A moment later, Blair
burst through the door with a protesting nurse on his heels.

     "Jim!  I heard on the news--they said a cop got shot--in the head!" 
Blair rushed up to him, oblivious to the fact that the nurse who'd
followed him was still expounding on why he shouldn't be in there.

     "We're all finished, Gloria,"  Jim's nurse explained to her
colleague.  "He can have a visitor.  The doctor just needs to sign his
paperwork."  The older woman smiled reassuringly at Blair, who looked
like he was living through the worst scare of his life. The two women
left the room, leaving Jim alone with his former partner for the first time
in almost a year.

     "Are you okay?"  Blair asked anxiously.

     "Just a flesh wound, Chief.  Nothing serious."  Jim evaluated
Blair's appearance, tuning in to him as he always had.  The heartbeat was
rapid, the pulse racing.  His mane of curls was pulled back severely,
looking as if Blair had applied a good deal of styling gel to keep the
front in place.  He was considerably thinner and had a pallor about him
that Jim didn't like one bit. 

     "I didn't mean to barge in that way.  I'm sorry, man."

     "Hey,"  Jim called after him as Blair started toward the door.         

     "Yeah?"

     "What's the rush?  You just got here."

     "Look, it's kind of awkward, you know?"  Blair chewed his lower
lip and fidgeted with a leather bracelet he was wearing.  "I'm sorry I
didn't call you back...those times you left messages.  But I...I still feel the
same way I did a year ago, and I can't help it.  And I know you don't want
to hear from me under those circumstances."   

     "I kind of hoped we could be friends."

     "I wish I could do that."  Blair finally looked Jim in the eyes. 
There was a fatigue and sadness in those deep blue orbs Jim couldn't
remember ever seeing before.  "But I would've never left if I could've
managed that."

     "I understand,"  Jim responded.  It was so good to see Blair again,
and at the same time, it was unsettling.  Blair didn't even look
particularly healthy, let alone happy.  "Are you okay?" 

     "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine.  Just a little tired.  I have to go.  I'll be
late,"  Blair announced, checking his watch.  Jim couldn't remember ever
seeing him worriedly checking a watch before.

     "This is the first time I've seen you watch the clock."

     "Yeah, well, I guess I was late for something once too often." 
Blair reached for the door and then turned to look at Jim with that same
sadness in his eyes that tore at the detective's heart.  "I'm glad you're
okay.  Learn to duck, huh?"  he said, forcing a little smile.

     "Next time, I'll remember,"  Jim responded, trying to match the
smile.  "It really is good to see you again."

     "Same here.  Take care of yourself."  And then he was gone, and
the door whooshed shut behind him.

******

     Blair pulled into the driveway of the four unit complex where he
lived with his current lover. //Lover.  What a sick parody of the term this
relationship is.  The last time there was any love involved was...when? 
Never?// Blair felt a searing stab of regret coursing through him as he
thought about the warmth he'd seen in Jim's eyes in just that few
moments they'd been together.  This distance between them was Blair's
doing, and he knew it, and part of him regretted it with ever fiber of his
being.  But with the pleasure of seeing Jim came the unbearable pain of
the love he felt for the man that could never be returned in kind.  Even
the pain he endured living with Vince was better than that.  

     Blair stared at the door to their apartment, feeling his stomach
turn over a little.  Vince was home already, a light on in the kitchen, and
from the looks of things, one in the living room as well.  Blair was at
least an hour later getting home than he normally was, and that wouldn't
sit well with Vince. //You could back out of this driveway now, drive
right down to the Cascade PD, and file assault charges,// the voice in his
head told him. //He isn't fast enough to get out of the house and into the
car before you'd be a dot on the horizon heading back to the business
district.//

     //Sure.  Right.  I can go file charges with Jim's co-workers about
my *boyfriend* getting rough with me and slapping me around.  That'll
be great for Jim's reputation.  And of course, I can sit back while Vince
trashes Jim's reputation and his career...  And if he loses one of his
"possessions" to Jim--namely me--he'll probably not rest until he kills
Jim for it--and drags me right back here anyway in the end.//

     Blair closed his eyes and let a couple of small sobs get past his
controls.  Looking at the house in front of him through the blur of tears,
he saw Vince opening the front door, standing there, staring at the car. 
All 6'4" of him, filling the doorway, and looking as pissed off as Blair
had expected he would.  Wiping his eyes and swallowing a time or two,
Blair resigned himself to dealing with the consequences of his
unscheduled visit to Jim and got out of the car.  He let the image of Jim's
smile and the sound of his voice come back into memory as he headed
for the house.  He would hold onto that, to make the night's events
bearable.

******

     Jim was only off work a few hours during the day of the
shooting.  Though he was plagued with a headache, he had a load of case
files to plow through, and the jerk who shot him was waiting to be
questioned.  Jim planned on being the one to do it.

     When the end of the day rolled around, Jim was grateful to have
it behind him, turning off his computer and his desk lamp with a relieved
sigh.  The Major Crimes Division was dimly lit and marginally quiet, as
it always was after 10:00 at night.

     "Jim, I've got something here you should take a look at."  Rafe
approached him, his worried-looking partner, Brown, waiting in the
doorway. 

     "What is it?"  Jim opened the manilla folder. 

     "It's a record of domestic disturbance calls for a particular
address.  We got the call tonight.  All of them have been called in by the
neighbors, and the victim refuses to press charges every time."

     "This isn't really my area, guys.  You know that."

     "This case is different.  Check out the names on the paperwork," 
Brown spoke up from behind them.

     "Oh, my God."  Jim noticed the names Vince Watson--and Blair
Sandburg--in the reports.  "Who's the victim?"  Jim already knew, but the
written words were running together now, and he needed time to regroup
to think clearly.

     "Who do you think?  This Watson guy could be your twin
brother, Jim.  Only he's bigger.  It always starts the same way.  The
neighbors hear a loud argument, then sounds of a struggle, sometimes a
scream, or if the windows are open like they have been the last few
nights, they've reported hearing Sandburg pleading with Watson to stop
whatever it is he's doing. The cops show up, there isn't a visible mark on
Sandburg, but he's moving like he expects to split in half, and Watson
looks winded, like he's just been working out." 

     "And Sandburg won't file charges?"  Jim clarified. 

     "Nope.  Not once.  He always says something like, 'Hey, don't I
look all right?'  Then he says they were just arguing and it got out of
hand." 

     "How long has this been going on?"  Jim slapped the file shut and
pinned Rafe with an angry glare, as if he'd been concealing the
information.

     "This is the first time we took the call.  Usually one of the black
and whites gets it.   But we were in the area, so we responded. 
According to the paperwork, it's been going on about six months now. 
The first report was dated in January."

     "Shit."  Jim ran a hand back over his hair.  "I'm going over there." 

     "Jim, if this guy's beating him, he could get it worse or more of it
if you show up there now,"  Brown responded.

     "Not if I go over there and break both Watson's arms."  Jim
snatched his jacket off his chair, but Rafe caught his arm. 

     "If you really want to help Blair, talk to him when Watson isn't
there.  Maybe at the university.  But I think you better do it soon.  He
didn't look so great."

     "I can't just leave him there tonight."

     "I don't see as you have a hell of a lot of choice."  Rafe sighed as
if in frustration, then continued.  "He isn't filing charges, and you getting
thrown in jail for going to someone's house and beating the shit out of
them isn't going to do much for him."

     "Maybe not but I'd feel a hell of a lot better."  Jim shrugged into
his jacket, then nodded at Rafe, raising a hand to forestall any further
discussion.  "You're right.  I won't go there tonight.  But I *am* going
over there to watch the house.  Is it a house?" 

     "It's a one-floor four-unit.  Over on Vine Court." 

     "Thanks for telling me about this, guys."  Jim tapped Brown on
the shoulder with the file folder as he headed for the elevator.

******

     Blair reluctantly opened his eyes.  Watson's snoring filled his
hearing, the big man's face not far from the back of Blair's head.  The
first shift of Blair's legs brought a white-hot poker of pain to life
throughout his body, beginning with his ravaged center and coursing
through the rest of his torso, where he'd taken the worst of the blows. 
His side ached and throbbed almost unbearably.

     With a little grunt of pain, he sat up carefully, unable to stifle a
soft whimper at the pressure on his bottom.  He cast a panicked glance
back at Vince, who hadn't stirred.  If he woke the other man this early, it
wouldn't go over well.  

     Gripping the brass headboard for support, he pulled himself to
his feet and slowly shuffled to the chair where his robe was draped.  He
bit his lip as he caught a shadowy image of himself in the nearby mirror. 
These bruises would take a long time to heal, and the way he was
moving, he'd have to take a couple days off from the U.  Steadying
himself on the edge of the dresser as he went, he made his way out the
door of the bedroom and into the bathroom.  He could feel the warm
wetness on the inside of his thighs, and wasn't at all surprised to see the
bright red on the cloth he used to clean himself.

     //What would Jim think of this?  Putting on your diapers like an
incontinent old woman.// Blair felt the tears trickle down his cheeks as
he lined the back of the briefs with a dry washcloth to catch the
bleeding.  It wasn't stopping easily this morning, and he didn't want to
risk making a mess on the furniture.  He fervently hoped that the stains
in the bed hadn't gone through to the mattress.  Vince would have a fit.

     He made his way to the kitchen, turned on the light, and shuffled
to the spot on the counter where his teapot was sitting.  He had the
timing down pretty well so he could catch it before it whistled, and
perhaps a little herbal tea would makes things better.

******

     Jim stirred and opened his eyes.  Sometime during the night of
staring at the one-floor brick building with its white-trimmed windows,
he'd dozed off to sleep.  Dawn was on the horizon now, and a few
residents of the quiet city neighborhood were getting ready for work. 
Children were out of school now, so Jim imagined some windows were
remaining dark that would usually have been illuminated.

     A light went on in 2314C Vine Court, the unit where Blair was
living with the man who was abusing him.  That whole concept made
Jim's stomach turn inside out.  Why would someone as bright and
intelligent as Blair let himself be treated that way?  Furthermore, why
would anyone want to treat Blair that way?  He was the kindest, gentlest
person Jim had ever known. //And when Simon saw him that day,
covered with bruises, all the captain's cop instincts were right on target. 
There was more to it than a tumble down the stairs.  And I let that go
with a phone call.// Jim sighed. //So this is the new guy.  God, Sandburg,
how'd you get yourself into something like this?//

     Jim honed his focus on the house until he realized that the
window that lit up was the kitchen.  He saw Blair at what he presumed
as the sink, his shoulders moving as if he were filling a container with
water.  What caught Jim's attention most of all was Blair's hair.  It wasn't
smoothed back, and one side of the front hung about a third shorter than
the other, which seemed abnormally long. 

     Blair moved cautiously around the kitchen, as if he were either
trying to be quiet or in a great deal of pain.  Or both.

     Another figure moved into view of the window, and this one
nearly filled it.  Tall, broad and sporting a brush cut like the one Jim had
eschewed in favor of his current short-but-visible hairstyle, Vince
Watson paused at the sink a moment, and then turned toward Blair.  Jim
turned up his hearing.

     "I don't have to be in to work until three.  What the hell's the
matter with you?"  He shoved roughly past Blair on his way to the
refrigerator, which Jim heard open.  Bottles were rattled, packages
moved, and finally, something was unwrapped as the door was kicked
shut again. 

     "I'm sorry.  I didn't think I'd wake you.  It...I was getting stiff in
bed so I--" 

     "Getting a stiff, eh?"  Watson swatted Blair's rear end hard
enough to throw him slightly off balance as he moved back past him to
stand by the window looking out.  "I can take care of that."  Jim hoped
he was parked far enough away.  His sense of sight on full alert, he was
on the next block, looking between the houses.

     "You want some eggs?"  Jim could hear Blair cracking them on
the edge of a bowl.  //How many dozen times did Blair do that very thing
for me before work?// Jim pondered.   

     "I got a better idea."  He turned away from the window and
grabbed Blair roughly around the middle.  Blair's whimper of pain came
through to Jim loud and clear.

     "Take your hands off him, you asshole,"  Jim growled under his
breath.

     "Please, Vince, not now.  I...I can't yet."

     "The hell you can't.  You can put out for Ellison but not for me,
huh?"

     "I already told you I didn't put out for him!  I went to the hospital
because I thought he'd been shot--maybe killed.  We were...we were
friends once," Blair stammered, unsure what was more painful in that
moment:  Watson's manhandling or the memory of Jim and what he
could never have.

     "Lying little whore!"  Watson released him with a shove that sent
him smacking into the refrigerator.  Blair held onto the cool surface of it,
trying to steady himself and ride out the tide of pain the impact had
caused.  He could feel the pain in his side flare, and the bleeding was
getting heavier.  "You told me you were hot for him!  Or don't you
remember that?"  he bellowed at Blair.

     "I said that I had feelings for him and that it didn't work out.  And
I haven't seen him for almost a year.  I wasn't doing anything wr--" 

     "Shut up!  Just shut the fuck up!  Get in the other room!"

     "Vin, please, I'm...I'm bleeding this morning..."

     "It's not my fault you're a tight-assed little bitch!  Now get in
there!"

     Jim revved up the siren and gunned the engine, tearing down the
street with the flashers cutting through the early morning mist.  He came
to a screeching halt outside of Blair's address, and saw Watson looking
questioningly out the same kitchen window to see what was going on.  

     "Open up!  Cascade Police!"  he yelled as he pounded on the
door.

     "Goddamn cops.  Why don't they mind their own fucking
business?!"  he yelled at Blair as he shoved past him and swung open the
door.

