Vince Watson appeared in court for his hearing the following
morning, more than a bit ruffled at having been detained in jail over
night.   His argument was that he had just gone into the store to shop and
had run into Blair accidentally.  He further claimed that he hadn't
threatened Blair, but had merely apologized for their chance meeting,
and was attempting to leave when Ellison charged at him.  His flight, he
claimed, was due to his wish not to have a physical altercation with the
detective, since he felt Ellison seemed "extremely hostile" in his
approach.

     Though Jim had overheard a portion of what Watson had actually
said to Blair, he couldn't testify to it due to the distance he was from the
two men when the event occurred.  Therefore, it fell to Blair to take the
stand and refute Watson's claims.  

     Blair's pulse and heartbeat had thundered non-stop from the time
Watson walked into the courtroom until Blair himself stepped up to the
witness stand, was sworn in, and sat down.  Beverly Sanchez approached
Blair with a confident smile.

     "Mr. Sandburg, last night, did you see Mr. Watson at The Dugout
Sporting Goods Store?"  She seemed a bit less confident as Blair
hesitated, stealing a sideways look at Vince.

     "Yes," he responded softly.

     "You'll have to speak up a little, Blair," she encouraged gently.

     "Yes," he stated firmly.

     "Was Mr. Watson closer than 300 feet away from you?"

     "Yes."

     "How close was he?"

     "He was, uh, right behind me."

     "Less than a foot away?"

     "Yes."

     "Did he touch you?" she asked.  Blair's eyes moved over to
Watson, then back to Beverly.  Silence followed.  "Mr. Sandburg, did
Vincent Watson touch you?"  she prodded.

     "Uh...I..."  Blair looked at Jim, whose face reflected his
confusion.  Then he looked back at Vince.  

     "Please answer the question, Mr. Sandburg," the judge added.  
"Would you like Ms. Sanchez to repeat the question for you?"

     "No.  I remember it.  Yes, he touched me."

     "What did he do?"

     "Pulled my hair."

     "Would you consider the gesture threatening?" she asked.  Blair
paused again, swallowing almost audibly.  He looked at Jim, then back
at Vince, then back to Beverly.  

     "I thought so," he said nervously.

     "But you're not sure?"  she probed.

     "He...he might've been...you know...kidding."

     "Kidding?  There's a restraining order against Mr. Watson to keep
him away from you because you allege that he is the man who beat you
so severely your spleen ruptured.  You've said he violated the restraining
order and pulled your hair.  Do you consider that--"

     "Objection, your honor.  The prosecution is making a closing
argument and coaching the witness."  The tall, distinguished-looking,
silver-haired man defending Watson rose to offer the objection.

     "Sustained.  Mr. Sandburg, did Mr. Watson threaten you or
assault you in any way?" the judge asked, visibly annoyed.

     "He didn't exactly *assault* me," Blair said, looking at Jim a
little desperately.

     "Excuse me, your honor," Jim said, standing.  "Please forgive the
interruption, but Mr. Sandburg is still recuperating from the assault he
suffered, and I think a recess might be helpful."

     "I appreciate your concern, Detective Ellison, but this is a simple
matter of a 'yes' or 'no' answer.  Now, Mr. Sandburg, *did* Mr. Watson
threaten you?"  Blair's eyes moved to Watson, and stayed there a few
moments, before moving back to his lap.

     "I...I guess not," he muttered.

     "Speak up, please," the judge responded, visibly annoyed.

     "No." 

     "And you didn't consider him pulling your hair threatening?" 
Beverly added.

     "N-not necessarily."  Blair looked over at Jim, the fear evident in
his face.  Jim didn't have the heart to be annoyed, despite the fact the cop
in him wanted to get up there with the judge and Beverly and harass the
truth out of Blair.  Instead, he gave Blair a resigned little smile.  Blair
was frozen with panic, stuck between his fear of Watson and his fear of
Jim's reaction. //Poor guy's conditioned to fear retaliation when he pisses
someone off.  He's probably caught between which one of us he's most
afraid of,// Jim thought to himself, resolving to walk up there and rescue
Blair physically if Beverly and the judge didn't back off.

     "Mr. Sandburg, do you wish to pursue this complaint against Mr.
Watson?"  the judge cut to the chase, tired of dragging every word out of
Blair.

     "No," he said quietly.

     "Fine.  Case dismissed.  The restraining order is still in effect,
Mr. Watson.  I expect you to keep your distance this time."

     "Yes, your honor," Vince responded politely, flashing a little
smile at Blair, who remained seated on the witness stand, looking down
at his folded hands in his lap.

     "Court is adjourned," the judge announced, banging his gavel.  

     "You want to tell me what in the hell that was all about?" 
Beverly snapped at Blair.  Simon was making his way up front as well,
but didn't beat Jim there, who made it in a few long-legged, determined
strides.

     "Leave him alone, Beverly."  Jim approached Blair and laid a
hand on his shoulder.  "Come on, Chief.  It's over."

     "I'm sorry.  I...I couldn't..."  Blair gestured toward the place where
Watson had been sitting.

     "It's okay, Blair."

     "It's *OKAY*?" Beverly demanded angrily.  "We charge this guy
with violating his restraining order and assault and *he*," she gestured
toward Blair, "makes us all look like a bunch of bozos and claims
nothing happened?  That's far from OKAY in my book."

     "Well, I guess you're going to have to live with it," Jim shot back
as he led Blair away from the witness stand.

     "Blair, does this mean you aren't going to testify against Watson
at the trial?"  Simon asked.  "Because if that's what you're thinking,
please at least give us that warning now."

     "When I saw him there...I just...*couldn't* say it.  I'm sorry,
Simon.  I didn't mean to mess everything up.  I just...couldn't do it." 
Blair finally made eye contact with the captain, and the fatigue, fear and
despondency in the normally bright blue eyes must have softened
Simon's irritation a bit.

     "We don't have to make all the decisions today.  Just give it some
thought and let us know what you're planning, so it isn't a surprise,"
Simon said.

     "I will."  Blair nodded a little, almost slumping with gratitude
when Jim slid an arm around his shoulders. 

     "I'll give you a call later, Simon."  Jim guided his friend toward
the exit.

     The walk to the truck in the parking lot was made in silence. 
Blair continually stole little glances out of the corner of his eye at Jim as
they started out of the lot and drove toward the loft.  Deciding enough
was enough, Jim finally pulled over to a curb on a quiet residential
street, beneath a large shade tree.  He reached over to touch Blair's
shoulder and the other man flinched back with a jerk, trying to become
one with the corner of the seat, his hands going automatically up in front
of his face.  

     "Hey, Chief, come on," Jim said gently, reaching over and taking
a hold of one of the stiff arms that were up in a defense position.  "Blair,
I'm not going to hit you.  Think about it, Chief.  You know you're safe
with me."

     "You're mad."  Blair slowly lowered his arms and regarded Jim
with troubled eyes.

     "I'm frustrated.  I'm not mad at you."

     "Why not?"

     "Maybe because it's not your fault you're scared.  It's pretty
understandable."  Jim leaned back in the seat and sighed.  "It's just as
much my fault or Beverly's or Simon's for not sitting down with you and
preparing you a little."

     "My script wasn't too hard.  I should have been able to play along
without being coached.  It's just that when he looked at me...  It was that
look--the 'you're gonna catch it as soon as I get my hands on you' look." 
Blair laid a hand over his stomach.  "I feel like I'm gonna be sick."

     "Come here."  Jim unfastened the seat belt holding Blair in place,
as well as his own.  He leaned across Blair and rolled down the window,
then rolled down his own window, turning off the truck and letting the
fresh breeze blow through.  "Lean back against me.  Come on."  Blair
moved over so his back and the back of his head were supported by Jim's
chest as the larger man wrapped his arms around him.  "Try to practice a
little of that breathing you're always telling me about, and relax."  Jim
started moving his hand in a gentle motion over Blair's stomach.  "Head
hurt too?"

     "It's pounding like a bass drum now that you mention it."

     "Okay.  Close your eyes.  We just need to find the magic spot
back here."  Jim moved his hand around the back of Blair's head and
started rubbing gently.

     "Feels better," Blair sighed, some of the tautness draining out of
his muscles.

     "Good.  I don't want you to worry about this, Chief.  It's too bad it
didn't work out, but this isn't the main event.  We'll have our ducks in a
row before the trial."

     "I can't face him, Jim."

     "Don't think about it now.  You don't have to start dreading it. 
We'll get through it together.  And we *are* going to nail that bastard. 
Mark my words."

     "He just looks at me and it's like I freeze up inside," Blair said,
his voice breaking a little. "He used to shoot me one of his looks when
we were out somewhere, and I knew I was in for it later.  He was looking
at me that way today.  Like he couldn't wait for the chance to get a hold
of me again."

     "He's going to have a long wait," Jim responded calmly.  "He has
to wait for hell to freeze over, and for them to carry me out feet first. 
Because I won't let him touch you."

     "I don't want to be so afraid of him.  I just can't help it."

     "I know, Darwin.  It's okay.  It'll get better."  Jim smiled a little. 
"Stomach calming down a little?"

     "Yeah.  I feel a lot better.  Thanks."

     "Anytime, Chief.  Ready to go home?"

     "Yeah.  I'm sorry I flinched away from you before.  I know you
wouldn't hit me."

     "It was a reflex.  No harm done.  I understand."

     "I thought you'd be furious with me."

     "Then I'd be furious at the wrong person."  Jim gave Blair a little
squeeze before moving to separate them so he could start the drive
home.  

*******

     Jim moved swiftly to snatch up the ringing phone, relieved that
Blair was still sleeping on the couch.  

     "Jim, it's Simon.  We've got a real situation on our hands. 
Watson's attorney is filing a civil suit against the department for the
incident at the store last night."

     "Excuse me?"  Jim tuned one ear to Blair for any signs of him
waking up.  

     "Since Sandburg wouldn't say there was any assault or threat
involved in his contact with him, Watson is claiming he often shops
there, merely went inside to look around, and ran into Blair accidentally. 
He further claims that he attempted to leave the store hastily, when he
realized he was in violation of his restraining order, but that you spotted
him, and approached him in such an aggressive manner that he feared
for his safety--which is why he tried to run out."

     "That's the biggest crock of bullshit he's come up with yet."

     "Unfortunately, Jim, without Blair backing us up, it holds water. 
The force you used on him looks pretty excessive if his argument were
true--"

     "If it were true, yes, but I heard what the son of a bitch said to
Blair."

     "And you and I both know we can't use that.  Furthermore, Blair
says nothing happened, so that's what's most significant here.  Not only
was he subjected to an unreasonable level of force without the
opportunity to explain his presence to you, but we arrested him, detained
him over night, and we had no case."  Simon sighed.  "We're screwed
here, Jim.  You and I, the DA's office, the arresting officers--all of us are
listed on the complaint.  You know how Warren is about police
misconduct issues.  This isn't going to be pretty."

     "What was I supposed to do, Simon?  Stand back and let him jerk
Blair around?"

     "No.  If Blair had testified honestly today, this wouldn't be an
issue.  But he didn't.  Now before you jump down my throat again, I'm
not criticizing Sandburg.  I know he's messed up and that's
understandable.  But we may have to accept that we have a case here
with no viable witness to back us up.  I spoke to Beverly a while ago,
and she's not too sure about pursuing the case at all under the
circumstances."

     "I hope you told her that was ridiculous."

     "Yes, I did.  Hopefully her superiors will agree with that."

     "Simon, we've had reluctant witnesses before.  We've dealt with
victims of violent crimes who were too afraid to speak, and we've won
some of those cases."

     "I'm aware of that.  I'm on your side--and Blair's.  The fact
remains that unless Blair comes forward and tells the right story, our
asses are fried on this civil suit, and the case is probably in the toilet."

     "What about perjury charges if Blair changes his story now after
testifying under oath this morning that nothing happened?"

     "I asked Beverly.  She said the DA's office won't pursue any
charges against Blair for this morning if he changes his story.  If he'll just
*tell the damn story*." 

     "I'll talk to him."  Jim paused.  "Beverly wanted to meet with
Blair before the hearing.  I didn't think it was necessary, and I was
concerned about her dredging up a lot of stuff before he had to see
Watson.  I thought it would counterproductive.  Don't blame this on
Blair.  It was my call to take him in there stone cold."

     "Warren wants to meet with everyone named in the suit first
thing in the morning, along with our attorneys.  Eight o'clock, my
office."

     "Right.  I'll be there, sir."

     "We keep telling Sandburg this guy is nothing special, nothing
larger than life.  Now I'm beginning to see what he means.  It's like you
can't nail the bastard."

     "At least we didn't have to live with him for six months."

     "Tell Sandburg to hang in there.  We'll get this mess straightened
out eventually."

     "I will.  Thanks, Simon."  Jim hung up the phone and moved
toward the couch, not surprised to see Blair still lying there, but awake. 
He sat on the coffee table.

     "What happened?"  Blair asked, having heard enough of the
conversation to know there was a problem.

     "Watson's suing the department for the incident in the store last
night."

     "Oh, man."  Blair let out a long sigh.  "He said he'd ruin your
career if I left him...if I told anyone.  He's doing it.  I'm so sorry, Jim. 
This is all my fault."