     "Are you Blair Sandburg?"  Jim asked, keeping his face
impassive.  If he treated this as a domestic abuse issue, he'd have a worse
fight on his hands with Watson, and he wanted to save that little one on
one for a time when Blair didn't need his help so urgently.

     "Do I fucking look like Blair Sandburg?"  he asked sarcastically. 
Banking on Watson not knowing who he was, Jim continued his
charade.

     "I'd say you've got a fucking attitude problem, pal.  Now unless
you want me to haul your ass in along with your playmate, you better
step aside."

     "What's this about?"  Watson was apparently taking the bait.

     "We found drugs in Sandburg's office.  I have to take him in for
questioning."

     "It's okay, Vince.  I'm Blair Sandburg, officer,"  Blair replied,
playing along.  He had pulled on a suit of sweats and an old pair of
sneakers while Jim had argued with Watson.  In response to Watson's
shocked expression, Blair added, "I think I know what this is all about,
and I can explain everything, but I'll probably have to go to the station to
do it, right?"  he concluded, looking at Jim.

     "That's right, Sandburg.  You better come with me."  As Vince
started to grab for a jacket near the door, Jim held up an admonishing
finger.  "Not you, Tarzan," Jim said, moving Blair through the door and
starting him toward the truck at what looked like a painfully labored gait
as he tried his best to move swiftly.

     "He's got the right to lawyer!"

     "Are you a lawyer?"  Jim shot back at him, all the while moving
Blair as briskly as possible toward the truck.

     "No, but--"

     "So call him one."  Jim retorted abruptly over his shoulder.

     "I didn't see any ID,"  he challenged, as Jim opened the passenger
door for Blair.  Jim noticed the younger man couldn't seem to pull
himself up into the high vehicle.  The smell of blood was pungent now,
and Blair's labored breathing and rapid heartbeat spoke volumes about
the pain he was suffering.

     "It's okay, Chief.  I've got you now."  Jim slid one arm around
Blair's back and the other under his knees and lifted him carefully up
into the seat, settling him down as gently as possible.  He had a pretty
good notion why Blair was bleeding, and the last thing he wanted to do
was hurt him further.  He fastened the seatbelt over his passenger.

     "What the hell's going on here?"  Watson was almost to the truck. 
Jim pulled out his automatic and pointed it at him.

     "Hold it right there!  You want ID, you son of a bitch?  Jim
Ellison!  Sound familiar?  You come one inch closer and give me an
excuse to blow your fucking head off!!"

     "Blair!  Get out of that truck!  Now!"  Watson bellowed.  Blair
only jerked at the loud command, covered his face with one hand and
turned away.

     "If you so much as call him on the telephone, I'll kill you.  Got
that?  You and I are going to have our day, Watson.  Mark my words." 
Jim slammed the passenger door and moved around to the driver's side,
keeping his gun on Watson until the last possible minute.  Neighbors had
gathered on their porches to watch the spectacle, drawn out by the sirens
and shouting.  Watson had no recourse but to go back inside his house
and let Jim drive away with Blair.

     "You shouldn't have done that, Jim.  He'll kill us both."  Blair still
hadn't removed the hand that covered his face.  "He'll ruin everything for
you."

     "What was I supposed to do?  Wait for him to rape you again?"

     "How do you...?"  Blair's head snapped up in surprise.

     "I heard you tell him you were bleeding.  I put two and two
together."  Jim's voice still held a trace of anger, which he belatedly
realized was being directed at the wrong person.

     "Oh, shit."  Blair slumped back in the seat.

     "I'm taking you to the hospital."

     "No." 

     "Don't argue with me, Sandburg.  This isn't open for
negotiations."  Jim paused.  "So this was the great new guy you hooked
up with."  Jim shook his head.

     "What?"

     "Your e-mail--all the bases are covered?  Has this been going on
the whole time?"

     "What are you talking about?"  Blair held onto his side, the tide
of pain rising to a crescendo.

     "When I called you about those bruises Simon saw all over your
face, you e-mailed me about your new boyfriend."

     "I never got any call from you," Blair gritted out.

     "What?  I left it on your voice mail.  You sent me a message in
reply to it, on the e-mail."

     "Jim, I never got your...oh, God," Blair leaned forward in the
seat, holding onto his side. "Jim, there's a pain...in my side.  I...oh, God,
it's getting worse!"  Blair held onto his left side, making little noises of
pain.

     "Hang on, buddy."  Jim started up the siren again and floored it
all the way to Cascade General.  Blair was still clutching his side and
moaning as Jim brought the truck to a screeching halt at the emergency
entrance.  He rushed around the side of the vehicle and swung open the
door, gathering the curled form into his arms and racing into the
hospital.

     "Get a doctor!  Now!"  Jim yelled at the nurse at the desk.  "He's
got a possible ruptured spleen and he's bleeding internally!" 

     "Right this way,"  she left her post and led him down the hall past
the waiting room to an empty gurney, where he relinquished his
armload.

     "Jim...please don't leave me."  Blair looked up through teary eyes,
and clutched at Jim's hand. 

     "You need a doctor, Chief."  Jim noticed a man in green scrubs
rushing down the hall in response to a stat call the nurse had issued over
the PA.  "I'll be right here.  You're safe.  Don't worry about anything,
okay?" 

     "He'll come back,"  Blair moaned, still writhing in pain but
refusing to let go of Jim's hand. 

     "He won't get past me.  Got it?"  Jim took hold of both of Blair's
hands.  "I know it hurts,  but this guy's going to help you out.  Just try to
relax.  I'll be right outside, guarding the door.  You'll be safe from now
on.  I promise."

     "Okay.  I-I'm sorry."

     "No apologies, pal."  Jim reached up and smoothed the uneven
hair back from Blair's face.  "Everything's going to be okay."

     "I need to get him into x-ray, sir,"  the doctor spoke up, jarring
Jim out of his momentary concentration on his prodigal guide.

     "Hang in there, Chief.  You'll be fine, I promise."  Jim reluctantly
pulled free of the clutching hands and watched helplessly as Blair was
wheeled down the hall and out of sight.  Remembering his pledge to
guard his friend, he followed the gurney as far as he was permitted, and
then made a thorough check of any points of access to the area.

******

     Vince Watson was arrested on charges of aggravated assault and
aggravated sexual assault at Jim's direction.  He assured Simon that Blair
would press charges this time. Waiting while emergency surgery was
performed on the too-thin body of his best friend to stop the
hemorrhaging from his spleen, and stitches were determined necessary
to repair the tearing caused by the rape he'd suffered the night before,
Jim practiced every relaxation technique Blair had ever taught him.  The
man who did this to his Blair was going to pay, and pay dearly.  Jim only
hoped he could find some way to contain his rage so he didn't murder the
bastard with his bare hands.

     For now, the hulking man who was responsible for putting Blair
in the hospital was cooling his heels in a cell, awaiting arraignment the
following morning.  Watson, who bore a startling resemblance to Jim,
was a wrestling coach at Rainier, a thirty-six-year-old man
well-respected by his colleagues.  He had a degree in Physical
Education, and a clean record.  Some diligent digging by Taggert
uncovered a history of violent incidents during Watson's school days,
culminating in the rape and beating of his 16-year-old girlfriend during
his senior year.  The girl had declined to press charges.  

     "Detective Ellison?"  The doctor who had rushed to Blair's
assistance approached the spot where Jim paced, not unlike a large
panther, guarding the access to the operating suite.

     "How is he?"  Jim blurted.

     "He's stable.  We removed the spleen and we managed to stop the
internal bleeding. Most of his major organs were bruised, but
fortunately, we got the bleeding under control. Whoever did this to
him...this isn't the first time he's taken a severe beating.  His torso is
covered with old bruises, with a layer of new ones on the top."

     "Doctor, the injuries from the sexual assault--how serious are
they?"

     "We repaired the tearing, but again, this isn't the first time he's
suffered a similar injury.  Scar tissue in that area indicates a number of
prior tears, though most not as severe as these. A few of them should
have had stitches.  There was a great deal of internal bruising which is
going to cause him considerable discomfort for a while, but fortunately,
no serious damage to those organs.  His injuries are consistent with a
pattern of severe physical and sexual abuse.  I'm amazed it took him this
long to end up in surgery."  The doctor removed his glasses and hung
them in the pocket of his scrub shirt.  "I'm not going to lie to you.  He's in
bad shape.  He's significantly underweight, somewhat dehydrated, he's
lost a good deal of blood and he's in considerable pain."

     "Is he going to be all right?"

     "In time, I expect him to make a full recovery.  Of course, I can
only speak for the physical aspect of things."

     "I hope you'll be willing to testify to all this in court."

     "With great pleasure.  Whoever has been abusing him belongs
behind bars."

     "When can I see him?"

     "He's in recovery.  He'll be asleep from the anesthetic for a
couple of hours yet, and then he'll be heavily sedated.  He's going to be in
a quite a bit of pain, and I want him to get some undisturbed sleep.  You
could go home and--"

     "I'll be guarding him personally, doctor.  I really do need access
to where he's staying."

     "You can wait outside the recovery ward, and when he's moved
down to his room, you're welcome to guard him from inside the room or
outside."

     "I want him in a private room--security reasons."

     "Fine.  I'll arrange for that."

******

     Jim's eyes flew open at the first whimper from the hospital bed a
few feet away.  He'd spent the balance of the day and into the night
slumped in that chair, watching the still form in the bed.  Simon had
come to the hospital and conferred with him about the case, taking over
the work to nail Watson personally.  

     "Hey there, Chief,"  Jim said softly, pulling his chair up close to
the bed as he noticed two pain-filled eyes riveted on him.

     "Jim?"

     "That's me, buddy."

     "Hurts,"  he murmured, reaching up weakly to touch his side, but
giving up and letting his arm drop again.

     "I know.  You had a ruptured spleen.  But you're going to be just
fine now."  Jim took  one pale hand in his.  "Watson's in jail, Blair.  You
don't have to be afraid of him anymore.   It's over."

     "I let him do this to me,"  Blair whispered, a tear sliding out from
the corner of his eye.   "I was such an idiot."

     "Did you love him?"  Jim caught the tear, and left his hand on
Blair's cheek.

     "I wanted to.  Maybe he knew I really didn't and that's why..."

     "Just rest now, pal.  You shouldn't be trying to talk."  Jim stroked
Blair's face gently.   He felt the burning of tears behind his own eyes. 
"I'm going to take care of you.  You're  not going to hurt anymore,
Chief."

     "I probably look funny."

     "What?"

     "I try to keep it pulled back,"  Blair commented, referring to the
hair that Jim was smoothing back from his face.

     "Do you want to tell me what happened to it?"

     "A guy I haven't seen in a long time came up to talk to me at a
restaurant.  I hugged him  when he left.  When we got home..."  More
tears slid out from under closed eyes.  "When  we got home, Vince
grabbed a chunk of my hair and...and just...cut it off.  Said that since I 
was coming on to other guys, maybe if I didn't look so good they
wouldn't be interested."

     "Bastard,"  Jim mumbled, catching Blair's tears with his thumb
and the knuckle of his forefinger.

     "I stayed 'cause he said he'd mess up your career by telling
everyone about me...that  you'd been living with a faggot.  Then he
started telling me he'd kill you if I left him.  That  I wouldn't have anyone
to go back to."

     "Shit."  Jim squeezed Blair's hand.  "You're skin and bones,
Chief."

     "I don't eat much, I guess.  He told me I was getting fat right after
I moved in with him."

     "That's a crock of shit."

     "Didn't matter.  I never feel good anymore anyway."

     "Those days are over."

     "He'll get out of jail, and he'll kill me.  Or you."  Blair winced in
pain and grunted a little.

     "How about some pain medication?  You need rest." 

     "I need to tell you..."

     "Blair, I'm going to stay right here next to your bed.  You can
sleep as long as you need to, and when you've rested, we'll talk more. 
Okay?"  Blair nodded slightly, and Jim rang for the nurse.  "As for
Watson, he's history.  If he even glances at you the wrong way, I'll kill
him."

     "You won't always be around."

     "I will.  Because as soon as you're released, I'm taking you home
where you belong.  No arguments."

     "None here,"  Blair smiled a little sadly.

     "Good boy."  Jim smiled and patted the hand he held.  "Here
comes the lady with the feelgood juice,"  Jim said, still smiling at Blair
as the nurse arrived.

******

     Vince Watson was released on $50,000 bond, which was posted
by his parents. He was  pleading not guilty to all charges, claiming that
Blair's bruises and his injuries were the result of  a fight he'd had with an
angry student, and that the "sexual assault" was part of a consensual 
S&M session that got out of hand.  The university had attempted to
suspend him from his duties, but his lawyer had successfully headed that
penalty off at the pass, threatening the university with a civil suit should
they deprive his client of his livelihood when he hadn't even been
convicted yet of any wrongdoing.

     Jim's protests to let him take the lead in the case had been
ignored by Simon,  who opted  to handle it personally with Taggert's
help.  Disgusted at first by  Simon's adherence to the  procedure of
keeping him out of a case in which he was  emotionally involved, Jim 
recognized that what would do Blair the most good  was having his
attention and care during  his recovery.

     Blair's tale of abuse unfolded in painful little installments, as Jim
sat hour upon hour at the side of the hospital bed, tape recorder  at the
ready so  Blair wouldn't have to go through it twice.  

     "Vince has been coaching wrestling at the U for a couple years
now," Blair began.  "He  always kind of reminded me of you--mainly his
looks, because I didn't know him all that  well.  I know he made waves
on campus about six months after he started there because he's  openly
gay.  Doesn't seem like that should be such a hot potato on a college
campus, but I  guess it still is."  Blair winced a little as he tried shifting
in the bed.  He was raised at a very  slight angle to make it easier for him
to have eye contact with Jim.