     "It's not your fault, Chief.  None of it is.  It's just a big mess we
have to sort out.  Simon told me to tell you to hang in there.  He's not
mad at you either.  We just have to get our act together."

     "If I had told the truth this morning--"

     "That's water under the bridge, Blair.  It's over.  The thing we
have to concentrate on is getting ourselves together for round two.  Now,
Beverly said the DA wouldn't pursue any type of perjury charges against
you for this morning if you testify truthfully in the trial, or in the civil
suit."

     "I'll try, Jim.  I'm so sorry."

     "I know.  You've got a good support system here.  You're going to
be protected, and we'll all guide you through the process.  We're not
going to let Watson get a hold of you.  You don't need to be afraid of
him."

     "Sometimes I'm just...so...*ashamed*," Blair said in almost a
whisper.  

     "I know.  It's hard to talk about the way things were between
you."

     "I feel so...*weak*.  And stupid."

     "I know.  But you aren't.   You're a victim, Chief.  That's part of
the baggage that comes with being a victim of a violent crime.  The
whole 'I should have been able to stop it' routine."

     "But I *stayed*.  I should have just left.  But I was so scared of
what he'd do--to you, to me, even to my mom.  He listened in on my
phone calls--he knew where she was most of the time as well as I did. 
She travels alone a lot.  I was afraid he'd do something to her.  Once,
when he went away for a two-day seminar, he told me he was going to
be in LA--he knows my mom's base of operations is there.  He said,
'maybe I'll look Naomi up and we can get together'.  It was his way of
telling me that he wouldn't hesitate to go after her if I said anything or
tried to leave--and that if I went to her that he could still find me."  Blair
swallowed the lump in his throat but a few tears escaped anyway. 
"That's why, today, I was so scared to say anything.  He still knows how
to track her down, and even if we're on the alert, he could hurt her if I
talk."

     "How about if I get a hold of a friend of mine at the LAPD and
explain the situation?  Have someone keep an eye on Naomi for us--well,
as much as that's possible."  Jim smiled a little.  "We'll have to tell her
about Watson."

     "She's in Egypt right now."

     "Then I'd hazard a guess she's safe."

     "She won't be home until September."

     "If this mess isn't wrapped up by then, I'll make sure she gets
protection.  Okay?"

     "But if he isn't convicted, you can't protect her forever."

     "No, probably not.  But if he isn't convicted, he won't have much
reason to go after anyone."

     "You don't know Vince.  Hurting me would be enough of a
reason."

     "Listen to me."  Jim leaned forward, stroking Blair's hair gently. 
"He isn't going to do that anymore.  Understand?  We're going to nail his
ass, one way or the other.  I promise you."

     "I love you," Blair said softly.

     "I love you too, Chief.  Everything's going to be all right.  It's just
going to be a rough road getting there.  But we will."  Jim leaned
forward and placed a light kiss on Blair's forehead.

*******

     Blair's doctor was more than pleased with his progress at his next
check-up.  The incision was healing nicely, his weight was back in the
normal range, his blood work was normal, and his blood pressure only
marginally elevated, which the doctor chalked up to the impending trial
and the strain of the healing process.  

     "You're doing just fine, Blair.  Just don't over-exert yourself for
the next couple weeks yet.  You should be fine to go ahead with your
normal activities.  Extreme things like jogging or working out should
wait until after your final check-up."

     "I had a good nurse," Blair said, smiling brightly at Jim, who had
been allowed in during the check-up to hear the verdict on Blair's
condition.  The almost-bouncy patient sitting on the examining table,
dangling his feet, was so much like the old Blair it made Jim's heart skip
a beat.

     "So he can go ahead and do routine stuff now?  Like driving,
or--"

     "Tying my shoes or going up steps?"

     "Fine on the shoes.  On the steps, go ahead.  Just don't overdo it. 
As far as driving, as long as you don't get in the middle of any
high-speed chases, you'll be fine."

     "I'll make him ride in the back seat," Jim spoke up.

     "Cute, Jim," Blair shot back, barely containing a grin.

     "You've made an excellent recovery, Blair.  Congratulations."

     "Congratulate him--he made it happen."

     "Joint project," Jim responded, blushing a little at the praise.

     Now that Blair had a fairly clean bill of health to at least move
around normally, Jim pondered how he might feel about going back into
the precinct.  With the time of the trial drawing closer, Jim had a few
leads, including Keith Park, he wanted to pursue himself.  And having
Blair there to fill in some blanks about Watson would be more than
helpful.  The debacle that had occurred in the courtroom when Watson
was arrested for violating the restraining order had no doubt made the
rounds on the grapevine, but Jim had confidence in their friends'
sensitivity not to worry that Blair would be harassed about it.

     They had stopped at a favorite Chinese restaurant for lunch, and
now that they were back in the truck--with Blair hopping up in the
passenger seat under his own power, much to Jim's delight--Jim figured
it was the time to broach the subject.

     "How do you feel about doing a little police work, Chief?"

     "At the precinct?  But isn't my ID expired?"

     "I could probably wangle you another one."  Jim laughed a little. 
"There are a few leads I want to pursue on the case."

     "Jim...everybody there knows what happened, right?"

     "Yeah.  So?"

     "They know he...that I was...you know, with him?"

     "If you mean do they know you were raped, yes, I suppose most
of the people who know us both, know that."

     "It wasn't rape.  I was living with him."  Blair's head hung
forward, his shoulders slouched inward.  Jim's heart sank to see all the
earlier effervescence drain out of Blair at the mention of his ordeal.

     "You're the person who told me you thought marital rape was no
better--in fact worse--than if a rapist off the street committed the act.  I
seem to remember you having the same opinion of date rape."  Jim
sighed.  "Just because you're a man doesn't make you a less valid victim. 
You know that, don't you?"

     "Yeah."  Blair still didn't look up.

     "So how is this less of a crime than any other rape?  Shit, Blair,
he terrorized you.  The son of a bitch tore you apart!  Goddammit, that's
rape!"  Jim slammed his hand against the steering wheel.  "How many
times?"  he asked through nearly gritted teeth.  All his attempts to stay
calm with Blair about Watson were fast flying out the window.

     "I-I don't know exactly,"  Blair stammered.  Jim detected a very
distinct note of fear in the hushed voice.

     "Oh, shit.  I'm sorry, Chief."  He reached over and lightly
caressed the side of Blair's head.   "You know I'm all wind, right?  I'd
never hurt you.  I'm not mad at you."

     "I know.  I just...I'm used to...getting yelled at usually
means...something else worse is coming." 

     "I want that fucker dead, Chief.  And I want to be the one to do it. 
Slowly.  Preferably with my bare hands.  I can't help it.  That's how I
feel."  Jim worked on getting his breathing under control, but no one had
invented a deep breathing technique to combat the rage Jim felt
mounting.

     "He kind of hurt both of us."  Blair hesitantly ventured a hand
across the space between them and squeezed Jim's arm as it lay on the
armrest.  Jim moved his arm so he could lace his fingers with Blair's.

     "You're right.  He did.  And nobody blames you for any part of
this mess."

     "I guess we could go in a while, if you want."

     "Good."  Jim squeezed Blair's hand and smiled widely.

     The Cascade PD was as busy as any other regular day.  Jim
smiled a little as he watched Blair taking it all in, as if he'd never seen it
before.  

     "Blair!"  A female voice startled both of them.  Serena Chang had
emerged from the Forensics Lab.  "Sam!  Get out here!"  she called back
into the lab before hurrying down the hall to greet the long-absent police
observer.  She enveloped Blair in an enthusiastic hug, which he returned
happily.  "You look wonderful!" 

     "Thanks.  I feel a lot better than I did."

     "Blair?"  Sam was a little more restrained in her greeting, but her
smile was warm, and she soon stepped forward and gave Blair a hug of
her own.  "How are you?"  she asked, looking right into his eyes.

     "There're still some rough patches, but I'm doing a lot better,"  he
answered honestly.

     "Are you back to work now?"  Serena asked. 

     "Not exactly.  I don't know what's going to happen with that.  I
just came in to work with Jim for a while today."

     "You'll be back full-time pretty soon."  Sam smiled again.  "I
have a test I have to finish up in the lab before three.  Take care of
yourself, Blair.  Stop in and see me, huh?"

     "Yeah, I will.  Thanks."

     "I'll let you guys get going.  It's wonderful seeing you again." 
Serena took her leave.

     "Thanks, Serena,"  Blair called after her.

     "Hey there, hairboy!"  Brown emerged from the Major Crimes
bullpen into the hall before they could make it all the way there. And his
greeting was only the launching point for a series of handshakes,
back-slaps and warm welcomes.  A few Major Crimes Department cops
hung back, obviously not sharing the group's enthusiasm for Blair's
return, but the majority put great effort into making him feel welcomed
and missed.  News of Watson's lawsuit against the department after
Blair's failed testimony hadn't dissuaded their true friends from rallying
around Blair as if he'd never left.

     "I'm going to get a hold of a friend of mine at the Tacoma PD.  I
want to see what they've got on Keith Park's death."

     "Can I do anything?"

     "Just sit there and look beautiful," Jim whispered as he leaned
past Blair to retrieve his address book from the drawer.  He was
rewarded with a serious blush and a duck of the head from his partner.

     "Do you really think that?"  Blair whispered back.

     "This isn't exactly the place for this discussion, Chief.  But, yeah,
I've been doing a lot of thinking in the last year."  Jim smiled and started
flipping through the book.

     "Did you miss me a lot?"  Blair asked quietly.

     "Only about as much as I would've missed my right arm, pal." 
Jim took a moment to touch Blair's shoulder.

     "That's good to know."

     "While I'm doing this, I have to ask you to do something.  The
DA wanted this about two weeks ago, but I didn't want you dwelling on
it then."

     "What?" 

     "I need you to make a list for me.  The DA already has some
witnesses from the neighborhood to back us up about Watson's pattern of
abuse where you're concerned--"

     "Who?"

     "Well, there's the guy who lives behind you in that two-story
house--"

     "Mr. Franklin?  He's a nice old guy.  I shoveled his driveway last
winter."

     "The two girls who live in the unit next to Watson's--"

     "Maggie and Angie," Blair added.

     "Why does it not surprise me that you know everybody there?"

     "I was lonely.  They were nice to me.  I just hope they didn't ask
Mrs. Halstead.  She'll testify and she has a bad heart--she gets real upset
about the way Vince was treating me."

     "She's on the list, Chief.  I believe her exact words were 'I hope
the son of a bitch burns in hell'.  Brown said he thought she was putting
an evil eye curse on Watson," Jim said, chuckling a bit.

     "She lives in unit D, right next to us--Maggie and Angie are in B,
on the other side.  I know Ellen heard plenty...her bedroom shared a wall
with ours," Blair concluded quietly. 

     "Why wouldn't you want her to testify?"

     "I care about her.  She was very good to me, Jim.  She used to let
me come over and talk to her and she wasn't judgmental.  She didn't push
me to call the police.  Sometimes she just let me come over and...and cry
on her shoulder when I was hurting a lot and needed somebody.  I don't
want her to have a heart attack over this--and I most of all don't want
Vince harassing her."

     "He won't be harassing anyone, Chief.  We'll nail him."

     "She's an old lady, Jim.  She lives alone...right next door to him. 
I just don't want her to get hurt."

     "We've had an unofficial surveillance operation going on him
since he was arrested.  Off-duty guys, mostly.  I'll make sure they watch
him."

     "How'd you manage that?"

     "I've got a few friends, and I've called in a lot of old favors. 
Between all of us we've managed surveillance of Watson and guarding
of you.  The latter being my personal assignment."  Jim wiggled his
eyebrows and Blair laughed a little.  Making Blair laugh had become
something of a project with Jim, as he tried to bring out a little of his
friend's old spark of energy.

     "So what do I do now?"

     "Make a list of people--like Mrs. Halstead, but preferably people
we wouldn't have contacted yet--who can corroborate the pattern of
abuse.  Co-workers, friends, neighbors--hell, even a store clerk.  We've
got Watson over a barrel with most of the neighbors testifying for us, so
his story that you were roughed up by an irate student is pretty well shot
to hell.  But we want to paint a vivid enough picture so that the jury feels
about him the way Mrs. Halstead does."

     "Got it."  Blair rifled around the desk like he'd never left, finding
himself a notepad and pen, and set about his task and Jim called his
friend in Tacoma.

     "Homicide, Yates."

     "Jason?  Jim Ellison."

     "Hey, Jimbo, how's it goin'?"

     "It's goin' okay, but I need some help on a case we've got going
here.  A guy we arrested for aggravated assault and aggravated sexual
assault may have been involved in a death in your neck of the woods. 
Victim's name was Keith Park."

     "I remember it.  My case.  Hang on and I'll call up the info." 
There was a pause and clicking of computer keys.  "He fell down an
outdoor staircase at his apartment house.  He was living with some
steroid junkie named Watson at the time."  Another pause.  "Coroner's
report showed that Park had bruises over the majority of his torso area
and had been violently sodomized, probably on more than one occasion. 
Looked like a domestic violence situation to me, but this Watson
character claimed they played a lot of rough sex games, all consensual. 
We didn't have anything to disprove it."

     "You remember I told you about the friend of mine who was
working with me as a consultant to the department?"

     "Yeah, Sanders or something."