     "Take it easy, Chief.  Don't try to move around too much."  Jim
laid a restraining hand on  Blair's shoulder.

     "After I moved out of the loft, I got an apartment not far from the
campus.  I never was  crazy  about living alone--Jim?"

     "What?"

     "Can you turn that off?"  Blair nodded toward the tape recorder. 
"I don't care  if I have to  tell  it again later.  I just want to be able to tell
you...without the tape  rolling."

     "Sure thing, Chief."  Jim turned off the recorder and set it on the
bedside table.

     "Thanks."  He forced a little smile.  "Before we go on with
this...Jim, you said something, when you picked me up...you said
something about calling me after I ran into Simon.  I never got any
message from you."  Blair paused.  "Did you call me 'Chief' in that
message?  Do you remember?"

     "I remember.  Yes, I did."

     "Damn him," Blair muttered.  "Vince...he must've gotten into my
voice mail."  Blair swallowed hard.  "He...uh, taunted me with calling
me 'Chief'...I never knew where he got that.  Jim, I want you to know, I
never sent you any e-mails."

     "I know that now, Ch..."

     "No--don't stop calling me that, Jim.  I protected that...I wouldn't
let him say it.  I...I fought for that to be just...your name for me."  Blair
bit his lip to hold back his emotions, and Jim took in a deep, shaky
breath before patting Blair's hand.

     "Okay, Chief," he said, smiling sadly.  He didn't want to think
what Blair had endured to fight Watson on anything, least of all over a
term of endearment.

     "I guess I should get back to the subject."  Blair sighed, staring at
the ceiling.  "I was lonely, and Vince reminded me of  you.  This whole
thing...it's karma, man.  I used him."

     "Nothing you could have done would have justified this."

     "I made it a point to run into him at different functions at the U,
and I let him know I was interested.  He took the bait."

     "So you started dating?"

     "Yeah.  Real casual stuff at first.  Then he made a move on me
after about our  third time  out  together.  He moved fast.  I mean, he
didn't waste much time on  kissing.  He just...was all  hands all of a
sudden.  But I wasn't objecting.  I mean,  this was a fantasy, sort of.  And
I  could...pretend he was you."  Blair looked  away, blushing furiously.

     "It's okay, pal.  I'm not mad.  I'm flattered."

     "You weren't flattered last year."

     "I was shocked...thrown.  I didn't handle it very well."

     "We didn't go all that far--just a lot of groping and hand jobs in
the car--that  kind of  thing.  Then he asked me about moving in with
him.  I liked the idea.  I  mean, Vince wasn't  the lover of my dreams or
anything, but he treated me pretty  well then.  I used to get on him  for
treating me like his girlfriend because he  always insisted on buying
everything when we  went out, and he bought me  gifts...  Anyhow, I
moved in with him, and the first night I was  there, he wanted  to do
something special to celebrate."

     "Doesn't sound like it was much of a celebration, huh?"  Jim
didn't know why  he took  Blair's  hand in his at that moment, but he just
felt something painful coming.  Judging by the  return  pressure he felt
from Blair's hand, it was the  right move.

     "I was ready to try it all the way--you know--getting fucked."

     "You were ready to *try* it?"

     "Jim, I told you before that I had bi *tendencies*.  I never did
anything about  them until I  met you.  And when that didn't work out...I
never had sex that way  before Vince.  God, Jim,  nothing ever hurt like
that did."  Blair tried to swallow  the tears, but they came anyway.  Jim 
covered their joined hands with his free  hand.  

     "He didn't take it very easy on you, did he, Chief?"

     "No," Blair forced out, shaking his head.  "I don't know if he used
anything.  I  know he  wore protection, and I think he used a little spit. 
He just made me roll  over and...  Oh, God,  Jim, it hurt so bad I thought
I was gonna split in half."   Blair was crying openly now,  surprising Jim
with the strength of his grip.

     "I'm so sorry you had to go through that, Blair."  Jim kept his hold
on Blair's hand and  used  his other hand to stroke Blair's too-thin
forearm.

     "The whole time, I was yelling at him to stop, that it hurt.  He
wouldn't."

     "Son of a bitch," Jim muttered under his breath.

     "When he was done, he told me the first time always hurt and
that I had to  learn to relax  or it was always gonna hurt like that."  Blair
shook his head.  "I was  so scared.  I was  bleeding, and he was so...cold. 
It's like he got what he wanted  and then he rolled over and  went to
sleep.  I was lying there in all this pain, and  all he did was pat my ass
and tell me to  settle down and go to sleep."  Blair took  a deep breath
and tried to pull himself together.   "When I woke up, there was a  pretty
good patch of blood on the sheet.  I was in a lot of pain  so I went to the 
clinic.  I was scared something was damaged."

     "Was it?"

     "I was torn up, but the doctor said he thought I'd heal up okay on
my own and  gave me  some medication.  I was so damned...
embarrassed.  Anyway, when  Vince got home, I told  him I'd gone to the
clinic--you know, kind of  conversational.  I didn't think he'd be upset. 
It's  not like I told on him or  anything.  And the way he reacted to all of
it at the time made me  think maybe I  was just being too uptight to enjoy
it.  So I wasn't even accusatory to him."

     "But he went ballistic, right?"  Jim prodded gently.

     "The first thing he did was backhand me and tell me that what
went on in our  bedroom  was  nobody else's business.  I wasn't any
match for him.  My back was  stiff from the night before  and he's
like...massive.  He just beat the crap out of  me."

     "Why didn't you leave him, Blair?  Good God, you know better. 
You know all sorts of  cops  now.  Anyone would've helped you." 

     "I was shocked...dazed...I didn't know what to do."  Blair ran his
hand through  his hair.  "I  dragged myself into the bedroom and lay on
the bed a while.  He  came in a few minutes  later and begged me to
forgive him and cried and told me  I was the only thing that mattered  to
him and he was afraid I was leaving, and  that's why he went after me
that way...and that  he thought someone was going to  think he'd raped
me.  He was good, Jim.  He had *me*  comforting *him*, even  when I
could hardly move to do it."

     "That was an insensitive question."

     "But a natural one.  One I've asked myself over and over and over
again."   Blair paused,  then continued, "Nothing else like that happened
for probably a  month or so.  But the sex  was horrible.  He got off on
doing it rough, and if I  complained, he did it harder.  Looking  back, the
pain got him off."  Blair wiped away a couple of fresh tears with the
hand that  didn't have a death grip on Jim.  "I thought if he knew he was
really hurting me, he'd back  off a little.  He started calling me a
tight-assed little bitch after about the third time we did it  and I 
screamed the whole time.  He told me I was the one with the problem
and it  should be  getting easier, and that I was too uptight--or that I
didn't really love  him."  Blair shrugged.   "That hit home, man.  Because
I didn't.  I loved having  someone who looked like you.  But  even that...I
tried not to think about it that  way anymore because I didn't want to
connect  you to him in any way."

     "When was the next time he hit you?"

     "We had a fight about something--they were all yelling matches. 
He shoved  me around a  lot, even if he wasn't hitting me.  I told him I
was sick of the whole  fucking mess and that I  was leaving.   I was
getting brave because I heard the  siren and I knew the cops were almost 
there."

     "So why didn't you leave with them?"

     "He said if I told the cops, they'd know you had been living with
a faggot for  two years,  and it would be the end of your career.  He also
told me that he knew  all these ways to kill  someone with the right
headlock--and that he'd take you out  if I left him."

     "You should know by now that I can take on something the likes
of Vince, Chief."

     "Jim, he looked...larger than life to me.  He was the star of all my
nightmares,  I was  always afraid of him.  And he had a point.  I knew
what that would make  you look like if I  were hauled into the precinct
complaining about getting fucked  too hard and beaten up by  my
*boyfriend*.  And I was ashamed."

     "Of what?"

     "That he could do that to me.  That he could force me like that. 
That I couldn't defend myself better.  That I was too small to
accommodate him."

     "He's a very large guy, Chief.  Fighting him would be a real
challenge for me, and I'm trained for it.  I'm not saying I  couldn't  take
him and win, I just mean he wouldn't go down easy.  You don't have 
combat training,  and you don't carry a gun.  You wouldn't be a match for
a creep  like that."   Jim frowned, thinking back over all of Blair's words. 
"That you were too small to accommodate him?"

     "He told me that there was something wrong with me.  That he
had been able to do all the same things with his other lovers and they had
been able to handle it."  Blair took a shuddering breath.  "I guess he was
probably lying, but I never had sex that way before and I didn't know...I
thought maybe I was too small."

     "Blair, anything he did that inflicted this much damage on you
would be too much for anyone."

     "Probably.  But he was the one with all the experience.  I never
even did it to a woman that way.  I knew it was tight and that it took
some effort, but I didn't know how rough was too rough and how much
of it was me not being able to adapt to it.  So I told the cops everything
was okay.  And the half dozen times they showed up there, I did the
same thing."

     "Did he hit you often?"

     "Not at first.  He pushed me a lot--manhandling stuff.  He'd blow
up about  something and  hit me maybe once a week or so, on the
average.  He yelled at me  for damn near everything,  and he'd get mad
and do things--like when he cut my  hair.  He started hitting me more 
often--and harder--in the last month or so.  And  he got really
mean...meaner than usual.  It  was getting so he never treated me  with
anything but violence.  He really beat me up  probably about three times 
total--badly enough to make me take time off and just basically lie on the
couch until it got better--but only once did he slip up and mark my face." 


     "Why did he beat you?"

     "Once, the time I told you about, another time because I forgot a
dinner and  awards  program he wanted me to go to with him--and that
*was* a lousy thing  for me to do.  I just  lost track of time.  The last
time was after he found out I'd  gone to the hospital to see you.   He was
beyond jealous of you.  He knew I loved  you--he overheard me talking
to Naomi on  the phone once.  So he accused me of  fooling around with
you."

     "So when Rafe and Brown showed up, he'd already beaten you?"

     "Yeah.  He just knew enough to leave my face alone.  After they
left, he...he  raped me."   Blair didn't try to fight the tears that came now. 
He leaned into the  hand that Jim laid  against his cheek with one thumb
brushing away some of the  tears.  "I really fought him that  time," Blair
gasped through a sob.  "I told him  'no', and...and I fought him...'til he got 
me...pinned down.  He hurt me so bad,"  Blair concluded, his face
distorted with both the  tears and the pain they were  causing his injuries.

     "It's all over, Chief."  Jim lowered the side rail on the bed and sat
carefully on  the edge.   He didn't know quite how to embrace Blair
without hurting him, but he  leaned down so he  was close enough for
Blair to feel his warmth.  He rested his  forearms on either side of his 
friend's shoulders.  "I'm right here.  You're all done  suffering, you hear
me?"  Jim felt weak  hands grasp his jacket.

     "He was going to...if you hadn't come after me...he was going
to..." 

     "I know.  Oh, Blair, I know."  Jim cautiously slid his arms under
the frail body  beneath  him and held Blair gently.  He wondered how
long it had been since  someone had touched  Blair with love.

     "I wasn't...I'm not a whore...I was faithful...to him."

     "I know that.  I know what a beautiful person you are, Chief. 
Don't let the rotten things he said and did to you make you believe any
differently."

     "I missed you so much,"  Blair sobbed, clinging to Jim's jacket
until his knuckles were white.  "I wanna go home,"  he moaned into
Jim's shoulder.

     "As soon as the doc gives you the green light, I'm taking you
home."

     "I promise I won't...I won't ever ask you...I mean, I can't...with
anybody...anyway.  I don't know if...I ever can."

     "Shhhh.  None of that matters right now, baby."  Jim didn't know
where the  endearment came from, but he didn't regret it.  Blair needed
all the love and  reassurance Jim was capable of giving.  He'd lived
through a nightmare, and  somehow had been terrorized by the  sadist he
lived with into thinking that he had  to endure the abuse to protect Jim. 
For that  brainwashing alone, Jim wanted  Watson dead.  For so many
reasons...

     "Jim?"  The voice was strained, but sounded less frantic than
before.

     "What, Chief?"  Jim pulled back a little and grabbed a tissue
from the bedside table to blot the tears off Blair's face.

     "I'm gonna be a lot of trouble when I get outta here.  The doctor
said I'm gonna have to stay off my feet and...and there's Vince--"

     "Blair, listen to me.  Number one, you are not going to be any
trouble to me.  I've felt so damned...alone since you walked out... Well,
the point is, you couldn't be any 'trouble' to me if you tried.  Number two,
Simon and Joel have made  crucifying Watson a personal pet project,
which means Simon is 'assigning' me to  guard you.  Like he could keep
me away."   Jim snorted a little laugh.

     "Everybody knows I've been with a guy, Jim.  What if they
think--I mean, if  there's  anybody you want me to set straight--oh, man,
what a choice of words,"   Blair actually  chuckled a little, holding onto
his incision.  Jim drank in the sight  of that beautiful smile,  even if it
faltered a little with the pain.

     "Don't worry about me.  Just concentrate on resting."

     "You should go home and get some sleep.  And shower."

     "Thanks a lot, buddy,"  Jim laughed at Blair's pointed comment. 
The younger man smiled guiltily.

     "I mean it, Jim.  Maybe you could get somebody we know to take
a shift for a few hours so you could get some sleep."

     "I'll go home and shower, shave and change.  Then I'll come back
and sleep here."

     "You'll ruin your back."

     "I'm fine.  I'll see if I can get a hold of Rafe and Brown to keep an
eye on you.  I'll be back before dark."