     "Blair Sandburg.  We just got him away from Watson in the nick
of time.  He had a ruptured spleen from being kicked in the side three or
four times for coming to see me at the hospital."

     "Aw, shit.  He okay?"

     "He's doing great now," Jim responded, smiling at Blair who
looked up in time to catch his glance, and smiled back at him.  "But you
can imagine that I'd like to find something to really nail this bastard to
the wall."

     "I can fax you the case file.  It's pretty skinny.  There was one old
lady who lived in the apartment under theirs who wouldn't say anything
about anything.  Park didn't have other family in the area--he was kind of
a loner.  Nobody could corroborate the abuse theory, and there was no
direct evidence that he didn't fall down the steps.  Watson actually
played the role of grief-stricken boyfriend pretty well."

     "So it was ruled accidental?"

     "Yep.  Never set well with me to do that, but there wasn't much
choice."

     "Did you ever go back further into Watson's past--other
relationships?"

     "He had only lived in Tacoma a year or so.  He was from LA
originally.  My boss pulled the plug on it once everything pointed to an
accident."

     "Okay.  If you can fax me that stuff, that would be great.  Thanks,
Jason." 

     "Hey, no sweat.  You still doing a lot of camping out?"

     "Once in a while, yeah.  I haven't done much lately, but I've been
thinking about getting Blair out of the city for a weekend pretty soon." 
Blair looked up, surprised.

     "If you guys want some company, give me a call, huh?"

     "Yeah, I'll do that."

     "I'll fax that stuff.  Let me know how it turns out?"

     "Will do.  Talk to you later."

     Jim hung up and began hovering like a UFO over the fax
machine while Blair continued drafting his list.  With the fax
transmission finally in hand, Jim returned to the desk and spread it out
for the two of them to review.  

     "What do you suppose--Keith was getting ready to run for the
hills?"  Jim probed Blair.

     "That would make sense.  Vince flipped out when he thought I
was getting back in touch with you.  I mean, he didn't want me to form
any worthwhile relationships, and I think that's why.  If I had spent much
time around anyone else, they'd have noticed something or said
something--or intervened like you did."

     "It would be interesting to know if Keith made any noises about
leaving before he 'fell'."

     "Things escalated with Vince in the last, oh, probably six weeks
that I was with him.   Obviously if he'd been beating me as violently as
he did this last time since the beginning, I'd be dead now."

     "So he got worse as time passed?"

     "I started getting less passive, he got more aggressive.  It was a
deadly pattern, looking back on it from a distance."

     "It was pretty logical that at a point, you'd be sick of taking that
shit."

     "I was sick of it from the outset.  But you know, right at the
beginning, I was still feeling lousy about being by myself, and every now
and then, he'd act like he really felt lucky to have me."  Blair rolled his
eyes.  "Sucker that I am, I felt sorry for him.  He's a very physical
person--he works with an aggressive sport all day.  I actually cut him the
slack that maybe he just couldn't handle his feelings any more
effectively."

     "Don't beat yourself up for being forgiving, Chief." 

     "Forgiving?  I was a doormat.  But about the first two months of
the whole six we were together, he didn't hit me very often, and he was
always apologetic if he did.  But I started having less patience and less
interest in his emotional displays after he hit me or...or after a...rough
night.  So he stopped putting them on and started threatening me instead,
because he probably figured I was on the verge of leaving.  And when he
found out I'd talked to you, he really freaked out."

     "This file really doesn't say a hell of a lot, does it?"

     "He was about the same size I am.  Guess Vince didn't want a
worthy wrestling opponent in the sack."

     "It does say here that he had suffered three broken ribs on one
side that had knit badly,"  Jim summarized.  "That would be pretty
consistent with a beating that went untreated."

     "Maybe if he wasn't in any other kind of accident or fight anyone
knows of, that would be something to hang our hat on."

     "Even if we proved he beat this guy up, that's still not proof that
he shoved him down the stairs."

     "The neighbor lady--Miss Pennington?"  Blair found her
statement in the file, such as it was.  "Can I talk to her?"

     "We could both go see her."

     "She's probably afraid to talk to the cops.  I thought maybe if I
went to her, showed her some of the photos that were taken of my
bruises in the hospital--maybe I could get her to tell us something."

     "She might tell you something, Blair.  If she won't get up and say
it on the witness stand, it's useless."  Jim slumped back in his chair.  "We
need a background check on Park.  Maybe we can dig something up
from there.  And I want to know what Watson was up to in LA."  Jim
stood up and headed for Simon's office.  The current file on Watson
would be in his office, and Jim planned on checking up on Watson's past
in California.

     With Simon away at a conference, Jim sat at his desk for a few
minutes, leafing through the file on Watson.  He had gotten his degree at
a private college called Briarwood, just outside of LA, and worked for
about four years at a high school in LA.  There was a semester gap in his
work history, between leaving the high school job in January and starting
work at a private college in Tacoma in August.  There was no similar
lapse between Tacoma and Cascade, with Watson leaving the Tacoma
position in May and beginning the Rainier job in August, almost three
years ago.  He had held each job for almost the same length of time.

     "Find anything?"  Blair appeared in the doorway.

     "There's about a seven-month gap between the LA and Tacoma
jobs I'd like to know more about.  He's held each of his jobs about the
same span of time.  The first job in LA lasted four years, then the 'lost
months', then three years in Tacoma and almost three in Cascade."

     "Actually, it's decreasing.  From four years, to three, to not quite
three.  Sounds like a man who's losing his grip on things."

     "Do you think he was losing his grip?"

     "Well, you know, it was like sometimes Vince really cared about
me.  Like he had flashes of actually loving me.  And then the next
minute he'd be screaming at me or shoving me...or whatever."  Blair
shook his head.  "It was like those flashes were the real Vince and the
rest of it...was some kind of...demon inside him.  Part of me stayed with
him for those moments.  I kept thinking that he'd never have anyone to
love if somebody couldn't ride out the rough spots and get through to
him.  But that was a lost cause."

     "How would you feel about a trip to LA?"  Jim closed the folder
and looked up at his partner.   He smiled when he realized that Blair
looked very much like he used to now, leaning up against the door of
Simon's office, dressed in faded jeans, a gray t-shirt and the shockingly
white, phenomenally-priced athletic shoes Jim had insisted on buying for
him when they finally had a successful shopping trip.

     "What?"

     "Huh?"  Jim shook his head a little.

     "What's wrong?  You looked almost...zoned out."

     "No, I have a partner who helps me get that under control,
remember?"  He loved to see Blair smile, and he was rewarded with a
winner.  "I was just thinking.  You look good."  Blair raised his
eyebrows.  "I mean you look like yourself again."

     "Oh.  That's good,"  Blair responded, the smile much fainter and
a slight look of disappointment crossing his face.

     "And you're gorgeous,"  Jim whispered as he walked through the
door past him.  Blair was stunned speechless.

******

     "Ready to turn in, Chief?  We've got an early flight tomorrow." 
Jim was on his way toward the stairs, finished with his final stop in the
bathroom, clad in only his boxers.  It was a hot summer night, but the air
conditioning was managing to keep the indoor temperature pleasant.

     "Yeah."  Blair quickly removed his glasses and tossed aside the
book he'd been reading.

     "Do you want to read up there for a while to help you go to
sleep?"  Jim was a little unsure of how to put Blair at ease his first night
sharing the bed, and he thought maybe the casual offer would help.

     "Not tonight.  But you wouldn't be mad if I did that sometime?"

     "Course not.  Come on."  Jim turned out the last light downstairs,
and they made their way upstairs.  "Do you care which side?"

     "Can I have the one by the wall?"  Blair asked.

     "Sure.  Hop in."  He waited while Blair scooted over to his side
and then got in himself, dowsing the light.  "Comfortable?"  Jim looked
over his shoulder at his bed mate, who was dressed in a tank shirt and his
boxers, snuggled under the light sheet.

     "Yeah, fine."

     "Want to go to sleep with the music?"  Jim referred to the clock
radio next to the bed.

     "Okay."  

     Jim tuned in a station playing a night time love songs show,
figuring the soft music would be more soothing than the 70s station he'd
had it tuned to earlier.

     "How's that?"

     "Nice."  There was a pause.  "Jim?"

     "What, Chief?"

     "Do you care if I sleep close to you?  I won't touch you or
anything if you don't want, but...I..."  Blair's voice trailed off uncertainly. 
Jim turned over on his back and looked at the much-loved body curled
up next to him.  

     "Come here."  He encouraged Blair to snuggle against him,
loving the feel of all that silky hair against his shoulder.  "You shaved
before bed,"  Jim commented.

     "I was kind of hoping for an invitation,"  Blair confessed.  "I
didn't wanna leave you a big fat whisker burn.  That's not too sexy."

     "You don't have to wait for an invitation with me.  You're
welcome anytime, Chief."  Jim lightly rubbed the shoulder where his
hand rested.  Blair snuggled more tightly against him.  "Sure you feel up
to the trip tomorrow?"

     "Yeah.  I'm looking forward to it."

     "Good.  Relax, Chief."  Jim turned his head and kissed Blair's
forehead.  "Sweet dreams."

     "That'd be nice,"  Blair murmured, already dozing a little.  Jim
felt a little stab of sympathy for his partner when he thought about the
nightmares that had plagued him the first couple of weeks after he'd
been rescued from Watson.

     "New house rule, Sandburg.  This is a no-nightmare zone."  Jim
smiled at the little snort of laughter.

     "Great.  Just when I had all the others memorized."  Then, in a
more serious tone, "I wish I had something left to give you, Jim.  You
deserve so much better than me."

     "You don't know how...empty this place was without you in it. 
Since you've been home...from the first day I had you back with me...it's
felt like home here for the first time since you left last year.  You're my
family, Blair.  No matter what else happens, you've given me
everything."

     "It's just...I love you so much...and I can't show you."

     "Sure you can.  You're getting sex and love confused here,
Chief."

     "You're not going to want to live like a monk forever."

     "Probably not.  But you've only had a month to heal up.  That's a
far cry from forever.  And there's no way I'd touch you until I knew you
were 100% okay.  And if you're worried about my needing intercourse
every five minutes, I've been jerking off a long time now.  I can cope as
long as I have to."

     "How long has it been?"

     "I don't know.  A long time.  You know I was never big on
one-nighters."

     "Yeah, I know."  Blair was quiet a minute.  "It seems like forever
since I made love.  I don't mean what happened with Vince--" 

     "That was an aberration, not love."

     "I wonder if I ever really did.  I mean, I've known a few special
women in my life, but still...  You know, the stuff where the earth is
supposed to move?"

     "I've waited for that phenomenon, Chief.  Doesn't happen."

     "You were married...  This is none of my business, but there must
have been something between you and Carolyn."

     "There was something.  Looking back, I'm damned if I can figure
out what it was.  I guess I didn't want to be married and I know she
wasn't satisfied with me in any department.  It's not her fault.  We just
didn't click."

     "Do you, um, think that we...click?"

     "Yeah, Chief, I think we click just fine,"  Jim responded with a
smile in his voice.  "Just listen to the music and put all those bad
memories out of your mind for a while.  Remember I love you." 

     "I wish I could do something to show you how I feel."

     "How about a big, sloppy kiss?"  Jim smiled as he heard and felt
Blair laugh.

     "A big sloppy one, huh?"

     "Yeah, one of those noisy spit-swappers."

     "Geez, Jim, you're such a romantic."  Blair raised his head, and
Jim ducked to capture his mouth, settling into the soft, warm wetness
that was there to receive him.  Their tongues dueled lazily as Jim's hand
slid up into the soft hair and gently cradled Blair's head.  Jim felt his
partner's hand sliding up his chest, slipping around his neck.  He felt no
stirring in Blair's groin, which was pressed against his thigh.  He slowly
withdrew and planted a little kiss on the end of Blair's nose.

     "Get some sleep, baby.  Early call in the morning."

     "I won't be like this forever."  There was a heavy sadness in
Blair's voice.

     "It's worth the time it takes to get it right, Chief.  It'll all come
together in time.  We've got that."

     "And love."

     "Plenty of that."        

******

     Blair's mood seemed to lighten considerably as they boarded the
jet, leaving Cascade behind.  Jim wondered as he watched his friend, and
hopefully soon-to-be lover, if there would ever be a way to recapture the
boundless energy and the...the *sparkle* of the old Blair, before Watson
had damaged him so badly.  Blair was hardly an innocent before this
doomed relationship.  He'd lived all over the world in all sorts of strange
settings, and had spent a very unsheltered childhood rolling with the
punches of Naomi's spirited lifestyle.  But there had been a wide-eyed
enthusiasm for life, and a lot of idealism in Blair.  

     This Blair was quieter, more tense, and definitely much more
submissive than the old Blair.   He had always stuck close to Jim, but
now he hovered nervously there, as if his worst fear was that they would
somehow be separated in a crowd.

     "I was going to offer a penny, but those babies have to be worth
at least a buck,"  Blair spoke up, startling Jim out of his thoughts.

     "Just letting my mind wander, I guess."  Jim smiled a little.

     "What are we doing first when we get here?"

     "We have an appointment with the Dean of Students at
Briarwood, and then one with Watson's old wrestling coach from high
school, who's retired now.  He seemed *really* anxious to meet with us."

     "I wonder if he knew about that mess with Vince's girlfriend?"

     "Probably."  

     "We don't know her name?"

     "Shelly Michaels.  I figure she's probably married by now,
because we couldn't track her at all.  She left LA after high school, and
essentially disappeared.  We can probably find her once we get a hold of
some of her family or friends face to face."

     "Why d'you suppose Vince hasn't called or...or tried anything?  I
mean, I didn't follow through on the charges with the restraining order
violation."

     "Because he knows I'll kill him if he looks at you the wrong
way."

     "You can't watch me forever."  

     "No, that's true.  Probably only for about the next fifty years." 
Jim relaxed back into his seat, smiling slightly.  He wasn't expecting
Blair's head to snap up in surprise, a pair of big blue eyes pinning him
with a searching gaze.

     "What're you saying?"

     "Huh?  What part of that didn't you get, Chief?"

     "You were joking, right?"  Blair asked with a little smirk.

     "No.  Did I sound like I was?"  Jim tried not to smile.  He had
told Blair right along they'd take their time and work their way up to
becoming lovers.  But he'd never talked commitment.  Until now.

     "Are you...does that mean...do you want us to..."  Blair fumbled
over his words, and when Jim glanced at the perplexed face next to him,
he couldn't resist relieving a little of the tension.

     "I want us to be together forever.  That's what I was trying,
apparently unsuccessfully, to tell you last night.  We've got plenty of
time to work everything out.  If that's what you want.  I'm not trying to
pressure you or--oof,"  Jim grunted as Blair's full weight hit him and
frantic arms enclosed him in a hug.  Needless to say, more than one of
their fellow passengers turned to witness the spectacle.  

     "It's what I've always wanted,"  Blair whispered, so low that only
Jim could hear him.  "I love you."

     "I love you too,"  Jim whispered back into a nearby ear, returning
the pressure of the embrace.  He found it very liberating not caring what
the other people around them thought.  And this rare little burst of
enthusiasm, not to mention the magnitude of this milestone in their
relationship, was too precious to let pass while worrying about the
watchful eyes of strangers.

     "Forever?"  Blair pulled back a little as he whispered the
question, searching Jim's face with moist eyes.

     "Forever."

     "How?  I...I have so much...wrong with me...and I can't...I mean,
we haven't even...what if I'm really not good at it?"  Blair slumped back
in his seat.  Despite the slight relief of not being the in-flight floorshow
any longer, Jim missed the warm bundle of Blair that had been in his
arms moments ago.

     "It takes two people to make love, baby,"  Jim leaned over and
whispered to Blair.  "How is anyone 'good at' being a rape victim?  You
can't judge anything by what happened with Watson.  Besides, you're
assuming the most important thing to me is nailing you to the mattress. 
The most important thing to me is you.  And whatever you *can* do is
fine by me."

     "What if I can't ever let you do that to me?"  Blair murmured,
audible only to a Sentinel.  His face was flushed, his eyes lowered to his
lap again.  Jim turned fully sideways in his seat, effectively blocking the
view of the inordinately interested woman across the aisle.  Blair
reached up quickly and brushed away a tear.

     "Then we'll enjoy each other in all the ways we *can* and quit
worrying about what we *can't* do.  Okay?"

     "It isn't fair to you."

     "This whole mess with Watson wasn't fair, least of all to you. 
But the important thing for you to remember is that *anything* with you
means more to me than *everything* with someone else.  If that actually
came out making any sense,"  Jim said, grimacing as he analyzed his
own statement.

     "It said it all,"  Blair responded, looking up finally, smiling a
little.  "I just want you to be sure that it's not...you know...pity and not
love."

     "Blair, I pity all the starving people in the world, and I pity crime
victims...I pity a lot of people.  That doesn't mean I want to spend my life
with all of them.  I know the difference.  When we were kissing last
night, it had nothing to do with pity."

     "But nothing happened."

     "Because you're always trying to gear yourself up for something. 
You've been through a horrible ordeal, Chief.  Just relax and let it
happen at its own pace.  It will."

     "I'm sorry I jumped you a few minutes ago,"  Blair apologized,
smiling a little sheepishly.

     "I'm not.  Feel free to jump me anytime."

*****

     Jim figured he should be feeling nervous or jittery.  He had just
more or less "married" Blair on the plane, but all it made him feel was
peaceful.  His Blair was here forever, for better or for worse.  And Jim
had every confidence he could love the shattered spirit back to
wholeness, given enough time.  Watson had done a lot of emotional and
psychological damage along with the physical injuries.  While Blair was
essentially healed from the surgery and Watson's final assault, he had a
long way to go yet before he was his old self again.  If indeed, he ever
was.

     Their hotel room boasted two king-sized beds, and in an
unspoken agreement, they loaded one of them with their luggage.  After
freshening up a little, they ate lunch in the hotel dining room and then
headed for the Briarwood campus to meet with the Dean.  

     Dean Margaret Cavanaugh was a petite woman with a tall
personality.  From her dark business suit to her upswept gray hair and
small glasses riding the bridge of her nose as she reviewed Watson's file,
hers was an image of authority.

     "Gentlemen, you realize that without a subpoena, I can't release
confidential information from Mr. Watson's file,"  she began.  Jim
calmly removed a folded document from the pocket of the beige
sportcoat he'd thrown on over his t-shirt and cotton slacks for their visit.

     "This is a court order for the release of any and all information
you have on Vincent Watson.  Not only is he about to go on trial for
aggravated assault and aggravated sexual assault, but we have reason to
believe this may be only one incident in a pattern of violence, including
a possible homicide."  Jim handed her the paper, and she reviewed it
carefully.  Jim glanced over at Blair, his face somewhat unreadable as he
sat there with his hair neatly pulled back, dressed in a cornflower blue
shirt and tan cotton slacks.  

     "Well, in that case, this should contain all the information you
need."  She handed Jim two thick file folders.  "One is my personal file
on Mr. Watson, and the other is the Registrar's file."

     "What about the campus police?"  Jim asked.

     "I receive a copy of all incident reports and they're included in
my file.  However, you may wish to stop by the Campus Security Office
on your way out."

     "All this paperwork is very valuable, Dean Cavanaugh.  What I
really need from you, though, is any personal impression you may have
had of Vincent Watson."

     "Mr. Watson was an adequate student, and an excellent athlete."

     "But...?"  Blair spoke up, surprising Jim. 

     "I beg your pardon?"  Dean Cavanaugh diverted her eyes to Blair.

     "That statement had a very definite unspoken 'but' on the end of
it."

     "I've provided you with the information required of me by law. 
You must appreciate that I am not in a position to make any unfounded
libelous statements against a former student."

     "You might find these of interest."  Blair pulled out a few
photographs from his pocket and handed them to her.  Jim wrinkled his
brow in confusion, but watched as the color seemed to drain out of the
woman's face.  "Those are photos taken by a neighbor of mine after
Vince Watson beat me up the first time.  I got that beating because I
went to the doctor for the pain and bleeding from the first time he
sodomized me."

     "Dear God,"  she muttered.  After looking at the photos with one
hand pressed over her mouth, she started to hand them back to Blair, but
Jim intercepted them.

     "You didn't mention these before, Chief,"  he said, angry that
Blair had been sitting on this evidence.  His anger at Blair dissolved and
configured itself into rage against Watson when he glanced down at the
photos.  Blair's face was barely recognizable under the bruising and
swelling that completely closed one eye and partially closed the other. 
His mouth was distorted and his face generally swollen.  His back,
stomach and chest were bizarre mosaics of blue and purple.

     "Dean Cavanaugh, I know how tenuous your position is, because
I work in a university environment.  You've provided us with Watson's
files, and you're covered for that.  I know you're worried about lawsuits. 
But Vince Watson is dangerous.  Part of what happened to me is my own
fault because I let him sweet talk me and apologize to me after he did
that to me, and because he had lucid moments.  It's in those lucid
moments that he lures you in, and once you're there, you're in his own
private little hell.  And every time you try to get out, he snares you again
with another sweet-voiced apology.  And when that doesn't work
anymore, he figures out what's most precious to you and then he
threatens you with it so you stay out of fear.  It's only because of an
accidental sequence of events that I was rescued before he killed me.  I
barely made it to the hospital to undergo surgery for a ruptured spleen. 
I'm begging you for help here.  This man has managed to
commit...atrocities...and not leave a paper trail.  Please, if you know
*anything*...he's going on trial for what he did to me in a couple of
weeks.  Please help us put him away for what he's done to God knows
how many other people."  Blair seemed impassioned by his speech,
moreso than Jim had seen him in weeks.

     Margaret Cavanaugh leaned back in her impressive burgundy
leather desk chair, behind her equally impressive mahogany desk, and
removed the glasses from the bridge of her nose, letting them drop to
hang from the fine silver cord that suspended them around her neck.

     "While Mr. Watson was a student here, there was a young man
named Daren Clayton with whom he shared an apartment for the
majority of his senior year.  I think he might be able to help you now."  

     "Did something happen with this Clayton that you know of?"

     "Mr. Clayton was found severely beaten and near death in the
parking lot behind the apartment complex where they lived.  When he
was able to speak, he affirmed Mr. Watson's speculation that he must
have been mugged."

     "But you think that--"

     "I'm not sharing an opinion, gentlemen.  I am merely referring
you to a former acquaintance of Mr. Watson's who may be able to give
you more information about his lifestyle."

     "Thank you,"  Blair spoke up.  "Do you know where we can find
him?"

     "He's living in Los Angeles, I believe.  The last I heard, he had a
job with a company called Cybertech.  He was very gifted with
computers."

     "Thank you very much, Dean Cavanaugh.  These files will be
returned to you as soon as possible."

     "Thank you."  She rose as they did, and extended her hand first to
Blair.  "I hope things go well with the trial."

     "Thanks.  So do I."

********

     During the ride back into the city, both men had been quiet. 
Blair finally spoke up, breaking the silence.

     "I'm sorry I didn't show you those pictures before."

     "Those are a fairly significant part of the case, Chief.  I guess I'm
a little pissed off that you kept those under your hat."

     "Mrs. Halstead took those.  I didn't want her to be involved
anymore--"

     "Dammit, Blair, she's involved anyway!  She sang like a canary
the first time we asked her a single question."

     "I said I was sorry,"  Blair responded quietly.  Jim reached across
to lay a gentle hand on the side of Blair's face, but halted when he saw
the other automatically flinch away from the approaching hand.

     "Blair, did you think I was going to hit you?"  Jim had all he
could do to watch the traffic and steal glances at Blair at the same time. 
"Answer me, baby,"  he prodded, his tone gentle.

     "I know it's stupid and you wouldn't do that, but whenever Vince
got really pissed at me and yelled at me...he usually at least swatted me
if not...worse."  Blair drew in a shaky breath.  "Old habits die hard,"  he
concluded, forcing a slight smile.

     "I'm sorry, sweetheart.  I didn't mean to scare you."  Jim scooped
up Blair's hand in his and kissed the back of it.

     "I think I like 'sweetheart' even better than 'Chief'."  Blair was
smiling when Jim stole a glance at him this time.

     "You do, huh?  I kind of worried after I said it that you wouldn't
like it.  It just...came out."  Jim paused, and they rode in silence a while
longer, just holding hands.  "What made you have her take those
photos?"

     "I thought in case...something happened to me, someone else
should know.  There should be some proof.  I kept them hidden inside
one of my diskette carriers.  Vince was never too interested in the
computer, so he would never think to go through my disks for any
reason.  He'd'a probably killed me if he'd found those.  But I wanted
them somewhere where Mrs. Halstead wouldn't have to be the one to
come forward with them, somewhere Vince wouldn't find them, but
somewhere the cops *would*...or maybe you would, if you ever came
for any of my stuff.  I don't know why I thought you would when we
weren't even living together or keeping in touch.  I guess I hoped...if
something happened, all my things wouldn't just be tossed in a dumpster
somewhere."

     "You were afraid he was going to kill you, weren't you?  Right
from the start?"

     "I've heard of domestic violence escalating, and I've heard of
people killing someone in a rage even when they didn't mean to.  Given
Vince's size and his training, I figured it was possible."

     "I wish you had just...said something that day in the hospital. 
Right then, I wanted to grab you and hold you and not let you walk out
that door again."  Jim shook his head.  "Dammit!  I should have just done
that.  To hell with everything else and all the waiting and the
game-playing."

     "You didn't have any way of knowing that I wanted to be with
you.  Just because I still cared if you were dead wouldn't necessarily
mean that I was ready to move back in with you."

     "True.  But I knew you weren't doing well.  I just didn't know
why."

     "It's weird.  I've known people who were victims of domestic
violence before.  I've talked to them.  I was an advisor to a girl one time
who always had strange-looking bruises and unexplained absences from
classes.  I knew her boyfriend was beating her up.  I got her to finally
open up and talk to me.  All I could do was keep telling her to report it,
get away from him.  I offered to help her, if she didn't have anyone else
to turn to.  But she had all these reasons why she didn't want to
leave...and I was *so* critical of her."

     "For not leaving?"

     "Yeah.  I always thought it was inexplicable that people would
*let* someone beat them, sexually abuse them--I'm not talking about
kids now, because they *don't* have the same choices.  But adults.  I
always had this little part of me that didn't feel *as much* sympathy for
people who endured long-term abuse because I felt like they were
*letting* it happen.  And then I turn around and do the same thing."