******

     Jim returned to the hospital as promised, and relieved Rafe, who
had taken up residence in the chair Jim usually occupied.  Blair had
stared fixedly at the TV while the detective attempted to make some
small talk with him, and while he regretted not being more friendly, he
wasn't ready to face all these people who knew what he'd been through. 
He remembered only too well seeing Rafe and Brown on the other side
of the door that final night, and the humiliation he'd felt at having two of
Jim's friends and colleagues show up for the domestic disturbance call. 
Rafe hadn't made any reference to any of that, but Blair had still felt
uneasy in his presence, and was grateful to see Jim arrive, carrying a
small bag with him.

     "Thanks for the help, Rafe," Jim said, patting the other detective's
shoulder as he passed Jim, heading for the door.  

     "Hey, no problem.  Blair and I won a trip to Paris on 'Wheel of
Fortune'.  Couldn't have done that well sitting around the bullpen," Rafe
quipped, grabbing his jacket.  "Take care of yourself, Blair."

     "Thanks, Rafe.  Don't go to Paris without me," Blair quipped,
forcing a smile.  The other man returned it, with a little chuckle, and left
the room.

     "Brought you something, Chief."  Jim eschewed the chair to sit
on the edge of Blair's bed.  He took a white styrofoam cup out of the
small white bag he'd carried it, and stuck a straw in it.  "I stopped by the
juice bar and got you some of that strawberry-kiwi stuff you always used
to like.  I thought it might be a nice change from apple juice."

     "You remembered that?"  Blair stared at Jim, visibly stunned.  

     "Sure.  We went there quite a few times.  I used to get the
orange-pineapple, remember?"  Jim said, getting his own cup out of the
bag and setting it aside.

     "Seems like a lifetime ago."

     "It's been a while.  Feel like a drink?"

     "Yeah, I'm kind of dry."  Blair took the cup and drank a little
from the straw.  "Thanks."

     "No problem, Chief.  How're you feeling tonight?"

     "Like I got hit by a truck and no one's telling me."

     "You look better."

     "Yeah?  Well, Vince didn't usually mark my face anyway."  Blair
shifted a little uncomfortably.

     "You want the bed down?"

     "Thanks," Blair responded, smiling gratefully.  Sitting was less
that comfortable, and it was a treat to have Jim back with him again so
he didn't have to spell out every need.  Once he was in a more reclined
position, Jim offered him the juice again, holding it while Blair took a
few pulls off the straw.

     "Nurse make it in with your pain meds on time?"  Jim inquired,
taking a drink of his own juice.

     "I think after that tirade you put on when she was late last night,
she's back on track again," Blair said with a weak smile.  

     "You're hurting too much for them to get off schedule with the
meds," Jim stated simply.  

     "Thanks for being here all the time," Blair said quietly.

     "No thanks necessary."

     "Considering the way I ignored you for so long, I'm surprised you
cared what happened to me anymore."

     "I always cared, Blair," Jim said in a hushed tone, studying the
juice bar logo on his cup.  "I just didn't understand why we couldn't at
least keep in touch.  But I wasn't exactly angry."  Jim shook his head.  "I
should have been more persistent.  Especially after what Simon saw."

     "The game's on in a few minutes," Blair said, referring to the
baseball game that was about to begin.

     "Do you feel like watching the game?"

     "I'll probably fall asleep on it anyway," Blair concluded, letting
his eyes drift shut a moment.  

     Blair did nap a while with Jim sitting by his side in a chair,
watching the game and reading through the pile of magazines he'd
accumulated in the last few days.   The nurse arrived on schedule for the
final dose of pain medication that night, casting a suspicious eye at Jim,
who simply smiled sweetly, the picture of innocence.  With Sandburg
drugged for the night, it was unlikely he'd rally very much until morning,
so Jim settled in to watch the rest of the game and then take a nap in the
chair.

*******

     Jim's rest was short-lived as a series of pained sounds and motion
from the hospital bed jolted him awake.  Blair looked as if he were
choking, his hands clawing at his own throat, leaving red scratches
where his nails bit into the flesh.  

     "Chief!  Blair, come on, wake up for me."  Jim caught the
clawing hands before Blair could do more damage to his reddened
throat.  "Breathe, dammit, come on!"  Jim started to worry that Blair was
having some sort of reaction to the medication when the younger man
finally gasped and opened his eyes, wheezing as if something were
stopping him from speaking.  

     "Blair, you're having a nightmare.  You have to calm down for
me and breathe."  Jim took Blair's face in both his hands, keeping eye
contact with him.  

     "I couldn't...I couldn't...make sounds...talk...scream..."  Blair
gasped, holding onto his side as he breathed heavily now.  

     "It's okay, Chief.  You're gonna be okay.  Just try to relax and
breathe for me, huh?"

     "I was choking," Blair said, his hand going to his throat.  "Every
time I moved, it got tighter," he said, tears trickling out of his eyes now. 
"I moved my legs and it choked me," he whimpered.

     Jim's mind worked rapidly to compute what he was being told,
and suddenly it became clear.  He'd heard about contraptions or
sometimes methods of tying a victim that left them to choke themselves
to death when they struggled against their restraints.  

     "Vince tied you up, huh?"  Jim said, trying to keep the anger out
of his voice as he raised Blair's bed a little and leaned forward to
carefully hold his shaking friend.  Blair's arms fastened around him with
surprising strength.  

     "I didn't...understand...that I would...choke myself...when I
moved...and I couldn't get breath... to scream..."

     "Shhh.  It's okay now, baby.  I've got you," Jim whispered softly,
holding Blair close.

     "The memories hurt...so bad..."  Blair sobbed.

     "I know they do." 

     "I couldn't *breathe*," Blair repeated.

     "I know, Chief.  When did that happen, huh?"  Jim asked gently.

     "A couple...months ago...I...talked back to him," Blair managed. 
The death grip on Jim's neck tightened.  "It got really bad that night."

     "So that was punishment for talking back?"

     "Part of it," Blair said in a whispered tone.

     "You want to tell me the rest of it?"

     "I can't...talk about it," Blair managed, his voice strained with
tears.
     
     "It's okay, buddy.  There's no hurry.  It's over, Blair.  It's all over. 
You're safe now."

     "If he ever gets a hold of me now--"

     "He *won't*.  Not *ever*.  He's not taking you away from me.  I'll
see the son of a bitch dead first." //Maybe I will anyway...// Jim thought
to himself, still cradling his shaking partner in his arms.  He would have
dispensed with Watson on the spot given his own free choice, but Blair
needed him present, and free, not behind bars.  Nonetheless, Blair's
suffering wouldn't go unanswered, and if the courts couldn't handle it,
Ellison vowed silently that he would.  

     "Away from you?"  Blair asked.

     "That's right, Chief.  You're my partner, my guide...I'm not letting
you go again.  And nobody, including that asshole, Watson, is ever going
to hurt you this way again."

     "Don't let me go again, even if I'm stupid enough to try it."

     "You've got my word on that one, Chief."

******

     Surveillance of Vince Watson had shown that he hadn't done
anything out of the ordinary since his arrest.  A restraining order had
been issued, stipulating that Watson never approach Blair in a distance
less that 300 feet.  While Watson had complained that Jim threatened
him with death in front of several neighborhood witnesses, none of the
neighbors were willing to back up that story.  Having listened to Blair's
abuse over the course of several months, all seemed to develop deficient
hearing and memory lapses as to what was said on the lawn that early
morning in question.  A trial date was set several weeks down the road,
as was usually the case with Cascade's jammed court dockets. 

     Having Watson wandering around free didn't set well with Jim,
as he prepared to bring his fragile, healing friend out of the hospital and
back home to recuperate.  It seemed inconceivable that Watson was
going on with his daily life like nothing ever happened while Blair had
to live in fear behind locked doors.

     "Almost time for blast off, Chief," Jim said, smiling as he
unpacked the clothes he'd brought for Blair to wear home from the
hospital.  After a full week of IV's pumping nutrients into Blair's
deprived body and almost continuous bed rest, the doctor deemed that
Blair was ready to continue his recovery process at home.

     "You got my clothes."  Blair smiled a little as he held one of his
favorite blue sweat shirts in his hands.

     "Simon and I packed your things."

     "Vince didn't give you problems?"

     "He knows better.  Neither one of us were taking no for an
answer.  Besides, I didn't want to leave your stuff there much longer in
case he got the bright idea to get rid of it just to be an asshole."

     "Uh, maybe you oughtta call the nurse.  I...um, need some help
with..."  Blair gestured with the sweat shirt a little hesitantly.

     "I've been meaning to talk to you about that, Blair."  Jim sat on
the edge of the bed.  "I've asked Simon for time off to take care of you.  I
really would like to do that...but I completely understand if you'd rather
have a nurse.  I'll be glad to get somebody to come to the loft and help
you out if you'd be more comfortable."

     "I can't get around very far and I still need a lot of help
with...everything."

     "What would work best for you, buddy?  Me or the nurse?"  Jim
asked gently.

     "You," Blair responded in a quiet voice.  "But I won't be mad if
you don't want to...you know, have to do that much."

     "I'd like to help you out, Chief.  I'm not the most experienced
nurse in the world, but I'll do the best I can."  Jim stood up, smiling. 
"Guess getting you into your clothes is the first order of business.

     "Yeah, I guess."  Blair hesitated a moment, then accepted Jim's
help to sit up straight and swing his legs over the side of the bed.   With
his hands braced on strong forearms, Blair let Jim do most of the lifting
necessary to get him on his feet.

     "I'll get the ties."  Jim untied the back of the hospital gown, and
bit his lip until it nearly bled.  Blair's back was a nightmare of bruises
and faint stripes that looked like the aging aftermath of a horrific
whipping.  Determined not to make Blair feel self conscious or uneasy
under his gaze, Jim swallowed hard and refrained from commenting on
what he saw.  "Sweat shirt first."  Jim forced a smile and tried to ignore
the panorama of finger-sized bruises peppering Blair's upper arms and
shoulders.  After carefully guiding the shirt over Blair's head and then
easing both arms into it, he picked up the sweat pants that matched it. 
"Uh...you want to sit back down while I start these up your legs?"

     "I don't want to sit again," Blair responded softly, his pale face
blushing pink.

     "Okay.  I hear you, Chief."  Jim squatted low and gathered the
material so the first leg was an easy opening to step into.  "Steady
yourself on my shoulder there and carefully put your foot through here,
okay?"  Jim waited while Blair followed the instructions, and then
repeated the process with the other leg.  Even Blair's legs were bruised in
places, and Jim didn't want to speculate about the damage that was
hidden beneath the boxer shorts.  If he would be caring for Blair during
his recovery, he'd be exposed to all the painful realities of Blair's abuse
sooner or later.  He eased socks on both feet, and steadied Blair as he
stepped into his sneakers.

     "Are you sure you want to take this on full time?"  Blair asked,
pulling the uneven side of his hair behind his ear again.

     "Positive," Jim responded firmly, resting a hand lightly on Blair's
shoulder.  "Let's get a pillow in here."  Jim lined the wheelchair the nurse
had left in the room with a blanket and then put a pillow on the seat. 
"Want to give it a try?"

     "Okay.  I don't usually get pillows on the seat from my other
nurses," Blair commented, smiling faintly.  As soon as Blair was lowered
into the chair, the nurse came into the room with her roster of
instructions and the medications the doctor was sending home with
Blair.  An antibiotic, a painkiller, and a couple of ointments were
included in the collection.  Explicit instructions on caring for the injuries
suffered from the rape left Blair embarrassed and Jim more than a little
uncertain of his ability to hurt Blair in the name of healing him.

     Armed with the medications and instructions loaded in the duffle
bag that had carried Blair's clothes, Jim followed the nurse as she
wheeled Blair's chair down to the exit.  Jim easily hoisted the lean body
out of the chair and into the passenger seat of the truck, and felt a
mixture of relief and trepidation when the last qualified medical
professional left them to their own resources.

     "Seem funny to be outside again?" Jim asked as Blair sat quietly,
staring out the passenger window.

     "Nice day outside," Blair responded in a voice barely audible.

     "Yeah, it is.  It's really good to have you sprung, Chief."  Jim
smiled at Blair, who stole a glance at him out of the corner of his eye. 
"Feeling okay?  You're not hurting more anywhere?"  Jim finally asked,
worried at Blair's silence.

     "I'm okay."

     "Good."  Jim reached over to squeeze Blair's hand, and was
stunned when it jerked away, Blair lurching a little in the seat.  "Blair,
what's wrong?"  

     "I...I'm sorry.  I was just...startled."

     "No harm done.  I'm sorry I scared you, buddy."  Jim persisted in
getting a hold of the hand and squeezing gently.  "I missed you, you
know."

     "Me too," Blair responded, looking at Jim with large, haunted
eyes.

     Upon arriving at the loft, the two men rode in silence in the
elevator, Blair seeming lost in his own thoughts, and Jim wrestling with
demons of his own.  His anger at Watson was a tangible physical force
that could be nearly incapacitating if he dwelled on it too long.

     "Home sweet home," Jim said, trying to keep his tone light.  He
turned the key in the lock and opened the door.  Blair hesitated a
moment, and then moved slowly inside the apartment.  Jim closed and
locked the door behind them, and took a gentle hold of Blair's elbow.  "I
moved a couple of things around in your room--"

     "That's okay.  I didn't figure it stayed a bedroom after I left," Blair
said, forcing a smile that didn't quite work.

     "No, I didn't move anything around before.  I just mean before
bringing you home, I moved the desk against that wall over there so I
had room to put a roll away bed in there.  I figured it would be easier if I
was on the same floor in case you needed anything at night."

     "You don't have to do that."

     "It's no problem, Chief."  Jim guided the other man back to his
room.  Blair paused at the doorway, and Jim could hear the little intake
of breath.  "Everything okay?"  he asked worriedly, wondering if Blair
was in more pain than usual for some reason.