     "There were a lot of things keeping you there, Chief--just like
there are things keeping people in those hellish relationships everyday
all over the world.  I see that now."  Jim sighed.  "You know, I've seen
all kinds of bizarre situations while I've been on the force.  People who
were perfectly capable of walking away, but didn't.  I've seen women
disfigured by repeated beatings and still stay."

     "Maybe that's why it seems like he shouldn't have been able to
keep me there.  I'm a man.  At least, I used to feel like one before--"

     "Don't go there, Chief.  What he did to you doesn't make you less
of a man."

     "Sure it does.  He beat up on me, fucked me 'til I bled anytime he
felt like it, and what did I do?  Rolled over and stuck my ass up in the air
whenever he told me to."  Blair pulled his hand away from Jim's.  "I feel
like such a useless piece of shit!  I should've stopped him.  I should have
walked out.  Why didn't I?  Why did I let him do that to me?  Over and
over again...why?"  Blair's voice was strained with anger and tears.

     "Because you loved me."

     "Run that one by me again?"

     "You didn't intend to stay with him at one point.  You're
forgiving, and you're loyal, so you let him talk his way out of the first
few times, but then you were going to walk out until he threatened to
mess up my career, or come after me.  And you stayed with him and
endured the unthinkable things he did to you so I could keep living my
life without any kind of scandal or gossip he might generate.  You want
to talk about self-recriminations here, Chief, I've run myself through
those paces over and over again.  Do you know how it feels to know that
he forced himself on you several times using threats against me to get
you to roll over and take it?"  Jim fought tears himself, wondering if he
had ever done anything in his career on the force as dangerous as trying
to drive through LA traffic, tread through heavy emotional territory, and
cry at the same time.  "Dammit, Blair, I don't know if I'd've been strong
enough to endure that for you.  Yeah, to save your life, I'd give my own
in a heartbeat.  But just to keep you from having a nasty scandal?  Quite
frankly, sweetheart, your strength, and the depth of your love for me
amazes the hell out of me."

     "You're just trying to make me feel better.   Like I'm not a sissy."

     "I don't have it in me to tell a lot of pretty lies, Sandburg.  You
know that better than anyone else.  If I don't mean it, I don't say it."  Jim
found the hand that had escaped before and clutched it tightly.  "You
handed Watson your body as hush money to keep him away from me. 
That's not an act of weakness.  That's an act of love that...defies words."

     Blair looked over at Jim for a moment before the floodgates
opened, and he started to sob openly, his free hand over his face.  Jim
kept a tight hold on Blair's hand while he watched for a safe place to pull
off the road.  Spotting the parking lot of a vacant shopping mall, he
made his way across the necessary lanes and drove around the back of
the empty buildings.  Having some privacy now, he unfastened Blair's
seatbelt and maneuvered his lover somewhat awkwardly toward him
until Blair's arms were wrapped tightly around his neck as Jim held him.

     "Relax and let it all out, baby.  Everything's going to be okay.  I'm
right here."

     "I wanted to...come home...so badly."

     "Oh, sweetheart, I know.  I wanted you home too.  We're kind of
pathetic, aren't we?"  he asked, smiling a little as he rubbed Blair's back
soothingly.  He felt a little laugh in the midst of the wracking sobs.

     "I'm so...glad...you still...want me...even all...messed up."

     "Shhh.  You're not messed up.  You're perfect.  You always
were."

     "I was...messy...and I left...the bathroom stinky,"  Blair choked
out.

     "Okay, so you weren't *perfect*, but close."  Jim smiled in relief
at Blair's attempt at levity.  "I hated my life without you in it,"  Jim
whispered into the nearest ear, then kissed it.  "Everything was neat and
orderly...and so fucking empty,"  he concluded, finding himself crying
with Blair now.  "I love you so much, baby.  I'm so glad you're here with
me."

     "I love you too."  Blair worked hard at getting his voice back. 
"Jim, do you think tonight...when we get back to the hotel...we
could...try something?"

     "I don't know, Chief.  That might fall into the strenuous activity
category, and I don't want you hurting anymore.  Maybe we should wait
awhile."

     "I didn't mean anything acrobatic."  Blair pulled back enough to
look at Jim.  "Maybe we could just...touch each other...maybe, um, make
each other feel good?"

     "That sounds like a beautiful idea."  Jim smiled a little as he held
Blair's face gently in his hands and kissed away the tears.

     "Just one problem."

     "What?"

     "It's gonna be real hard keeping our minds on interviewing that
Clayton guy now."

     Both men shared a laugh at that very true statement, and Blair
carefully moved back to his own seat.  Jim started the engine, and they
made their way to the corporate offices of Cybertech.

     Cybertech, Incorporated was housed in a one-floor brick office
complex with a multitude of windows and carefully manicured
landscaping.  

     Jim pulled into a parking spot and looked over at Blair, who had
done his best to put himself back together after his crying jag.  His eyes
were still a bit puffy, but only someone who knew him would have been
readily able to tell he'd been crying.

     As they approached the semi-circular reception desk, the
attractive young woman behind it smiled pleasantly.  In the back of his
mind somewhere, it occurred to Jim that her long blonde hair, perfect
features and flawless figure did nothing more for him than register as
information.  All his emotions, as well as his libido, seemed to be
wrapped around one of Blair's lovable little fingers.

     "May I help you?"  she asked.

     "Yes.  We'd like to see Daren Clayton."  Jim flashed his badge,
not bothering to let her see that his ID was from the Cascade PD instead
of the LAPD.

     "One moment, please."  She smiled a bit uneasily and picked up
her phone, dialing a three-number extension.  "Mr. Clayton?  There are a
couple of gentlemen here from the police.  Are you available to talk with
them?"  She listened to the response, and then nodded.  "All right. 
Thank you."  She hung up and rose from her chair.  "Mr. Clayton said he
could see you now.  If you'll follow me please."

     "Thank you,"  Jim responded, the two men falling into step
behind her.  She tapped on a door at the end of a long, wide hall
containing numerous offices.  The hum of printers and the clicking of
computer keyboards seemed to invade Jim's sensitive hearing from all
sides.  He turned his focus to the voice of the receptionist as she invited
them to enter the office marked "Vice President, Design".

     "Good afternoon,"  the man behind the desk greeted, not
diverting his face from his monitor.  "I'm just finishing something up
here..."  he clicked a couple more items with his mouse, and then typed
something in before turning around to face them.  The way he reached
down on either side to turn toward them in his chair made it obvious he
was in a wheelchair, not a desk chair.  "How can I help you?"  He smiled
pleasantly, but Jim noticed something a little...off about his face.  And
then he remembered the beating the man had supposedly suffered many
years earlier and wondered if that could have been the cause.

     "My name is Jim Ellison, this is my partner, Blair Sandburg. 
We're with the police department in Cascade, Washington.  We're
investigating a case against Vincent Watson."  Jim watched the other's
face as the name registered.

     "Close the door, huh?"  Clayton requested.  Jim complied. 
"How'd you find me?"  The man removed his wire-framed glasses and
set them on the desk.  He looked to be about the same size as Blair, with
short brown hair and slightly bloodshot brown eyes.

     "Your name came up when we were interviewing another
witness,"  Jim replied.

     "I see."  Clayton took a drink of his coffee.  "I'm sorry.  Please, sit
down.  Would either of you like coffee?"  Both men waved off the offer
with slight smiles, taking the two chairs across from the desk.  "I didn't
think I'd ever have to talk about that son of a bitch again."

     "I understand you were mugged and badly beaten while you were
living with Watson."

     "What's he accused of?"  

     "See for yourself."  Blair pulled out the photos again and handed
them to Clayton.

     "One thing about history.  It sure as hell repeats itself.  So you
were with Vince a while, huh?   Isn't he a piece of work?  That fucker
put me in this chair."

     "He gave you the beating, not muggers?"  Jim prodded.

     "You're quick.  No wonder you made detective."  Clayton shook
his head.  "I'm sorry again.  This isn't exactly a pleasant subject for me. 
I've spent the last ten years trying to rebuild some sort of a life after what
he did to me."

     "Who were you staying for?"  Blair asked.  Jim watched with
great interest as the question registered with Clayton, who took a deep
breath before answering.

     "My father.  He was in very poor health at the time, had heart
problems.  If he'd known I was gay, it would've killed him.  He probably
suspected it somewhat, because he was a pretty shrewd old guy, but
hearing it would've been very hard on him.  Vince started out just
threatening to tell him what 'I really was' if I left.  Then it escalated to
insinuations that my father would have 'an accident' or 'slip and fall like
so many old folks do' if I left or tried to press charges.  So when I'd had
enough, I told him I'd leave quietly, not press any charges.  That was
when he beat the shit out of me.  I passed out, but I know he kept going. 
I came to in the hospital, and Vince was hovering around like the
tortured lover, wringing his hands for my recovery.  He coached me on
what I better say if I wanted to keep my old man alive.  Waking up
partially paralyzed and needing major reconstructive surgery on my face,
I was in no shape to look out for him or to cross Vince."

     "What kept you from coming forward later?"

     "By the time my father died, about three years later, and I was in
a position to go after him with nothing to lose, the cops weren't listening. 
In the meantime, I met a terrific guy and we've been together almost five
years now.  I didn't want him exposed to Vince, and since he seemed to
be gone permanently, the last thing I wanted to do was lure him back
here by starting trouble."

     "Would you testify?"  Jim asked.

     "No.  I'm sorry, but he's already taken too much from me.  I won't
let him have anything more."

     "What if we could put him away for a long time?  We're building
this case, one atrocity at a time.  I don't think the two of you were his
only victims."

     "Look, Detective, this may seem harsh and unfeeling, but these
photos don't shock me."  He tossed them on the desk in Blair's direction. 
"I lived that--for almost two years.  I'm sorry he beat up on your friend
here, and I'm really sorry about all the other lousy things the son of a
bitch has probably done since he left me.  But I won't put my life, or my
loved ones' lives, on the line for this."

     "Don't you want justice for what he did to you?  What he took
away?"  Jim made a last ditch effort.

     "Sure.  But at what cost?  You know, it's bizarre, but it was
almost worth ending up like this to get rid of him.  He didn't want me
when I was released from the hospital.  I couldn't put on a show in the
sack for him anymore.  You know how that goes,"  he said, looking at
Blair, who kept his eyes focused on his twined fingers in his lap.  

     "Is there any insight into his personality or his behavior that you
could give us--off the record?"

     "He's a crazy bastard who gets off on power and other people's
pain.  He didn't get off unless you were screaming--from pain, not
pleasure--let's get that straight, and he usually got really hot after he
flexed his muscles a little.  He was horniest if he'd just put me in my
place for something.  It was all about dominance."

     "If we find that we're building a murder case here, would you
change your mind about testifying?"

     "Murder?"

     "We have reason to believe he may have been involved in the
death of another man he lived with after he left you.  If that's the case,
any testimony against him will only strengthen our case to get him not
only convicted, but the maximum sentence.  Look, all I'm asking is that
you not shut the door on this entirely."

     "If you get your murder case going, give me a call."  He reached
in his desk drawer and produced a business card.  "But please, whatever
happens, don't bring my name into it with Vince unless I've agreed to
testify."

     "Understood.  Thank you for your time, Mr. Clayton."

     "Good luck,"  he responded, shaking hands with Jim.  As he
reached over and shook hands with Blair, he smiled a little.  "Look, man,
I'm sorry you got mixed up with him.  If you want to talk about it
sometime, use my card there and give me a call.  I've been where you
were."

     "Thanks.  I'll keep it in mind."  Blair forced a slight smile and
gathered up his photos, following Jim out of the office.

     Jim started up the rented car and sighed loudly.  The meeting had
been somewhat of a success, but he still wasn't walking out with a
confirmed witness.  

     "Let's call it a day, Chief.  It's almost dinner time.  We can grab a
bite to eat and then get some rest.  It's been a long day."

     "Sounds good to me,"  Blair agreed, as Jim pulled out into the
rush hour traffic.

     "Do you think you'll ever call him?"  Jim asked.

     "Who, Clayton?"  Blair was thoughtful a moment.  "No, probably
not.  I have my own nightmares.  I don't need his too."

     "If you ever feel that you'd like to talk to someone...you know,
for counseling--I understand.   I wouldn't think there was anything wrong
with that."

     "I don't know how I feel about that.  I've gone to counselors and
shrinks before, and sometimes it was helpful.  But there are so
many...unpleasant things to remember about this...  I don't know if I want
to have to tell a counselor every degrading thing he ever did to me so I
can 'work through it'."

     "Anytime you need to talk to me...I know I get angry, but it's
never at you, and I don't want you to censor what you tell me for that
reason.  I want to be there for you."

     "You are.  God, I dread that trial.  Getting up on a witness stand
and telling all the...details...all the...sexual stuff."

     "It'll be tough, sweetheart.  I'm not going to tell you a lot of pretty
lies about it.  But you can do it, because you know that son of a bitch is
going behind bars for it."

     "He'll get out eventually.  And I'll tell you something else that
makes me nervous--he's so damned *quiet* now."

     "He already ended up in court once for violating the restraining
order, and he probably doesn't want to mess up his chances of either
getting off altogether or getting off with a lesser sentence.  If he comes
back after you, his ass is ours."

     "You don't know Vince.  He isn't playing by the rules.  If he isn't
making a direct hit, he's up to something."

     "He's not larger than life, baby.  I know that's how it looks, but he
isn't."

     "Am I going to have to testify to details?  I mean, about
the...about when he...when he made me have sex with him?  Do I have to
say things on the stand about all the moves we each made and what he
made me do?"  Jim knew Blair was watching him as he took a deep
breath and tried to phrase his answer as gently a possible.

     "The sexual assault is part of the charges, Chief.  It's going to
have to get detailed.  I wish I could do something to spare you that."  Jim
reached over and stroked Blair's cheek with the backs of his fingers. 
Blair caught his hand and squeezed it.

     "What if I can't do it?"  Blair's question froze Jim's respiration.

     "You won't be going into this one stone cold like you did at the
hearing.  Beverly's going to work with you, go over the case, answer any
questions you have about the process."  Jim paused.  "Unless you're
seriously considering not pursuing the whole thing."

     "No, no, not at all.  But what if I get up there and I can't...?  His
lawyer is going to try to trick me, make it sound like I wanted it or asked
for it...  What if I mess everything up?"

     "Blair, just tell the truth.  And it's Beverly's job to object if things
get too rough.  Hopefully, after meeting with her next week, we'll get
some of the potential surprises ironed out."

     "Aw, man.  That's just great.  I get to sit in a conference room and
describe how me made me get on my knees and...  It's the same thing as
him raping me all over again!"  Blair brought his fist down on the car
door's armrest.  "I don't know if I can do it."

     "We can't nail him for squat without you, Chief.  You know that. 
If there was some way I could change this..."  Jim shrugged helplessly. 
"Sorry, baby.  I need my hand back."  Jim was navigating through the
heaviest of the 5:00 traffic.

     "Everybody's going to know...they're going to think you're gay by
association."

     "So let 'em.  I really don't give a shit at this point, Chief.  While
you were suffering with Vince, I had my nice, neat, simple life, and it
sucked."

     "So does unemployment."

     "They repealed the anti-sodomy laws in Washington State in the
70s.  There isn't a hell of a lot they can do about it."

     "You know how popular gay cops are."

     "None of that matters to me anymore."

     "You don't mean that.  Jim, you love being a cop.  And you're so
damn good at it.  It isn't fair for this to ruin your life."

     "You walking out the door last year ruined my life.  If I hadn't
been such an uptight son of a bitch, we'd have spent the last year
together and you wouldn't have ever met that fucking idiot who did this
to you."

     "It isn't your fault.  You didn't tell me to move out.  You sure as
hell didn't tell me to go find a guy who looked like you so I could live
some sort of sick fantasy.  You know, I'm not totally innocent in this
whole mess.  I sought Vince out because he reminded me of you.  I used
him to fill a void.  I never really loved him.  When you do something
like that, you have to expect that malignant karma to come back and
smack you in the face."

     "You didn't deserve this, Blair."

     "No, maybe not, but just like I was weak and behaved like an
idiot and hooked up with Vince...and then even let him talk his way out
of abusing me by telling me that I was so hot and sexy that he couldn't
hold back when we had sex or crying in my lap after he beat me up and
telling me it was because he was afraid he was losing me...  Just like I
was too swayed by my emotions at first, before it was fear, you were
tangled up with your emotions and your doubts and your uncertainties
when I suddenly up and announce I want to start bouncing the bed with
you."

     "Maybe we both need to stop feeling guilty about any of this and
figure it was just a horrible, tragic mess."

     "I think that's very true."

     "About this testimony thing...I promise you, if it gets too bad, and
the prosecutor doesn't know when to stand up and object and get you out
of it, I'll put a stop to it, one way or another.  I won't let you twist in the
wind.  I give you my word, Chief."

     "I trust you."  Blair forced a little smile.  "Besides, a guilty
verdict in the criminal trial is pretty necessary to win the civil suit."

     "That's very true.  But no matter what happens, I don't want you
to feel like the weight of the world is riding on your shoulders.  We'll do
the best we can working through the system.  If things fall apart, we'll go
to Plan B."

     "Which is?"

     "The one that comes after Plan A.  Let me worry about that one,
sweetheart."

****** 


       Dinner was steak, salad and wine in the hotel dining room.  Jim
still delighted in  watching Blair eat like he used to, remembering only
too well the gaunt-faced weakling  he'd rescued from Watson's tyranny. 
He listened with interest to the prattling on Blair was  famous for, as he
talked about a class he'd taught the previous semester to a group of gifted 
grade school children as part of a special program the university had
inaugurated in the  community.  Jim smiled as he pictured his Blair in
the middle of all those little prodigies,  challenging their nimble minds
with his own magical way of weaving tales of obscure  cultures in
faraway places.

     "Jim?  You still with me?"  Blair asked, smiling a little.

     "Always.  I was just admiring the view."  Jim took a sip of his
wine and was rewarded  with a little blush from Blair, who looked down
at his partially eaten steak with sudden  interest.  "I never get sick of
looking at you."

     "Come on, Jim, you're embarrassing me here, man."  

     "Why?  Because I'm flattering you a little?"  Jim startled both
Blair and himself by  reaching across the table and taking a hold of
Blair's hand.  "I think you're beautiful, so get  used to being stared at by a
guy with an incredibly sappy look on his face.  I think it's  called love."

     "Somebody might see--"

     "Let 'em.  What do you say we pay the bill and go upstairs for a
little privacy?"

     "Sounds great."  Blair smiled as Jim squeezed his hand briefly
and released it, motioning to the waiter.

     The hotel room was cool and comfortable, the steady hum of the
air conditioner a  reassuring sound against the heat and humidity of the
summer weather outside.  Blair  crouched by the night table and tuned
the radio there.  Jim heard the sounds of something  soft and romantic
drifting out of the little speaker.

     "Dance with me?"  Jim asked softly, holding out both hands. 
Blair smiled and moved  into Jim's arms without hesitation, wrapping his
arms around Jim's middle, burying his  face against a strong shoulder. 
Jim's arms came around his lover, one hand tangling in the  soft mane of
curls.  They swayed to the music in the dimly lit room.  

     Blair slowly raised his head and moved in Jim's arms so he was
in a position to  unbutton the first two fastened buttons of Jim's shirt.  He
planted a little kiss on the  exposed area, and continued his work until
the waistband of Jim's pants stopped him.  The  hot mouth descended
again on sensitive flesh, kissing and nipping its way across the  smooth
planes of muscle, finally pausing to excite a nipple to hardness.  He
dragged his  tongue in a line to its mate, and treated it to the same sweet
torture.

     Jim moaned low in his throat.  As much as he wanted to grab
hold of Blair and devour  him in a fit of passion, he held back and let his
lover set the pace.  Only Blair would  ultimately know how much or how
little he could face doing after all he'd been through.  

     Jim ventured to gently raise Blair's face up and capture his mouth
in a prolonged kiss.   He carefully opened the other's shirt, running his
hand over the soft mat of hair there.  His  thumb found a nipple and
rolled it gently until he could feel Blair gasping for air.  He  released the
hostage lips and moved down Blair's jaw to his throat, leaving a trail of
hot  little kisses.  He encircled Blair in his arms and pulled them
together, chest to chest.  

     Hearts pounding as one, hands searching and groping, they
stumbled back to the bed,  falling together on the mattress without
breaking their kiss.  They rolled together until Blair lay on top of his
larger lover, making it easier to dispense with his shirt as well.  Blair
was not in the least  passive, pushing Jim's shirt off his shoulders and
tugging determinedly at it until it came  loose from his pants and was
discarded on the floor.   

     "I wanna feel all of you,"  Blair panted against Jim's mouth
before they launched another passionate duel of tongues.  

     "Blair, sweetheart, slow down a minute."  Jim took the beloved
face in his hands.  "Are you okay with this?"

     "I want us skin to skin.  Nothing in between,"  Blair replied,
breathlessly.

     "You say stop anytime you need to, baby.  Got it?"

     "Yeah, I got it,"  Blair answered vacantly, already busy with Jim's
zipper.  Moments  later, he had stripped the larger man with surprising
efficiency.  Jim tried not to think  about where Blair might have learned
his skills, and turned his attention to opening the  front of Blair's
increasingly tight pants.  He slid them down the strong legs, delighted
when  they finally hit the floor.  

     He hesitated as he slid his hands partway under the waistband of
Blair's boxers.  He  could feel his lover's insistent arousal pressing
against him, and he knew how his own  body was screaming for some
kind of release and completion.  Hoping Blair was truly  ready to go this
far, he slowly eased the underwear over the curved buttocks and down
Blair's legs until Blair helped out by kicking them off.

     "I love you,"  Jim whispered in a nearby ear as he slowed things
down long enough to  just hold Blair close.  He felt the other's arms go
around him then and hang on tightly.  "It's  all about love, sweetheart. 
Don't be afraid."  Jim didn't know if Blair needed, or even  wanted, to
hear that, but it made him feel better to say it.  He rolled them on their
sides  and pulled back a little to look at Blair.  A smile was partnered
with tears.

     "So this is making love, huh?"  he asked, stroking his hand back
and forth over the  strong chest in front of him.  "I don't think I ever did
that before.  God, I want you so bad."   Blair thrust against Jim, trapping
their erections between them.  Loving the intensity of the  friction, Jim
added his own movements to their dance, pulling Blair tightly against
him,  sheltered in a circle of powerful arms.

     Neither could last long.  Blair came first, with a shout of Jim's
name, and his lover was  only moments behind him.  Jim flopped on his
back and pulled Blair along so the smaller  man was nestled in the crook
of his arm, head pillowed on Jim's shoulder.  Blair flopped a  leg over
Jim's and pulled himself up for a lazy kiss.

     "That was...beautiful,"  Blair whispered, as if trying not to shatter
the magic with any loud vocalizations.

     "That's love.  And it should always feel beautiful."  He stroked
Blair's back gently.  "Do you feel okay?  Is your incision all right?"

     "It's a little tingly, but it's okay."  Both men were quiet a few
minutes, their heartbeats slowing to normal again.  "I wish the first time
had been with you."

     "The first time was with me, baby.  He never made love to you." 
Jim reached over and turned up the radio.  The light voices of the Bee
Gees came out of the little radio, singing "How Deep Is Your Love?"

//I see your eyes in the morning sun 
I feel you touch me in the pouring rain 
And the moment that you wander far from me 
I want to feel you in my arms again 
And you come to me on a summer breeze,  
Keep me warm in your love 
Then you softly leave, 
And it's me you need to show, 
How deep is your love? 
I really need to learn, 
'Cause we're livin' in a world of fools, 
Breaking us down, 
When they all should let us be, 
We belong to you and me.

I believe in you
You know the door to my very soul,
You're the light in my deepest, darkest hour, 
You're my savior when I fall, 
And you may not think I care for you, 
When you know deep inside that I really do, 
And it's me you need to show 
How deep is your love? 
'Cause we're livin' in a world of fools 
Breaking us down, 
When they all should let us be, 
We belong to you and me...//

     "I'm going to spend the rest of our lives showing you how deep it
is, Blair.  That's a promise."   Jim drew Blair's face up for a prolonged
kiss.

     "I used to dream about what it might be like for us, like this," 
Blair whispered, so softly  that only Jim would have been able to hear
him.  "Sometimes I'd lie there, and I'd be  hurting so much, and I'd try to
imagine what it would have been like if it had been you  taking me and
not him.  What it would be like to have you hold me afterwards and tell
me  you loved me...  Jim, not one of those fantasies were this perfect."

     "Those were dreams.  This is reality.  You can't make love with a
fantasy.  Believe me I tried."

     "You fantasized about me?"  Blair raised up on one elbow to look
down at Jim.  He  wondered for a moment why Jim chuckled a little
until he felt him reach up and pull the  hair band the rest of the way out
of the disheveled mop on his head.

     "Guess I was so excited to get your pants off that I left you
looking like a shih tzu on a  bad hair day."  Jim smiled as Blair collapsed
back on the bed with laughter, holding his  side while he did.  "Take it
easy there, Chief.  We've put your body through enough hoops  for one
night."

     "You really know how to blow a moment, man,"  Blair gasped,
getting his breath back. "But I still want an answer to my question."

     "I figured you would, but the hair thing bought me some time." 
Jim smiled over at  Blair, who scooted back into his arms and lay his
head on Jim's shoulder.  "For the first couple of months after you left, I
just missed you.  I missed the friend I had, and that's  when I was calling
and leaving all those messages for you.  I wanted us to at least keep in 
touch.  But as time passed, I started thinking more about *you*.  The
way you looked, the  way you smelled, the way it felt to touch you or
even on the rare occasions I held you--the  way you felt so perfect in my
arms.  And the thoughts kind of strayed to what might have 
happened...if I hadn't been such a hard-ass."

     "Oh, I don't know.  It doesn't feel all that hard to me,"  Blair
replied, as Jim started at the feeling of a questing hand exploring his
right buttock.

     "Have a little mercy here, sweetheart.  The general's about ready
to salute again if you don't knock it off."

     "'The general'?  Oh, man, this is priceless.  He's got a military
title,"  Blair giggled, gently grasping the named member and pumping
slowly.