     "It looks like it used to," he almost whispered.  Jim had moved
Blair's things back into their rightful places, including the wall hangings
and nick nacks to the best of his memory.

     "After I got your stuff, I figured I might as well put it where it
belonged."  Jim moved over to the small closet.  "Your clothes are in
here, and your underwear and stuff are back in the drawers."  Jim
watched as Blair took in the room and its appointments, and a tear slid
down his cheek.  "What's wrong, Chief?"  He moved toward the other
man, resting a hand on his shoulder.  He was surprised when Blair turned
as swiftly as his injuries allowed and wrapped his arms around Jim's
middle.

     "Hey, it's okay, Blair.  You're home now."

     "I'm sorry."

     "Shh.  No apologies necessary, Chief."  Jim stroked the tangled
curls, remembering the bruising on Blair's back and avoiding putting too
much pressure there.

     "Don't let go," Blair whispered against Jim's chest in a tear-strained voice.  
Hands clutched at the fabric on the back of Jim's shirt, as if trying to keep him 
from escaping.

     "Never.  You're home for good.  There's nothing to be afraid of
here.  Not ever.  This is a safe haven."

     "I'm scared.  Really scared."

     "I know.  I'm not going to let anything happen to you.  You trust
me, right?"  Jim asked, smiling as he felt a nod against his chest.  "Okay
then.  Relax and don't worry about anything.  I'm going to take care of
you, Chief.  Watson's history."

     "It was so awful with him," Blair managed through tears.  "It was
like being in a nightmare and I couldn't wake up."

     "Shhh.  I know it was."  Jim stroked Blair's hair gently.  "Just
hold onto me, Chief.  I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

     "I'm so tired."

     "I bet.  You haven't been moving around all that much before
now.  I think it's probably a good time for you to take a little rest, huh?"

     "Probably," Blair agreed, hesitantly releasing his clutch on Jim so
the other man could move away from him.  

     "I know you don't usually wear pajamas, but I got you a couple
pair.  I thought maybe you'd feel the cold a little more while you're
recuperating."  Jim took a folded pair out of the dresser drawer.  

     "Yeah, I was using a couple of blankets in the hospital."  

     Jim helped his partner change into the pajamas and got him
situated in his own bed for the first time in over a year.  The relief on
Blair's face was plainly visible as he sank into the bedding and clutched
the covers around himself as he lay on his less injured side.

     "Here, time for one of these."  Jim handed Blair a pain pill and
helped him steady the water while he took a drink to chase it.  "Try to
get some rest, Chief.  I'll be right out in the living room if you need
anything.  Just say my name.  I'll hear you."

     "Thanks."  Blair managed a little smile and let his eyes drift shut.

     Jim stared down at his injured friend, watching and listening as
he slid into sleep.  So many revenge fantasies were playing themselves
out in his mind that he would have had trouble choosing one if he were
to act on them.  Blair deserved to get back the kindness and warmth he
gave to others.  Instead, he'd gotten rejection from Jim himself,
loneliness, and then abuse from Watson.  If anyone had a right to declare
that life sucked, it was Sandburg.  Shaking off the morose thoughts, Jim
left the bedroom, pulling the French doors closed so Blair could get
some undisturbed sleep.  He'd wake him in a couple of hours to try
getting a little food down him.

********

     Jim looked up from the book he was reading and focused his
hearing on Blair's room.  Blair hadn't called his name, but he was making
pained little sounds, somewhere between sobs and whimpers, and
wiggling around in the bed.  As Jim crossed the distance to the French
doors, Blair began to mutter a few broken words.

     "Please...it hurts...please no more..."

     "Chief, it's me."  Jim crouched near the bed, each little plea for
mercy twisting his heart in a knot.  Blair was still crying, still trapped in
his nightmare.

     "Please don't...hurts so bad..."

     "Blair, come on, wake up.  It's Jim."  Jim reached a gentle hand
out to Blair's shoulder, and as soon as it made contact, Blair lurched
away from him, trying to hunch as close to the wall as possible.

     "No...no more," he pleaded, cowering against the wall, as far
from Jim as he could get.

     "Blair, it's Jim.  Listen to me, Chief.  Watson isn't here.  You're
home, at the loft.  I need you to open your eyes and look at me," Jim
concluded, using a soft monotone.  "I won't hurt you.  I just want you to
open your eyes for me, okay?"  Jim waited while there was a little pause
in Blair's agitation.  "Blair?"  he probed softly.  The other man's eyes
opened slowly, trying to shake off the pain medication enough to
comprehend his surroundings.  "It's okay, Chief.  You're home, safe, in
your own bed."

     "He was here," Blair insisted, looking at Jim with panicked eyes.

     "No, Chief, he wasn't.  I'd have known if he'd dared to show his
face around here.  It's just us here."

     "He was...touching me...it hurt so bad...I could *feel* it."

     "Even with the pain pills, you're still hurting a lot, huh?"

     "He was in here, and he was going to make me..."

     "Blair, Watson is never going to make you do anything ever
again.  I promise you."  Jim ventured to slide his arm around Blair's
shoulders, leaning his forehead against Blair's.  "It's all over, Chief. 
You're safe now."

     "It was so real," Blair said in a broken little voice.

     "I know.  But it was just a nightmare."  Jim rose from his crouch. 
"This door's locked," Jim explained, illustrating by rattling the knob on
the door to the fire escape.  "The only other way in is right past me.  I
promise you, he wouldn't have made that trip upright."

     "I'm sorry."  Blair wiped at his eyes with a shaky hand.

     "No apologies, Chief."  Jim pulled the roll away bed closer to
Blair's bed, then sat down on it.  "Feel like you could sleep a little
more?"

     "I don't want another nightmare," Blair said honestly, fighting the
heaviness of his eyelids.

     "I was thinking maybe I'd stretch out myself for a while--if you
don't mind.  I didn't get much sleep last night."

     "You don't have to do that."

     "I can go back out in the living room if my being in here is going
to keep you awake." 

     "I mean...you don't have to stay with me if you don't want to." 
Blair looked up at Jim with sad eyes that tore at his heart.

     "I want to," he replied simply, stroking Blair's hair back from his
face gently.  "It's okay to be scared.  I understand.  But you don't have to
be.  You're not going to be hurt anymore, Blair.  You don't have to be
afraid to sleep."  Jim moved back a bit and stretched out on his own bed,
then reached over and took a firm hold on Blair's hand across the
negligible distance between the beds.  "Hang onto me.  Go back to sleep. 
I promise I won't let go."

     "I've been scared to sleep for so long," Blair said softly, letting
his eyes drift shut.  "Sometimes, I'd feel this pain...and when I came
to...he was..."  

     "He'd come after you while you slept?"  Jim asked
sympathetically.

     "All the time.  It got so I was afraid to close my eyes, and I tried
to sleep on my back always, because he couldn't do much without
waking me up that way.  It's not like he couldn't make me do it when I
was awake...  I think he liked that it scared me to wake up like that."

     "He's going to pay for what he did to you, Chief.  I promise you
that."

     "I can't get used to being safe.  I'm sorry I'm such a pain in the
ass."

     "Blair, listen to me.  You have nothing to apologize for.  And
you're not a pain in the ass. I'm glad you're here."  Jim watched as a faint
smile curved the corners of Blair's mouth.  "Go to sleep, Chief.  There's
just you and me here.  Nobody's going to sneak up on you."  Jim felt the
grip on his hand tighten a little before it started to relax.  As Blair drifted
into sleep, he still didn't relinquish the physical connection to Jim.

********

     As soon as Blair rallied from his nap, he accepted the supporting
arm from Jim to make the walk to the bathroom, where he went in on his
own while Jim started dinner.  Hearing that Blair was being released
from the hospital into Jim's care, Rhonda had thoughtfully provided Jim
with a couple of re-heatable meals to get them through the first couple of
nights.  She was somewhat famous at the PD for her tuna casserole,
which oddly enough, was very tasty.  Jim selected that one, deciding it
would be easier on Blair's stomach than the goulash in the other bowl. 
He put it in the oven to reheat and then fixed a bed on the couch for
Blair so he could be propped up on something soft while he ate dinner,
and also enjoy a little TV later.

     After sharing the meal, which consisted of Jim prodding Blair
through almost every forkful to get some food into his too-thin body, the
two men watched a little television until it was time for another dose of
Blair's pain medication.  Jim went to get the pills, and paused by the
medicine cabinet to look at the ointment that had been sent home with
Blair.  It was supposed to soothe, as well as have antibiotic properties. 
This tube was brand new, so obviously Blair hadn't used it himself.  That
wasn't shocking, considering that he was too sore and stiff to stretch and
reach very far, and too weak to put forth the effort.  In any event, Jim
recalled the nurse's instructions that it should be used at least once a day,
more often if Blair was in a lot of pain.  

     "Okay, Chief, I got your happy pills right here.  I'll put them on
the night stand.  Ready for bed?"

     "Okay," Blair responded, his tone lackluster.  Jim was waiting to
see some signs of Blair's usual animation, but it had yet to make an
appearance.  He made his way over to Blair, helping him up and guiding
him toward the bathroom.  The bruising and irritation was sending Blair
that direction frequently, and Jim had felt terrible to hear Blair dismiss it
as nothing unusual.  The hideousness of Blair's daily life with Watson
seemed to unfold a little more each day.

     When Blair emerged from the bathroom and headed for his bed,
Jim stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm.

     "Chief...we, uh, need to use this before you go to sleep."  Jim
pulled the tube out of the pocket of his robe.  Blair looked at it with a
mixture of fear and desperation.

     "Please.  I don't want to do that."

     "I'll help you, buddy."

     "I...I don't need it."

     "Blair, the nurse gave us the doctor's instructions.  Using this
stuff at least once a day while you're healing up down there was part of
it."  Jim took in Blair's miserable expression.  The last thing he wanted
to do was rob Blair of control of his own body, least of all that specific
part of it.  "Okay.  It's your body, Chief.  I won't touch you without your
okay, you know that.  But I want you to heal up without an infection, and
this stuff might actually make you feel a little better."

     "It hurts, Jim...  Having someone's...having a...having
something..."

     "Somebody putting a finger in there?"  Jim watched as Blair
nodded.  

     "I bet it hurts like a son of a bitch."  Jim exhaled, looking at the
tube, wishing he could think of some way to magically impart the
ointment's healing properties without hurting Blair in the process.

     "You think I need it?"  Blair asked.

     "The doctor thought so."  Jim paused.  "Blair, listen to me.  I'm
not giving you an order.  I'm not even going to pressure you.  I wish you
would let me help you with this, because I think it's important.  But it's
your call."

     "Okay.  How...how do you want to do this?"  Blair asked
hesitantly.

     "Why don't you stretch out on your good side on my bed here?  If
you're on your bed, your back's to the wall, and you can't lie on your
incision side."

     "Okay."

     "Uh, would it be easier to...you know, lose the pants first?"  Jim
didn't know a delicate way to ask, so he just cut to the chase.  Blair
nodded, and fumbled with the pajama bottoms until Jim gently took over
and helped him slide out of those and the boxers he wore under them. 
He helped Blair lie down and shift into position on his side.  

     Jim pulled the light blanket up from the foot of the roll away and
covered Blair's lower body so he didn't feel so exposed while Jim
warmed the tube in his hands.

     "What're you doing?"  Blair asked, making a feeble attempt to
look over his shoulder.  Jim could hear the other man's heart thundering
in his chest, and could see every muscle in Blair's body tensing up.

     "Warming this stuff up a little so it isn't so clammy against your
skin."

     "I hate how cold it always feels," Blair said quietly, turning back
to face the wall.  

     "I need you to work on relaxing a little, Chief."  Jim held the tube
in one hand, and used the other to stroke Blair's hair gently.  "I'm not
very good at this relaxation-meditation stuff, but try to relax and think
about something pleasant."

     "I don't know if I remember how to do that," Blair said honestly,
a little tremor in his voice.

     "Relax or think of something pleasant?"

     "Either one."

     "Chief, I know this is the last place you want to be touched.  I
understand that.  There's no hurry.  We've got as long as we need to get it
taken care of.  And you're still in charge of things.  If you tell me to stop,
I will."  Jim kept up the little caresses to Blair's hair.  "I want you to
think about how safe you are.  Think about the fact that you're home,
that everything's going to be okay now."  Jim kept up the soothing
speech.  "All these poor muscles that are used to being on alert all the
time--let them go off guard duty for a while.  They don't have to protect
you.  I'm taking care of that, remember?"  Jim detected a slight relief in
the tautness of Blair's body.  "Don't be afraid.  I'm just going to move the
blanket down a little so we're ready when we decide to get started."  

     Jim moved the blanket down to the middle of Blair's thigh, and
swallowed hard at the damage he saw there.  Both buttocks were marred
with finger-sized bruises, fading welts and a couple of healing scratches. 
He rested his hand on Blair's hip and rubbed lightly.

     "Don't worry, buddy.  I won't do anything until you're ready for
me to try it, okay?  You're doing just fine."

     "I hate this."

     "I know you do.  It's okay."

     "This must be sickening for you."

     "Not at all."  Jim kept up the light stroking of the soft skin of
Blair's hip.  "You'd help me out if things were reversed."

     "You wouldn't be all fucked up like this."

     "Watson would have fucked anybody up, Chief.  You're doing
just fine."

     "It's not gonna get any easier.  I guess you probably better do it."

     "We'll get started.  You have veto power, buddy.  Remember
that."  Jim patted the hip he'd been stroking, and moved to uncap the
ointment.  Squeezing a little onto his forefinger, he used his other hand
to gently part the bruised buttocks.  He heard Blair's sharp indrawn
breath.  "Still okay?"  There was a little nod.  "I know it's uncomfortable. 
Try to relax, buddy."  