     "Oh, baby, that's good,"  Jim growled, arching into the strokes,
which became more  rapid and insistent as they brought Jim to hardness. 
Then the hand was withdrawn, and Jim  was startled to feel himself
deserted by Blair's warmth.  He was even more surprised to see  Blair
positioning himself on all fours on the bed next to him, finally lowering
his head so  he was in the most submissive position possible.  "What are
you doing?"  Jim asked, pulling  himself up in a sitting position, trying to
ignore the infamous "general", who was at full  attention.

     "Aren't you ready to fuck me now?"  Blair asked quietly, with a
resignation in his voice  that saddened Jim.  It was as if he were
somehow "programmed" to offer himself whether  he felt like it or not.

     "You look uncomfortable as hell there, baby.  Your side hurts,
doesn't it?"  Jim reached  over and pulled back some of Blair's hair for a
better look at his face.  He didn't look  happy.  "Come on,"  Jim took a
gentle hold of his sides, "straighten out, sweetheart.  I can  feel your
pulse going all over the place and I know you're hurting."  Blair
complied, lying  there on his stomach with his face buried in the pillow.

     "You're hard."

     "So?  Your hand was doing just fine, Chief."  Jim scooted over
close to his lover's prone  form, laying a hand on his back and rubbing
slowly.  "That's the position he always made  you get into, isn't it?"  A
little nod.  "Not very comfortable, is it?"  This time a shake of the  head. 
"How about if we never use that one when we decide--together--to make
love that  way?"  A nod again.  "I don't want you on your knees for
anybody ever again, Blair.  Least  of all me."  Jim waited while that
registered, and with a little sob, Blair moved into his  arms and began to
cry against his chest.

     "I messed it all up.  I'm sorry...I didn't mean..to mess it up." 
There was almost fear in the shaking voice.

     "You didn't mess up anything, baby.  You offered yourself to me,
and I know how scary that is for you right now.  That's not messing up."

     "Didn't you...want me that way?"

     "Not when you're tired and your side hurts and you're not really
ready.  I want you every  way I can have you, but only when it makes you
feel as good as it makes me feel.  Oh,  Blair, I love you so much,"  Jim
sighed.  "I wish I could take away all the ugly things in  your memories. 
I want you to know you have the right to say no to me, to not offer me 
anything you don't want to give...to yell at me when you're mad and to
refuse to do  something I want you to do and you can miss every
occasion I ever ask you to show up for  and you can have twelve laptops
and work on them 24 hours a day if it makes you happy  and I'll never hit
you.  I won't push you or grab you or shake you or slap you and least of 
all, I won't punish you in bed for being the wonderful, exasperating,
independent thinker  you really are."  The sobs came harder, and Jim
tightened his hold.  "I'm never going to use  you to get off, sweetheart. 
When I'm inside of you, it'll be because we both wanted it and  because
we're in love.  Not because I've got a hard-on."

     "Is the...general...still saluting?"  a watery voice asked.

     "He's at ease.  It's lights-out time in the barracks."  Jim responded
with a little smile in his voice, reaching up and turning off the  bedside
lamp.  "Come on.  Stand up with me long enough to turn the bed back." 
Jim got  them on their feet and whisked back the covers.  Within
moments, they were tucked cozily  together, nested in the bedclothes. 

     "Love you,"  Blair murmured, the wracking sobs having drained
the last of his energy as he dozed off in Jim's arms.

     "Love you too, baby.  Sweet dreams.  I'm right here."

     "Gotta be sweet dreams then,"  Blair whispered, smiling.

******

     The first appointment on the morning's schedule was a visit to
Watson's high school principal,  and also his wrestling coach.  As they
ate breakfast sandwiches and orange juice at a nearby  drive-thru, both
men were hopeful for new leads.  

     "I'm hoping someone can help us trace the girlfriend,"  Jim
commented, chewing on his sandwich.  

     "What makes you think she'll want to come forward now even if
we do find her?  You can see how excited Clayton was to lock horns
with Vince again."

     "I guess I'm hoping someone will do it for the greater good
involved here."

     "These people have rebuilt their lives--Vince-free.  They aren't
going to want to dig it up again."

     "Speaking of digging things up again, I talked to Yates this
morning about the possibility of exhuming Keith Park."

     "Nice subject change with breakfast, man."

     "He said if we have enough evidence that points to homicide, he
could probably swing it."

     "We haven't even come up with anything in LA."

     "That's not entirely true.  If we can make a murder case out of the
Tacoma situation, I think Clayton'll testify.  He as much as said so."

     "I must have been somewhere else when he said that,"  Blair
added sarcastically.

     "He was more open to it if the outcome was putting the bastard
away for keeps.  Nobody wants him coming back for revenge, but if he's
on death row, that ain't gonna happen."

     "Death row?  You think?"

     "Probably wishful thinking.  But a life membership at the
Washington State Men's Club is a real possibility."

     "Here's how it'll shake down, Jim:  even if Clayton testifies to
back me up--isn't he past the statute of limitations now?"

     "Unfortunately, yeah, he is."

     "Okay, so he testifies, I testify, and everyone sees what a nasty
person Vince is and they give  him ten or fifteen years for what he did to
me.  His lawyer talks him off the hook for premeditated  murder with
Park, and it ends up being a heat of passion thing.  They tack on another
twenty years  for manslaughter.  With all the different little time-off
incentives in the prison system and parole, he'll  be back out and mad as
hell in seven or eight years, tops.  Shit, *I* wouldn't be testifying if I had
a  choice."

     "What do you mean, 'if you had a choice'?"

     "Come on, man.  You know what you'd think of me if I didn't. 
And if there's one thing I couldn't stand it would be for you to look at me
like I was...a disappointment."

     "You think that's what I'd feel if you didn't testify?"  A slightly
pained expression crossed Jim's face as he turned to stare out the
windshield.  "Blair, all along, I've told you I'd stand by you no matter
what.  I don't know what else it is you need to hear from me."

     "I *know* how you'd *feel* about me if I did that.  You'd think I
was as weak and despicable as every other person who won't step
forward and work with the system."

     "Oh, man."  Jim set his juice back in the beverage holder.  He
was quiet a long time, hand rubbing over his chin.  Finally, he spoke
again to Blair, who was staring out the side window.  "Blair, I didn't get
you away from Watson to make a case or to  save a witness.  I did that
because I love you.  To save *you*.  There's nothing in the Blessed 
Protector contract that says you have to devote your life to doing
everything my way for the rest of  time."  Jim took a deep breath and
released it slowly.  "If you don't want to testify, all you have to  do is
refuse.  Nothing between us will change."

     "Sure it will.  You'll think less of me."

     "Dammit, Blair, what do you want me to say?  'Gee, that's just
wonderful that you aren't going  to testify against the son of a bitch who
used you for a punching bag and taught you to stick your ass  up in the
air every time he snapped his fingers'?"

     "You just proved my point."  Blair unfastened his seat belt and
got out of the car.

     "Sandburg!  Where--?"  Jim got out of the car, cursing under his
breath as he watched his  partner striding briskly across the parking lot
toward an area of empty picnic tables on a small patch  of grass. 
"Sandburg!  Get back here!  Now!"

     "That's great!"  Blair shouted, turning on his heel to face the very
large, very angry man  advancing toward him.  "Now you fucking sound
like him, too!!  What comes next, huh?  You gonna  swat me?  Drag me
back to the car and then kick me around the hotel room later?"

     "Shut up.  Just shut the hell up right now!"  Jim shouted back.  

     "Come on, tough guy.  Come on, let's see what you've got! 
*Make me* go back to the car!"

     "Fine!  If that's the way you want it."  Jim stopped in his tracks
and took a deep breath.  He was  not going to let this escalate into
something violent.  Both of them were at the end of their ropes, and 
their anger was feeding off each other.  "Blair, dammit, get in the car! 
Now I'm not going to ask you  again.  I don't know what this tantrum is
supposed to prove but it's getting old."

     "It's supposed to prove that I really don't have any choices with
you!  All those pretty words  about how I could do whatever I wanted
and you'd never hurt me--just so much bull shit, man!"  Jim stepped back
a pace or two with the sting of Blair's words.  There were  tears on Blair's
face and in his voice as he continued.  "You said you'd never treat me
this way no  matter what I did!  But you're no better than Vince!  At least
he was up front about it.  He just openly  beat me when he was angry. 
You pretend I have choices but I really don't.  You can't stand not being 
in control,"  Blair accused, angrily swiping at his tears.  "You know, way
back when I turned down  that trip to Borneo, I thought you were pissed
off at me and were giving me attitude the whole time  you thought I was
going because you were going to miss me--"

     "I was--" Jim's weak protest was cut off abruptly.

     "Bull shit!  You were pissed off at me because I wasn't doing
what you wanted me to do, and  as soon as I did, you were happy again. 
Probably the only reason you haven't beaten the shit out of  me by now is
that I let you have your way.  I lived by your goddamn ridiculous roster
of house rules.   I spent my whole fucking life kissing your ass.  As soon
as I stop doing that, you start bawling me  out the same way Vince did!"

     "That's enough!  I've had about all I'm going to take from you,
Sandburg.  Now you can just get  your ass back in that car now!"  Jim
took two steps forward, and was horrified at Blair's response.   A flash of
fear crossed Blair's features as he started to back away, clumsily enough
to lose his balance  and fall back on the grass.  He covered his head and
brought his knees up, as if to shield his body to  the best of his ability. 
Jim felt a sickness in his stomach, wondering if this was how Blair tried
to  defend himself against Watson's kicks.

     "Blair...sweetheart, come on.  It's okay."  Jim knelt behind the
curled form and tried to turn him,  but he only contracted his body harder
in response.  "I'm sorry I yelled at you, baby.  Come on.  I  won't hurt
you.  Think about who you're with, Chief.  Have I ever hit you?"  Jim
kept his tone low  and soothing.  He was grateful, mainly for Blair's sake,
that the picnic tables blocked the view of this  scenario from the
windows of the restaurant and the few people eating in their cars.  "Blair,
come on,  look at me.  Are you really angry at me, Blair?  Because I
know I'm mad as hell, but I'm not mad at  you."  Jim ignored the little
flinch from Blair as he rested a hand on his shoulder.  He rubbed it
gently,  then moved his hand to the back of Blair's head and caressed his
hair.  "I promised you last night I'd  never hurt you.  Please look at me,
baby.  I know what this is about.  You needed to test the waters with me,
right?"

     Blair slowly lowered the arms that covered his head and looked
up hesitantly at Jim, keeping his  arms at the ready in case he had made a
mistake by looking out unprotected.  Jim just smiled at him.

     "I-I'm sorry," he stammered.  Jim could see the tremors running
through his lover's body.

     "It's okay, sweetheart.  I'm not going to hurt you.  Did you hurt
yourself when you fell?"  Jim slowly reached up to the newly exposed
face and stroked Blair's cheek with the backs of his fingers.

     "My side hurts a little."

     "You want to go get it checked out?"

     "I-I don't think it's th-that b-bad."

     "You're still scared, aren't you, baby?  Don't be afraid of me.  I'm
all air and no action."

     "I'm sorry, Jim.  I didn't mean to do this."

     "Think you can sit up?"

     "Yeah."  Blair didn't pull away from Jim this time as he slid his
arm around the smaller man's  shoulders and guided him into a sitting
position.  Jim sat next to him on the grass and opened his  arms.  Blair
scooted into them readily, winding his arms around Jim's middle,
holding on tightly.

     "It's okay to be angry, Chief.  I know I have so much anger in me
about all this that sometimes  it pops out at you, and it shouldn't."  He
pressed Blair's head against his shoulder.  "I understand that it's hard for
you to trust someone again.  I know that.  You go ahead and test the
limits, sweetheart, because there aren't any with me, okay?  You can
make  me as mad as you want, and I will *never* hurt you."

     "I shouldn't have yelled at you," Blair muttered.

     "You have to let that anger out sometimes, sweetheart.  Are you
really mad at me?  It's okay if you are."

     "I'm mad as hell at somebody!"  Blair replied, seemingly
frustrated.  Jim gently took a hold  of Blair's shoulders and moved back
far enough to be face to face with him. 

     "You know who you're mad at, Chief.  Tell me.  Say it.  Say what
you feel.  Come on."

     "I'm mad at Vince, okay?!  I want him dead!  I want to rip his
heart out and stomp on it!!  I  want to kick him and stomp on him and
fuck him with a broom handle until he splits in half!!  I wanna  hear him
scream and see the blood run out and...and..."  Blair was out of breath,
red-faced and crying  when he finally stopped and stared at Jim.  "God,
Jim, I never felt this way before...about anybody.   I...I want to really kill
him.  I hate him so much I wanna see him in pain...suffering..."  Blair
slumped  into Jim's arms, glad for the support that came in the tight
embrace.

     "It's natural, sweetheart.  And it's so good it's coming out."  Jim
said soothingly, rubbing Blair's back.

     "I hate him!  I still want him dead!"  Blair's fists pounded against
Jim's back to illustrate his words.

     "So do I.  So do I, baby.  Go ahead and get as mad as you want. 
Just understand that it's all Vince's fault--not yours.  You're not to blame
for any of this."

     "I'm gonna testify against that son of a bitch.  He thinks I won't. 
He thinks I won't face him.  That I can't tell everybody all the sick things
he did to me!  I'm gonna nail him!"

     "Damn right you are.  We both are."