     With infinite gentleness and caution, Jim carefully worked the
ointment into the swollen opening, and finally, guided by his sentinel
touch, gently pushed it in a bit further.  He winced at Blair's little grunt
of pain.

     "I know it hurts, Chief.  Almost finished.  Is it okay for me to
keep going?"

     "Yeah," came the strained reply.

     "Great," Jim said softly with a little smile in his voice.  "We're
almost done, pal.  Just hang in there."  Satisfied he'd lubricated the most
severely damaged part of the tight passage, Jim slowly and carefully
withdrew his finger, wiping the excess ointment on the hand towel he'd
brought into the room with him.  "Everything okay?"

     "It didn't hurt like it usually does," Blair said, shifting with Jim's
help to stand and get back into his underwear and pajama bottoms. 
"Thanks," he added, almost inaudibly.

     "Maybe things'll feel a little better in there now."  Jim tried to
keep his tone matter of fact as he turned back Blair's bed.  

     "Already does," Blair admitted quietly.  "The nurse went pretty
fast with it in the hospital.  It really hurt."

     "Into bed."  Jim guided his partner into the bed and pulled the
covers up to his chest.  "Remember, Chief--the days of someone hurting
you are over.  OVER.  You're never going to hurt more than is absolutely
necessary to get you healed up."

     "I'm starting to believe that."

     "Good.  Try to get some sleep, Darwin.  I'm just going to put the
stuff away and get the lights and I'll be right back."

********

     It was Blair's shout and subsequent gasps that shook Jim out of
his deep and much-needed bed rest.  He found the younger man staring
at him wide-eyed, his breathing heavy and ragged.  And a pungent odor
assailed him at the same time.

     "Bad dream?"  Jim asked gently, sitting up on the edge of his own
bed.  He wanted Blair to have a moment to adjust to the darkness and
figure out his surroundings before advancing toward him.

     "I...I had an...accident," Blair stammered.

     "It's okay, Chief.  We'll get you cleaned up."  Jim sat on the edge
of Blair's bed and stroked the long hair back from the sweaty face on the
pillow.  "Did you have to go or do you have trouble holding it?"

     "I didn't think I had to.  I mean...I'm real sore there, and I just
thought...I thought it was just the pain again, and I should've gone, but
then I didn't want to wake you up again, and--"

     "Whoa, whoa, easy does it, buddy.  I'm not mad at you."  Jim laid
his hand on Blair's cheek.  "I just wanted to know if it's something we
should tell the doctor about, or if you had to go and the dream startled
you and...kaboom."

     "That's about it.  I can't tell always because I'm... everything hurts
down there."

     "The doctor said your bladder was bruised.  Makes it feel like
you always have to go, huh?"

     "Yeah."

     "Is that why you were dehydrated when you got to the hospital? 
You were trying not to drink so you didn't have to go?"

     "I got in trouble for waking Vince up all the time.  He used to
shove me out of the bed when I'd get back in." 

     "He did what?"  Jim's voice was strained with disbelief.

     "I told him I was sorry...I didn't mean it...but he'd be mad at me
for waking him up and so he'd shove me until I fell on the floor and told
me to go sleep in the living room if I was going to spend all night pissing
like an old man."  Blair trailed off as tears took over.  "I already hurt so
bad...why did he hate me so much?"

     "He was a sadist, Chief.  It wasn't you."  Jim pushed the hair back
from Blair's forehead in a few gentle strokes.  "I'm here to help you,
partner.  If you need to go to the bathroom ten times a night, that's what
we'll do.  And if you still wet the bed, we'll change the sheets and wash
you up and start over."

     "Why do you want me here?  I'm...a basket case."

     "Yeah, but you've got potential."  Jim smiled as Blair grinned a
little in spite of his misery.   "I want you here because this is your home,
and I love you.  Good enough?"

     "Beyond good."  Blair smiled.

     "Okay.  Now let's get you clean and dry."

     With fresh sheets on the bed, Blair in dry boxers and a tank shirt,
Jim drew the sheet up to his friend's chest.  It was  upsetting to Jim to see
the automatic fear response in Blair every time he made any demand on
the older man for care.  Maybe sadder than the thought of anyone living
with the constant pain of severe physical abuse was the thought of that
person living in constant fear of being punished for things totally beyond
his control.  Watson injured Blair and bruised him, leaving him in the
condition he was in, and then abused him for having symptoms of the
injuries.

     "Want to talk about the nightmare?"  Jim held a glass while Blair
took a few swallows of water.  "Take a breath or two and then drink
some more.  If you have to go again, go.  You need the fluids."  Blair
obeyed, and Jim finally set the almost empty glass aside as the other man
settled back on the pillows.

     "Same old dream," Blair mumbled.  "Except...this time, he was
after you, not me."

     "He isn't going to get in here, Chief.  And if he does, I'm not
going to be the one who goes down.  They'll be carrying him out in a
sandwich bag.  I promise."

     "If he killed you, I...I couldn't--"

     "He isn't going to.  I'm fine and I'm going to stay that way."

     "If you say so."  Blair's eyes drifted partially closed, then a
grimace of pain crossed his face as he tried to shift to a more
comfortable position.

     "What hurts?"

     "My back.  It's so stiff, and it hurts."

     "Can you turn on your good side?"  Jim guided him to his right
side.  "I'm going to give you a little back rub, buddy."  Blair was facing
Jim where he sat on the edge of the bed, and he felt a large, warm hand
slip under his undershirt and start a slow, gentle rubbing.  "Don't be
afraid if my hand moves down a little.  It won't go anywhere you're
hurting."

     "I know," Blair replied, his voice a bit strained.  "You're so good
to me."

     "You're easy to be good to, Chief."  Jim realized how true that
statement was.  Blair asked him for very little, and was grateful for
whatever he got.  He'd been so badly abused for so long that any act of
kindness or affection was received with such gratitude that it made
something twist inside Jim's heart.

     "I thought I was going to die."

     "You mean in the hospital?"

     "No.  With him.  I realized it one morning after he left for a
two-day coaches' seminar.  I was thinking about how I could get away
from him.  I could go to Naomi, but he might follow me, and find her. 
So I thought about calling you.  I saved your voice mails, you know."

     "You did?"  Jim asked, smiling as he carefully rubbed the stiff
muscles in Blair's back.

     "Yeah.  I used to listen to them sometimes when I really missed
you.  Or I'd call my voicemail from home when I...I wasn't feeling good,
and sometimes, I'd listen to my saved messages.  It was kinda like still
talking to you.  I missed you so much."

     "I wish you'd called me, Chief."

     "I was going to...that morning.  But then I thought about what it
would mean to your job if Vince told everybody, and I thought
about...about all the threats he'd made about you--that he'd kill you...and
I knew I couldn't call you."  Blair sighed.  "And I started thinking about
dying.  I don't mean taking my own life, but I knew I wasn't doing very
well.  I was too skinny, I didn't have any energy, and I knew my body
wasn't going to put up with Vince much longer all the way around.  I lay
there on the couch and actually felt kind of peaceful because I figured it
wouldn't be much longer.  I mean, if I died, he couldn't hurt anybody I
loved, and he couldn't get anything else out of me, and it would be over."

     "Oh, Blair.  Damn, I wish you'd just called me."  Jim didn't worry
about hiding the few tears that were sliding down his own cheeks now. 
Maybe it would help Blair to know just how much he was loved, and
how much his pain hurt Jim.

     "My biggest regret was that you'd think I didn't care about you
anymore.  I was afraid you wouldn't know.  I felt so crappy about not
calling you back ever.  I listened to all your old messages that morning,
and I kind of said goodbye.  I didn't expect to live a whole lot longer."

     "When was that?"  Jim had ceased really massaging, but just let
his hand rub slow, gentle circles on Blair's stiff lower back.

     "About two weeks before everything...before you came to get
me."  Blair looked into Jim's eyes.  "Thanks for coming and getting me,
Jim.  For not forgetting about me."

     "I'd have never forgotten you, Chief.  And if you hadn't made it,
I'd have made sure Watson paid dearly for it.  He still will."  Jim stroked
Blair's cheek lightly with the backs of the fingers of his free hand.

     "My back feels better.  Thanks."

     "Shhh.  Just close your eyes.  Let yourself drift."

     "Aren't you tired?"

     "Nope.  I'm just fine." //I like touching you, giving you so much
love that you'll have to get better, grow back into the beautiful Blair I've
missed so much.//

     "Jim?"

     "What, buddy?"

     "I never really loved Vince."

     "I know.  It's okay, baby.  It's all over.  None of it's your fault.  Go
to sleep.  You'll feel a little better every day.  You'll see."

     "I believe you," Blair murmured, drifting a little.  Jim smiled
when an arm draped over his knee as Blair settled into sleep.

******

     Blair remained quiet and subdued in the coming days, but he
crept out of his shell more and more with Jim.  His starved soul seemed
to be feeding on the kindness and TLC Jim was giving him.  He began to
eat a little more heartily, and soon there was some healthy color coming
back into his pale face.  

     Reconditioning Blair not to be afraid of a violent reaction to
everything he said or did and not to fear asking for what he needed were
the biggest challenges of supervising his recovery.  It was surprisingly
easy, Jim found, to hold Blair or comfort him or come right out and say
the dreaded "L-word", despite Jim's natural tendencies to keep his
feelings unspoken.  The only real smiles he got out of Blair were in
response to those moments, and to see the familiar smile he missed so
much was worth overcoming a few inhibitions.  

     Jim's next order of business was to do something with the uneven
mop of hair that had been neglected far too long.

     "What do you say we get you a decent haircut, Chief?"  Jim had
watched Blair self-consciously try to stuff the shorter hair behind his ear
for what seemed like the thousandth time that day.  It wasn't actually any
shorter than he'd seen Blair wear his hair at various times, but it was a
little tougher to keep in the ponytail, and it looked silly opposite the
longer side, which had been let go longer than Blair usually wore it.

     "I can't."  Blair was absorbed in a book he was reading when Jim
brought up the subject.

     "Sure you can."

     "Vince said I had to leave it like this."

     "Blair, the son of a bitch isn't here!"  Jim immediately regretted
the outburst when Blair flinched away from the angry words.  "I'm sorry,
Chief.  I just hate what that bastard did to you."

     "D'you think you could fix it?"  Blair looked up at him hopefully.

     "You want to trust *me* to cut *your* hair?"

     "You can't do worse than my last haircut,"  Blair stated, then
smiled a little.

     "You have a point there,"  Jim replied, laughing.  "Okay.  Sit
tight."  Jim disappeared into the bathroom and soon returned with a
towel, scissors and a wide-toothed comb Blair had left behind.  "Relax.  I
won't cut a lot off at a time.  I'll just try to get it even, okay?" 

     "Whatever.  I already look weird, so I have nowhere to go but
up."

     "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Chief."  Jim snorted a little
laugh as he put the towel around Blair's shoulders as he sat propped on
the couch.  Carefully starting with the hair near the spot that had been
bluntly chopped off, Jim hesitantly cut the first locks and watched the
little wavy sections stick to the towel.  As he moved his hands through
the soft hair, he thought back to the painful separation that had led to all
this.  

     //Would touching Blair as more than a friend really be all that
repulsive?//  He viewed every part of his friend's body with love and
protectiveness, and seeing the shattered spirit on the mend, and the
sparkle coming back into Blair's eyes, he realized that he didn't exactly
see Blair as unattractive, either. //Those big blue eyes, that 1000-watt
smile, the sweet, loving soul who always gave me so much...//

     "Almost done?"  Blair asked.

     "Yeah, almost,"  Jim responded absently, jarred back to reality by
his friend's voice.  He realized he'd neatly trimmed most of the hair to
match the length of the shorter section. //Damn Watson.  He kept Blair
from cutting his hair to even it out even when the shorter section was as
long as Blair often wore his hair.  He looks like my Blair again...  My
Blair?  Where the hell did that come from?//

     "Am I bald now?"  Blair needled.

     "No.  You've got a nice brush cut."

     "Ha Ha Ha,"  Blair sneered back.  

     "See for yourself."  Jim handed him the hand-held mirror.  

     "Wow...I look...almost normal."

     "Didn't know I'd been taking classes at the Cascade Beauty
School while you were gone, did you?"  Jim carefully removed the towel
containing the fallen hair and took it out to the balcony to shake it. 

     "Thanks, man.  It looks a lot better."

     "Say, Simon and I couldn't find your laptop at Watson's place.  Is
it at your office?  I figured you'd be getting itchy to at least do a little 'net
surfing by now."

     "Vince broke it."

     "What?"  Jim sat on the end of the couch, a few inches from
Blair's stocking-clad feet.

     "He said I was spending more time with it than I was with him. 
So he smashed it.  I couldn't afford another one, and that one was pretty
totaled."

     "I'm sorry, Chief."  Jim held back his anger.  It wasn't helping
Blair to see him blow up every time he confided something painful he'd
lived through with Watson.  Blair needed a peaceful reception to his
memories, or he'd start holding them inside.  Jim picked up Blair's feet
and moved over so he could hold them on his lap.  "Soon as you're
feeling better, we'll go out and shop for a new one, huh?"

     "I don't have any money, Jim.  All I've got is a stipend from
Rainier, and I had to give Vince most of that for my part of the rent and
expenses.  Believe me, the laptop is the least of my worries."

     "You don't have to be worried about anything.  You're safe here."

     "I know that.  I just...I know he's out there."  Blair smiled slightly. 
"You can't sleep on that roll away bed in my room forever."

     "Wanna bet?"  Jim started absentmindedly massaging the small
feet in his lap.  "Until we know Watson is in the slammer, I'm not going
anywhere.  There's enough room for both of us in the bed upstairs, but I
don't think you should even try steps yet, and I don't want you to fall
trying to go to the bathroom at night." 

     "I can't sleep in your bed, man.  Not ever.  Geez, Jim, why don't
you just ask a drunk to sleep in a vat of whiskey?"  Blair took off his
glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.  "My feelings haven't changed
since last year.  Even though I'd rather be shot than have to think
about...about having sex with anybody."

     "That was insensitive of me.  I'm sorry."

     "No, I am.  You don't deserve me snapping your head off."  Blair
smiled and leaned back into the soft pillows behind him.  "Ohh, that
feels so good."  He flexed his toes as Jim rubbed his foot.

     "No matter what our...falling out was...I never stopped loving
you, Blair.  It might not have been the love you wanted, but it was
always there.  And it still is."  Jim watched the other man's eyes fill with
tears.

     "Nobody's...since I left...nobody's ever...touched me to make me
feel good,"  he said in a voice little above a whisper.

     "Get used to it.  You're going to be spoiled rotten during this
recovery."

     "Why did I do this to myself?!"  Blair shouted angrily, tears
spilling as he held onto his protesting side.  "I walked away from...from
you and then I let that...that son of a bitch treat me like this!!  I don't
deserve your friendship after what I've done,"  Blair concluded, starting
to cry in earnest now.

     "Hey, just hold on a minute."  Jim gently moved the feet back to
the cushion and moved up to sit on the edge of the couch.  He carefully
encouraged Blair into his arms.  "That's it.  Let it out.   Be careful of your
stitches, Chief."  Jim held him as tightly as Blair's injuries allowed. 
"You did a very logical thing by leaving here when I...I couldn't love you
like you wanted me to.  And Vince Watson took advantage of you when
you were lonely and hurting.  And he was a sick, perverted sadist,
buddy."

     "But I should know better,"  Blair sobbed.  "I'm sup-supposed
t-t-to be sm-smart."

     "Brilliant people sometimes get trapped in an abusive situation. 
This isn't your fault.  Just relax and have a good cry.  I'm right here."

     "I let him..."

     "You were afraid for me.  And he was huge.  Shit, Blair, he's
bigger than I am.  You didn't stand a chance against someone like that. 
You didn't *let* him do anything.  And you aren't a bad person because
you got involved in a bad relationship. *He* abused *you*.  He's the one
who's guilty.  Not you.  Not you at all."

     "I missed you so much.  I thought...after I-I l-left...I thought I was
gonna die all by myself without you."  Blair grasped handfuls of Jim's
shirt.  "It hurts."

     "I know.  Everything hurts, doesn't it?"  He felt a nod against his
shoulder.  "The pain is going to get better.  You'll heal, Blair.  I won't let
you *not* heal, do you hear me?  I don't know what the future is going to
hold for either one of us, but I do know that I love you.  And for what
that's worth, I'll be between you and anything that threatens you for as
long as you want me here."

     "It's worth my life, Jim,"  Blair pulled back a little.  "I was ready
to die to keep you safe.  I'd do it all again if it meant you'd be safe." 
Blair dropped his gaze after that declaration.  Jim gently took a hold of
Blair's chin and raised his face slowly until he was looking into the wet
eyes again.

     "No one's ever loved me the way you do."  Before he realized
what was happening, he leaned forward and brushed his lips lightly over
Blair's.

     "You don't have to--"

     "Shh."  Jim returned to those soft lips and lightly pressed against
them, giving Blair the gentlest kiss he could manage.

     "Jim, what--"

     "I don't know, Chief.  I just know I love you.  And all of a
sudden, that's hitting me like a freight train."

     "But I can't do anything--I don't know if I'll ever be able to
stand...somebody touching me like that..."

     "Let's not get ahead of ourselves here, Chief.  I don't know
exactly how to handle what I feel, but I know I love you, and I've put you
through too much hell holding those feelings back."  Jim sighed.  "I think
we should just go with the flow and not push the issue for either one of
us."

     "If you love me...all of this was worth it."

     "Nothing is worth you getting hurt this way.  But that doesn't
mean something...beautiful can't grow out of an ugly situation.  I
just...Blair, I'm sorry I'm such a hung up jerk."

     "That's okay.  I like you that way."  Blair smiled at Jim's surprised
expression, and then Jim felt the tension ease a little and he laughed,
giving Blair a gentle hug.

******

     Jim returned from the grocery store, happy to see Blair engrossed
in tutoring Daryl on his biology homework while Simon read a book
quietly in a chair near the balcony windows.  Watson was still out on
bond, so it was necessary to have someone watching Blair at all times.  

     Jim had to stop himself from automatically going to where Blair
sat and planting a little kiss on his forehead or his cheek.  While neither
of them were ready for anything physical, Blair seemed so hungry for
any little expressions of affection that Jim had made it a habit to bestow
the chaste little kisses before Blair went to sleep, or sometimes just in
connection with a whispered "I love you" while he'd sit on the couch
with Blair's head cushioned with a pillow in his lap.

     Instead of something as obvious as a kiss, he let his free hand
lightly caress the soft curls as he paused at the back of the couch.  

     "How's the study session going?"

     "Man, I *still* hate this stuff," Daryl grumbled.

     "You don't have to love it to learn it, Daryl," Simon spoke up
from his post in the chair.

     "But it helps," Blair amended, smiling.  "Look, when you have to
take that botany class in the fall, maybe I can go on some nature walks
with you.  I know a lot about plants."

     "Hey, that'd be great!"  Daryl enthused.  Facing his freshman year
of college and the first of his required classes, the thought of having his
own personal botany tutor was more than slightly attractive.  Blair had
already put in a request to have Daryl as his student employee when he
started at Rainier in late August.

     "Well, we better get going, Daryl.  I have to be at a meeting in
less than an hour, and I have to drop you off first."

     "Okay."

     "Hey--do a little dancing at the concert tonight for me huh?  I
*really* wanted to go to that.  I expect a full run-down."

     "No problem, Blair.  If I get backstage, I'll get you an autograph." 
Daryl was gathering up his things.

     "Concert?  I thought you had your summer class tomorrow
morning?"  Simon asked.

     "Mom said it was okay.  Besides, Blair and I got through all my
homework."

     "All right then.  Blair--thanks again."  Simon smiled at Blair, who
was up to at least getting dressed now, and looked very much like the old
Blair just three weeks after his surgery.

     "Hey, my pleasure.  Unlike Daryl here, I *do* like biology.  It
was fun."

     "I'll give you a call later," Simon directed at Jim as he was
heading out the door.

     "Yeah, thanks, Simon.  See you, Daryl."  Jim smiled as the
younger Banks waved on his way out behind his father.  "How do you
feel, Chief?"

     "Not too bad.  Does that offer still stand to go out to eat tonight?"

     "Sure.  I didn't buy anything that won't keep."  Jim loaded a few
items into the refrigerator.  "We can take your car.  It's easier for you to
get into than the truck, isn't it?"

     "Yeah--but man, your legs are gonna be up under your chin trying
to drive that."

     "I'll manage."  Jim laughed a bit as he put the last of the groceries
away.  Then he went over to Blair and planted the little kiss on his
temple.

     "What's that for?"  Blair looked up, smiling.

     "Because I couldn't do it while Simon was here.  At least, not
yet."

     "The trial starts in a few weeks."

     "Don't worry about that, buddy.  We're going to nail his ass to the
wall.  We've got neighbors who will testify to hearing what was going
on, as well as the hospital reports, the doctor, and the clinic report from
when you went there."  Jim paused, then sat on the arm of the other
couch.  "Blair, is there anything else we could pursue?  Anything else
you know about Watson?"

     "Keith Park."

     "What?"

     "He dated a guy named Keith Park, who lived with him when he
lived in Tacoma.  He said he really loved him...and that Keith died in
some kind of accident."

     "My God--you don't think...why not?  If he'd treat you the way he
did...that was only a matter of time."

     "There might be something to it, Jim.  He hit me for going
through the box the photo album was in.  It was about three months after
I moved in.  All my stuff was piled up in the corners of rooms, and he
was getting on me for the mess.  I was afraid of what he was gonna do to
me if I didn't clean it up.  So I thought I'd look through the closet and see
if there was some of his stuff he wasn't using that I could move
downstairs--there's a little basement under the unit.  I was just trying to
take a look at what was in the box to see if it could be stored in the
basement.  I found a photo album, and there were pictures of this young
guy with blond hair and a mustache.  There were a lot of photos of the
two of them together."

     "Anything odd about the photos?"

     "Not really.  Could have just been two friends for all the photos
showed.  Anyhow, he came home and found me looking at it... let's just
say he was pissed off.  Later, he apologized, and told me that seeing the
photos again had just given him so many painful memories that he
lashed out at me.  And he said that Keith had died in an accident three
years ago, while he was still living in Tacoma."

     "He never said what kind of accident?"

     "No, and I was *so* not willing to piss him off by asking about
it."  Blair sighed.  "But he did seem a little uneasy that I had found out
about Keith.  I think that was why he hit me.  Along with the fact that the
sky is blue or it was Tuesday or the Jags were having a bad season." 
Blair slumped back on the couch.  "I gave up trying to figure it out after
a while.  It didn't have a pattern."

     "Was he ever nice to you?"  Jim asked, sincerely curious.

     "Treated me like royalty when we started going out.  He bought
me gifts, did little romantic things...I thought he really loved me--I mean,
he was just indulging me because he loved me, right?  Yeah, right." 
Blair crossed his arms over his chest, focusing his gaze on the floor. 

     "I want to make him suffer for what he did to you.  I can't get
over that feeling."

     "If he rots in jail, he'll suffer."  

     "How can you be so...so level-headed about this?"  Jim asked,
becoming frustrated by Blair's lack of anger.

     "I sat back and let him beat up on me, abuse me, terrorize
me...sometimes I feel like a fucking hypocrite for pressing charges
against him.  It's not like I ever walked out."

     "You were afraid."

     "It's weird.  Since I've been back home, and...and the way you've
treated me...and remembering what life was like before... I can't picture
why I ever stayed with him.  But then, it was like he had
this...power...and he became more like a bogeyman of some sort than
just another bully.  Maybe it's like being in a cult.  Sometimes people go
into those lifestyles and end up doing bizarre things like voluntary mass
suicides, self-mutilation..."

     "They're brainwashed."

     "Exactly.  I don't know, man.  The last few weeks...you taking
care of me...it's been like being 'deprogrammed'."

     "I don't think any of this was your fault, Chief.  Don't ever feel I
do, okay?"  Jim sat sideways on the couch next to Blair.  "It was mine for
being such a cold, unyielding hard-ass."

     "It wasn't your fault you didn't want to have sex with a man.  And
you didn't throw me out.   I left on my own and found Vince all by
myself."

     "I never moved any of your things...well, you know that now.  It
was like a death.  The things you left behind...they were all I had left."

     "I know I should've called you back, but honestly, Jim, I couldn't
handle talking to you.  Leaving was the hardest thing I ever did--even
harder than living with Vince.  I couldn't look back."

     "I'm glad you ended up back here.  I'm sorry it was such an awful
road."  He reached out and stroked Blair's hair lightly.

     "I don't think I can ever...let somebody...touch me that way again,
Jim.  I mean, maybe Vince was right.  Maybe I just couldn't do it right."

     "You were inexperienced with that kind of sex, and the only way
you could have enjoyed your first time would have been with a lot of
love and patience and preparation.  A sadist who doesn't even use lube
who's twice your size would tear you apart.  That doesn't make you
deficient somehow."  Jim watched Blair's throat working to hold back
tears.  "Were you ever *not* afraid of him when he came after you for
sex?"

     "No, because it always hurt,"  he murmured, a tear sliding down
his cheek.  Jim moved over and pulled his friend into his arms.  "Maybe
he was right and I was just...too uptight."

     "It wasn't you at all, buddy.  It makes sense if you're trying to put
something that's damn close to being too big for the opening into the
body of someone who's all tied up in knots with fear, you're going to hurt
that person.  Badly."

     "Sometimes I think he just wanted to see me...*hurt*.  I don't
think he ever really loved me,"  Blair concluded in a broken voice.

     "Maybe he didn't, but I do, baby."

     "That's what's so damn...unfair!"  Blair sobbed into his shoulder. 
"Now that you can love me, I can't love you!"

     "Shhhh.  Of course we can love each other.  We're doing that
right now."

     "But I can't...there's nothing left of me,"  Blair moaned desolately
as the tears flowed.  "I'm afraid.  I'm so afraid."

     "I know.  It's okay."  Jim let his hand slip into the mop of curls,
pressing Blair's head against his shoulder.

     "What if I can't ever...do that?  What good am I?  It isn't fair to
you."

     "Maybe Watson equated your worth with your ability to give him
sex, but that's him, not me.  There are dozens of ways to make love that
don't include that one act--we could make each other feel good for a
lifetime and never do that."

     "I feel like...I feel like dirty, used trash,"  Blair whimpered.

     "You're not.  There's nothing dirty or bad about you.  But I
understand what you mean.  That's kind of a natural way to feel, even if
it *is* stupid."  Jim felt a little snort of a laugh at that harsh assessment. 
"Love doesn't have to hurt, and kisses don't have to bruise.  You'll see." 

     "I can't believe you still want me--or that you want me at all. 
When I left--"

     "When you left, I wasn't ready to face what I felt."  Jim patted
Blair's back lightly.  After almost a month away from Watson, the
bruises were nearly completely invisible, there was a little meat on the
lean frame, and Blair was sleeping through the night without meeting the
demands of a bruised bladder.  His arms had some strength again as they
wrapped around Jim's middle.

     "What if he isn't convicted?"