     After Blair calmed down and pulled back his emotions, the two
men left the grassy ground and moved slowly back toward the car, Jim's
arm loosely around Blair's shoulders.

     "I'm sorry," Blair said softly as he got in the car.

     "Don't be," Jim responded, closing the passenger door and
moving around to he driver's side.

     "I said some awful things to you.  God, Jim, I didn't mean any of
it--the stuff I said to you. I just...I was so...I don't know."

     "Pissed off?"

     "Yeah, that covers it.  Hostile, I guess."  Blair shook his head,
still wiping at his face with one  of the paper napkins.  "I hate that he can
turn me into this.  I never actively wished someone dead  before.  And I
never really enjoyed thinking about hurting somebody.  Shit, man, what
kind of  monster did he turn me into, anyway?"

     "You're not a monster.  You're angry.  The trouble is, Blair, you
cut people so damn much  slack that you don't get angry all that often. 
But it doesn't make you a monster.  If Vince were tied  up, kneeling on
the ground in front of you, and you had any choice of weapons at your
disposal,  would you torture him for real?  Or kill him?"  Jim watched as
Blair let that concept sink in.

     "No," he replied softly.  

     "Okay then.  Don't get down on yourself for having a little natural
hostility in you toward someone who brutally abused you."

     "Would you?"

     "Would I what?"  

     "Kill him if you could?"

     "I could anytime, sweetheart.  I just want to see this thing end the
best possible way for you.  My doing life isn't part of the picture."

     "But if you could get away with it, you would?"

     "Don't ask me questions like that, Chief.  It's better if I don't
answer them."

     Jim pulled out into the bustling morning traffic, and Blair asked
no more questions.

******

     Mitch Hurlaghe was a stocky man in his mid-sixties with a small
fringe of gray hair and silver  wire-framed glasses.  He lived in a small,
one-floor house in the suburbs with a well-manicured lawn  and an
impressive garden out back, tended by his wife, Charlotte, who served
the three men coffee  on the patio and then retreated into the house to
leave them to their private discussion. 

     "I can't say I'm surprised to hear that Watson finally got himself
arrested."  Hurlaghe took a  drink of his coffee and leaned back in his
patio chair.  Dressed in khaki shorts and a t-shirt, he was  the picture of
relaxed retirement.

     "Were you familiar with the Shelly Michaels incident?"  Jim
asked.

     "I don't think there were many people affiliated with the school
who weren't.  Watson was  popular--typical jock type.  Dated
cheerleaders.  Shelly wasn't a cheerleader, and she came from a  nice
family.  She was a good student and served on several student
committees.  No one could  understand her putting up with Watson's
antics.  It was obvious he was mistreating her, and she  continued to see
him.  I finally spoke with her parents, and they concurred that it should
be ended.  So they stepped in and told her she couldn't see him anymore. 
It was shortly after that she was raped  and beaten--but of course, it was
the work of a short, stocky Hispanic in his forties."

     "You're kidding," Jim responded.

     "Nope.  She claimed that this assailant attacked her in the
parking lot of a nearby cineplex,  and she gave that description.  No one,
including her parents, believed Watson wasn't guilty, but she  held to her
story until she left town."

     "Did he threaten someone, do you think?"  Blair suggested.

     "Most probably.  Watson could snap a man's neck like a twig,
even then.  He was one of the  most outstanding wrestlers we ever had. 
He knew all the right moves.  What troubled me was his  attitude--aside
from the whole mess with Shelly.  He was mean-spirited.  Wrestling
wasn't a sport,  it was a way to overpower people and inflict pain."

     "Was he ever reprimanded or disciplined for unsportsman-like
conduct?"

     "On occasion, but nothing serious enough to get him thrown off
the team.  Personally, I felt  that someone with his propensity for
violence didn't belong in a sport.  He got into several fights with  other
boys, and we had a few complaints from girls he mistreated."

     "Do you know whatever became of Shelly Michaels?"

     "She got married, moved out of state.  I understand she was killed
in a car accident two years ago."

     "Terrific," Blair muttered.

     "I was surprised to hear that Watson swung the other way.  You
said he was accused of beating and raping a guy he was living with?"

     "Yeah, me," Blair spoke up.

     "Sorry to hear that."

     "Mr. Hurlaghe, is there anything you can tell us, any lead at all
that might help?"  Jim prodded.

     "I can give you a few more names to contact.  Boys he hung
around with."

     "That would be great."  Jim diligently jotted down a series of
names, along with Hurlaghe's speculations on where the people might be
currently.

     Somewhat discouraged at having only gained themselves more
legwork, the two men drove toward their appointment with Donald
Massner, Watson's old coach.

     Massner was still working at the same high school where he'd
coached Watson.  He was a tall,  well-built man with brush-cut grey hair
and an abrupt persona.  He was supervising a summer youth  program
when he took a break to meet with Jim and Blair.

     "I'm glad you folks got a hold of me," he began, leading them
into a small office off the gymnasium.  "It's about time somebody  nailed
his ass to the wall."  

     "It doesn't sound like you thought a great deal of Watson.  I
understand he was one of your finest wrestlers," Jim probed.  

     "He had one of the best win records.  There's a difference.  He
was arrogant, rude to his  teammates, late to practices.  It was only his
ability that trapped us into keeping him on the team.  He  was the star of
it."  Massner shook his head.  "Perverted little bastard developed his
taste for boys  here."

     "How do you mean?"  Jim winced a little at the insinuation that
male on male relationships were by nature perverse, but he wasn't
surprised at all by that attitude.

     "Caught him in the locker room buggering some scrawny kid
who wasn't even on the team.   He was a reporter for the school paper,
supposed to do a story about Watson.  Ended up getting his  ass fucked
in the shower stalls."

     "Was it consensual?"  Blair asked finally.

     "Watson was twice his size, the kid was yelping like a scalded
puppy, and he was bleeding  when Watson pulled out.  Of course, pencil
neck said it was all his idea, that Watson wasn't doing  anything he
wasn't given permission to do."

     "But you didn't buy that?"

     "Hell no."

     "You knew about Shelly Michaels?"  Jim asked.

     "Happened right after the incident with the kid in the shower
stalls.  I think he wanted to be sure he still had the reputation as a stud
instead of a faggot."

     "The boy he raped in the locker room area--what was his name?"

     "Nathan Delevan.  He teaches English here now."

     "Do you think he'd talk to us?"

     "I doubt it.  He'd probably deny that any of it happened, or laugh
it off as teenage experimentation."

     "Would you be willing to testify in court to anything you've told
us today?"  Jim asked.

     "Sure.  Just give me a call if you want me involved."

     "Did you ever observe any other incidents of a similar nature
with Watson?"

     "No.  He probably kept his fun and games off school property. 
But he took a real liking to  Nathan.  Since Nathan claimed it was
consensual, the worst that happened was they both got  suspended for a
couple of days.  By the time the story made the rounds in the locker
room, they had  added a girl, and she was the one getting fucked. 
Watson was one hell of a spin doctor even then."

     "He continued his relationship with Nathan?"

     "Yeah.  Under the guise of Delevan covering the school sports
for the paper, but they hung out together a lot."  

     "Didn't anyone ever speculate...?"  Blair probed uncertainly.

     "Most of us *knew*.  The students were pretty into the whole
Watson myth--star athlete, good student, skirt-chaser.  But the staff knew
better."

     "We really appreciate your time today, Mr. Massner."  Jim stood,
and Blair followed suit.  "Do you happen to know where we could reach
Delevan over the summer?" 

     "Sure thing."  He pulled out a phone book, flipped a few pages,
and then jotted down an address and phone number, handing the paper to
Jim.  "Good luck."

     "Thank you.  We may be in touch."

     "You know where to find me."

     Back in the rental car, Jim made his way through the maze of
streets to the one where Nathan  Delevan lived.  Blair had been strangely
silent during their ride from the high school.  Jim finally  probed him.

     "What's on your mind, Chief?"

     "I was just thinking about Delevan.  Trying to picture what this is
going to mean for him now--us showing up and asking about Watson."

     "Has to be done."

     "Jim, what is any of this really proving?"

     "That Watson is a malicious, perverted, sadistic son of a bitch. 
So that in case a jury has  *any* misgivings about taking your word as
gospel, they'll have a half dozen other people stepping  in to back you
up."  Jim exhaled loudly.  "And hopefully, in Tacoma, we'll find
something meaningful  about Keith Park."

     "I hope we don't fuck up Delevan's life by showing up and asking
about this."

     "Whatever it takes," Jim responded, not taking his eyes off the
road.  Blair knew there was  more to the statement than just Jim's
feelings about interviewing Nathan Delevan.  Watson wasn't  going to
walk away from this situation, one way or the other.

     Nathan Delevan lived in a small brick house with white shutters
and children's toys scattered  in the front yard.  The first person to greet
them was a five-year-old girl on a tricycle, who went  fleeing into the
house yelling "Daddy!"

     "Geez, are we really *that* scary?"  Blair asked Jim, smiling a
little.

     "Can I help you?"  A slender man in his mid-thirties came out the
front door, leaving the child watching him from behind the screen door.

     "Nathan Delevan?"  Jim waited as the other man nodded.  "I'm
Detective Jim Ellison.  I'm with  the police in Cascade, Washington. 
This is my partner, Blair Sandburg.  We're investigating a case  against a
man named Vince Watson.  I understand you two used to be friends."

     "What has this got to do with me?  I haven't seen him in years."

     "As you can probably understand, building some sort of profile of
an individual's personality  and character is essential to a criminal case. 
Watson's behavior during his high school years is part  of that profile."

     "I'd really rather not get involved."

     "We've spoken to Coach Massner," Jim prodded.  The other man
slowly turned fuscia from the open neck of his golf shirt to the edge of
his sandy hair.

     "Look, if you're talking about that 'incident'," he made quote
marks in the air with his fingers, "that Massner loves to talk about, it was
a stupid teenage experimentation.  Just kids messing around."

     "So Watson didn't rape you?"

     "For God's sake.  What do I look like?  Some kind of faggot who
can't take care of myself?"

     "Not at all, Mr. Delevan.  I've never looked on any rape victim as
weak and defenseless.  It can happen to the strongest of people. 
However, the coach seemed convinced you were an unwilling 
participant.  Look, Watson is up for rape and aggravated assault right
now.  The person he assaulted  lived with him, and we need to
strengthen our case."

     "I'm the one he assaulted."  Blair spoke up, and once again
produced his photos.  "I'm not  here to get sympathy, but I want to make
sure that Watson gets nailed for what he did to me, and  most
importantly, that he doesn't do it to someone else."

     "Oh, man," Delevan commented, looking at the photos.  "I
thought he was giving me a rough time because he smacked me a few
times."

     "That wasn't even the time he was arrested for.  He worked me
over like that about three  times total.  The final time, my spleen
ruptured, and I almost died.  The first beating, in the photos?   I got that
because I went to the doctor after the first time he...you know."

     "Goddamn pervert."  Delevan handed him the photos back.  "He
fucked up my whole life in high school.  Two years of servicing that
bastard," he continued, keeping the low tone of voice they'd  adopted to
keep their discussion from his daughter.  "I was in therapy for years
trying to reconcile  what the hell happened back then.  I still...there are
things that are...hard."

     "I know it's asking a lot of you to step forward now, but if you
would be willing to testify--"  Blair was cut off by Delevan's upraised
hand.

     "Look, I'm sorry you tangled with him.  But I have a whole new
life now."

     "I want that too--but I can't have it unless that bastard is behind
bars.  Everybody he's messed  with has a new life now.  They don't want
to get involved.  You know what?  That sucks.  I'm  pressing charges
against him for myself, but also for the next poor sucker he sweet-talks
into a  relationship.  He isn't going to just disappear from my life like he
did from yours.  He's going to want  my head--among other parts of my
anatomy--for getting him arrested.  I need help from somebody,  or I'm
going to live my whole life waiting for him to come back for me."

     "It's not that I don't understand what you're saying, but--" 
Delevan stopped abruptly, and ran  a hand back through his hair.  "I
knew what happened with Shelly back then and I kept quiet.  If I had 
been willing to come forward then, and help her...she couldn't do
anything because I was Vince's alibi.   What I really was was the guy
who...who held her down while he..."  Delevan shivered despite the 
warm breeze.  "He had me pretty thoroughly terrorized.  I did anything
he told me to.  That was no  exception.  And I had a younger sister--a
sophomore.  She wasn't anything exceptional to look at, and  Vince kept
threatening to ask her out if I didn't stay in line.  She would've gone too."

     "That's his tactic all right," Blair responded, nodding.  "He
threatened J--someone important to me to keep me in line too."

     "I'd have to talk to my wife.  She knows all about this.  But I want
her to have some input on  whether or not I get in the middle of this.  If
Watson isn't convicted and comes looking for the people  who testified... 
I have my family to consider."

     "Please consider it carefully," Jim replied, handing Delevan his
card.  "I've written the number  where we can be reached while we're in
California.  We'll be here another day or two, and then you  can leave a
message at the Cascade number."

     "I will think it through."  He smiled slightly.  "I really would like
to help out.  I just have to be sure...you know, with my family...that it'd
be safe."

     "If we get enough support, we can put him away for a significant
length of time.  We just need a damn strong case."

     "I'll try to get back to you before you leave."

     "Thank you, Mr. Delevan."

     ******