     "He will be."

     "What if he *isn't*?"

     "No matter what happens in that court room, he won't get near
you again.  You can count on that."  Jim started a slight rocking motion,
relieved to feel the sobs easing to an occasional sniffle.

     "If you go after him, you'll end up in jail.  I can't stand losing you
again."

     "You won't lose me.  I didn't spend all that time in Covert Ops
learning how to crochet.  Just trust me on this one, Chief.  If the court
fucks it up, I'll take care of it."

     "But, Jim--"

     "Don't ask me anymore questions.  Just trust me.  Watson's
finished, one way or the other."

     "Jim?"

     "What, Chief?"

     "Does that offer still stand to bunk in with you if the doctor says I
can do steps okay?"

     "You bet it does."

     "I'd like that."

     "Me too."  He kissed the top of Blair's head.  "Getting hungry
yet?"

     "Kind of."

     "Want to go somewhere classy?"

     "No.  I want to go to WonderBurger."

     "What?  Junk food?  You?"  Jim laughed and cuddled Blair
closer.  "Sure you didn't have a head injury?"

     "I haven't had a burger in...forever."

     "Really?"

     "Vince didn't let me eat anything like that."

     "He didn't *let* you?"

     "He said I needed to lose weight, so he'd keep an eye on what I
was eating.  After a while I just didn't eat anymore.  I didn't care."

     "Well, *I* want you to eat whatever you want whenever you want
it.  Got that?"

     "Got it.  I don't wanna move though.  It feels so good to be
home."

     "I know."

     "I don't remember him ever holding me like this.  For any reason. 
God, Jim, he didn't love me at all."

     "Then he was a jerk with no taste."

     "I feel so safe here.  Like nothing can get at me."

     "You *are* safe."

     "I'm not in pain.  I mean, my side's a little tender yet, but I'm not
in pain.  And I don't have to go to the bathroom.  I've been in pain,
and...and running to the bathroom every few minutes for so long...it
seems funny to feel okay."

     "You're healing up."

     "Yeah.  I am.  I never got a chance to heal up before."

     "I know I can't take away everything you went through, but you're
never going to have to feel that way again."

     "Keep telling me.  I might believe it."

     "I feel someone's stomach growling."  Jim chuckled a little. 

     "Yeah, I'm ready to eat."  Blair shifted away from Jim to sit up
straight.  

     "I think I'm going for one of those double-deckers with
everything," Jim announced, as they stood, motioning to Blair to sit
down again.  "Don't even think about bending over to tie your shoes. 
Not until the doctor gives you the green light for stuff like that."  Jim
knelt in front of his partner and placed one foot, then the other in Blair's
ratty sneakers.  "You need new ones, Chief." 

     "Can't afford 'em right now."

     "How much were you giving Watson for rent, anyway?"

     "About $800 a month."

     "What?  How much was he paying a month on that place you
were living in?"

     "I don't know.  I never asked.  I, um, was afraid to ask him about
it.  But he said that was my half of the living expenses--rent, food,
utilities, spending money..."  Blair shrugged.

     "Bastard.  I don't suppose you ever saw any of that spending
money."  Jim tied the second shoe.

     "He put a lot of his money in the bank--said he was saving it for a
rainy day.  We lived off my money most of the time.  I paid for a lot of
times we went out to eat--he'd throw it back in my face that I'd asked to
pay my share when we were just dating.  I just never had any money.  I
couldn't use what I did have because he expected me to have cash on
hand."

     "We'll stop somewhere and look at shoes tonight if you feel up to
it."  Jim swallowed his inclination to rant about Watson again. 

     "Jim, I already told you, I don't--"

     "No arguments.  I'm getting you new shoes."

     "You don't have to do that.  These are okay."

     "They're worn out, Chief.  Come on--I remember a guy who used
to wear the latest in Nike hiking shoes.  You can't tell me these tattered
wrecks are what you want."

     "I don't want to come back into your life and cause a bunch of
trouble."

     "Did it ever occur to you I might like doing things for you?"  Jim
patted Blair's leg and straightened up to stand.  "Come on.  Time to chow
down."

*******

     "Still feeling okay, pal?"  Jim asked as they left the parked car
and walked slowly toward the sporting goods store in the small strip
mall.

     "Yeah.  It seems good to be out like this again--doing something
normal," Blair responded, smiling a little.  "Wonder if it'll ever get so I
don't feel like it's ten miles between here and the car?"

     "I'll pick you up at the door when we leave.  I thought the fresh
air might do you a little good."

     "Oh, it does," Blair responded, taking in a deep breath.  Jim
pulled open the door for him and followed him through it.  

     "See anything you like?"  Jim asked, perusing the wall of display
shoes with Blair.  

     "Anything's an improvement," Blair said, looking down at his
own shoes.

     "How about these?"  Jim held up a pair of Nike cross trainers.

     "Those are fine," Blair replied without really looking at them.

     "We've never agreed on a pair of shoes in our lives, Chief.  Come
on, pick out something *you* like."  Jim evaluated the look in Blair's
eyes, which was somewhere between confusion and fear.  "Blair, I'm not
going to be mad if you don't like something I pick out."

     "I...I like those."  Blair pointed to a pair that weren't much
different from the ones Jim had picked out, but sported a blue Nike
swoosh on the side, a fancier air system in the sole and a few more bells
and whistles.

     "Now we just have to find a clerk," Jim remarked, curling his lip
and scanning the shoe department.  Whenever he came in to browse, he
was besieged by no less than three well-meaning teenagers with offers of
assistance.  When he actually wanted to buy something, the place
seemed deserted.  

     "These are too expensive," Blair commented, looking in the shoe
at the price tag.

     "They're only ten bucks more than the first pair I was looking at. 
Hey, why don't you sit down and I'll go find somebody to wait on us,
huh?"

     "Okay."  Blair found a seat nearby and waited while Jim went to
another department to find a salesperson.  

     "Look who's here," a voice said from behind him.  Blair's entire
body stiffened at the voice he knew only too well.  There was a sharp
jerk to his pony tail.  "Someday, when you least expect it, I'm going to
get you, you little bitch."

     "Watson!"  Jim shouted, bounding toward where the other man
stood menacingly behind Blair.  Judging that staying around wasn't in his
best interest, Watson made a run for the door.  Jim was hot on his trail,
and caught him around the legs, throwing him to the floor and upsetting
a display of boxed sale shoes in the process.  "Come on, asshole!  Give it
a try with someone your own size!"  

     Watson didn't lose any time employing his professional wrestling
skills in grappling with Jim, but what Ellison lacked in wrestling
experience, he more than made up for in rage and his own combat
training.  A couple of sharp elbows to the stomach freed him from the
chokehold.  

     "Jim!  He's not worth it, man," Blair pleaded with Jim, getting as
close to the fight as he dared.  Jim was having no part of backing off.  He
had exchanged a few blows with Watson, leaving them both bruised and
looking a bit ragged.  The two men rose to their feet now, both panting,
venomous looks passing between them as they lunged at each other for
another round.  

     Store security consisted of a couple of young guys who didn't
appear ready or able to take on the two irate, trained fighters who were
facing off in the center of the store.  Neither of the guards were armed,
so the best they had to offer were orders for the two men to "cool it". 

     Watson got in a couple good swings at Jim, but when Ellison
rallied, he spun around and landed a kick to the other man's midsection,
sending him flying backwards, landing on and knocking down one side
of a displayed tent.  Convinced Watson was winded, he flashed his
badge at the security guards.  

     "Why didn't you say something, Detective?"  the younger of the
two, a tall, slender blond, asked Jim.

     "He was resisting arrest and attempting to flee the scene.  I didn't
have time to draw you a picture."  Jim smiled slightly as two uniformed
cops got out of their patrol car and hurried inside the store, making their
way through the tiny crowd that had gathered for the impromptu live
action that had taken center stage in the store.  

     "Detective Ellison?"  Jane Michaels, one of the two patrol
officers, looked stunned to see Jim mopping a little blood from the
corner of his mouth.

     "This man is in violation of a restraining order, and when I
approached him, he attempted to flee the scene, and obviously," Jim
gestured at their situation, "resisted arrest.  Take him downtown and
book him.  I'll call Captain Banks and let him know you're coming."

     "Okay, Sport, time to go," Michaels' partner, a middle-aged man
with receding brown hair who wasn't much smaller than Watson, yanked
the grumbling man up by the arm and cuffed him.  

     "You haven't heard the last of this, Ellison," Watson sputtered,
still a bit winded from the powerful blow to his stomach.

     "Is that a threat, Watson?"  Jim asked, raising an eyebrow.  "I
think you're in enough trouble.  This'd be a real good time for you to shut
the hell up."

     "Trust me, Ellison, he's not that good.  Save yourself the trouble."

     "You son of a--" Jim lunged toward Watson but was stopped by
two hands grabbing at his arm and pulling.  The pull wasn't very strong,
but as soon as Jim realized who it was, he cooperated with it.

     "He's baiting you.  Let him go," Blair said quietly, still holding
onto Jim's arm.  

     Watson was led off by Michaels and her partner, smiling his
usual little sadistic smile.

     "Are you okay, Chief?"  Jim asked softly, turning to Blair, taking
a gentle hold of both shoulders.

     "I'm really glad you showed up when you did.  Yeah, I'm okay. 
What about you?  You're the one with the fat lip, man."  

     "No big thing, pal."  Jim smiled reassuringly, keeping one hand
on Blair's shoulder.

     "Sorry not to have been of help, Detective.  We didn't know the
situation," the security guard said.  

     "Don't worry about it.  Do you have an office or something?  I
need to call into headquarters."

     "Sure.  Right this way."  The young man led Jim and Blair back
through the Employees Only area to a small office containing a desk and
a couple of chairs.  "If you need anything, let us know."

     "Will do.  Thanks."  After the guard left, Jim looked over at
Blair.  The other man was white as a sheet as he stood near the door of
the office.  "Come on, buddy.  Take the load off while I call Simon."

     "He's trying to make you look bad," Blair said quietly, taking the
seat as directed.  "He told me if I ever told anyone, or went back to you,
he'd ruin your life, your career...  It's starting, Jim."

     "Nothing's starting.  Anything that started just got finished.  He
was in violation of a court order, and I had every right to apprehend him. 
He resisted.  I had the choice of deadly force, which, appealing as it was,
would have been excessive, or overpowering him."  Jim finished placing
his call, relieved that he caught Simon before he left the office.  The
captain agreed to meet the arresting officers and deal with booking
Watson personally.  He hung up the phone and looked at Blair, who sat
stiffly in one of the chairs, the tremors that passed through his body
visible to Jim's sentinel vision.

     "I'm never going to get away from him," he said in a strained
whisper.

     "You *are* away from him, Chief."  Jim pulled the other chair up
so he could sit facing Blair, their knees touching lightly.  He took a hold
of both of the other man's hands.  "You're safe, Blair.  Your days of
being under Watson's thumb are over."

     "Then why do I feel so damned...scared?"  Blair asked, meeting
Jim's eyes with his own moist ones.  "I hate being like this.  I didn't used
to be like this."

     "It's going to take time to get over this.  You're just healing up
from the physical part of it.  The rest is probably going to take a while
longer.  It took six months to get to this point.  It'll take a while to get
back from it."

     "When he pulled my hair...God, it was just like what he used to
do...  I'd be working at the table on my laptop or something, and he'd
come up behind me and yank hard on my hair, especially if it was pulled
back like it is now."  Blair took a deep, shaky breath.  "That always
meant it was time to...turn in for the night."

     "Blair, look at me, and listen to what I'm saying."  Jim took a
gentle hold of Blair's face in both hands.  "If Watson touches you again,
it'll be the last thing he ever does.  I won't let anything happen to you.  I
promise you."

     "I know.  I trust you.  I just...seeing him tonight...brought it all
back.  I mean, we were having a good time tonight and then all of a
sudden, he was there..."

     "I know.  But he's going to be cooling his heels in jail after
violating that restraining order.  He won't be harassing you anymore." 
Jim stood up.  "Come on, buddy.  Let's go get you some shoes and then
we'll head for home."

     "Shoes?"  Blair looked stunned, standing up to join Jim.  "After
what happened...?  Jim, don't you have to go down to headquarters?"

     "My assignment is guarding you.  Besides, I don't think Simon
trusts me not to accidentally shove Watson down six flights of steps, so
he'd rather not have me at headquarters for the booking."

     "I don't know if I can concentrate on trying on shoes after what
happened."

     "Okay.  Another night then."  Jim looked at his troubled
companion and then pulled him into a gentle hug.  Blair clung to him
tightly, making it apparent that the physical reassurance was what he had
needed.  "It's okay, Chief.  I've got you now.  There's nothing to be afraid
of." 

     "I know you don't believe me, but with Vince, there's always
something to be afraid of."

     "He's not going to throw anything at you--or at me--that we can't
handle.  And anytime he wants to get to you, he has to go through me
first."  Jim sighed, still feeling the mild trembling in Blair's body.  "He's
not God, Chief.  He's not even superhuman.  He's just a sadistic asshole."

     "I know.  In my head I know, but it's just...when I see him, and
he...looks at me that way... I remember...and then I just lose it."

     "You haven't seen him since you left him.  It's a jolt."

     "I'm sorry I'm such a sissy about this."

     "Don't ever call yourself that, Chief.  You're not a sissy.  You're
coping with this as well as anybody could be expected to, okay?"  Jim
pulled back and Blair nodded a little.  "Feel a little steadier now?"

     "Yeah.  Thanks," Blair responded, smiling faintly.

     "Okay.  Let's get out of here and go home then.  I'll call Simon
when we get there and find out how things are going."

     "Sounds good.  I'm really wiped out, man."

********