"You didn't mention anything to your dad about the phone call," 
Blair said, wandering around the bedroom, stark naked, then rifling the
drawer for clean boxers.  Jim wasn't sure if Blair was really all that
oblivious to what watching him bend over naked and search for
underwear would do to his lover's libido, or if it was all a well-orchestrated 
seduction.  When Blair straightened, holding his prize, Jim
knew it was oblivion.  Blair stepped into a worn old pair of plaid
flannel boxers and then started looking for his sweats.

        "You know, Chief, they say body heat is much more effective skin
on skin," Jim said, smiling a little as he waited for Blair's reaction.  It
was the first time he'd ventured to make a remark like that to Blair in
connection with him wandering around naked.  After Blair's past
experiences, it had taken a while before he'd gained the comfort level
to be that open with another person, and Jim had never wanted to
jeopardize that by making him feel as if he were being watched or
leered at.

        "Seems like I heard that somewhere before myself," Blair
responded, tossing the t-shirt in his hand, back in the drawer.  He
turned to Jim and returned the grin.  Making his way to the bed, he
tugged the hair tie out of his hair and then paused before shaking the
hair loose when Jim spoke.

        "Let me take care of that, huh?"  Jim held up the covers and Blair
scooted under them happily.  When he spotted that Jim wasn't wearing
boxers, either, he wriggled out of his own and tossed them by the side
of the bed, turning on his side with his back to Jim.  

        "Mmm.  Feels good," Blair sighed as Jim's nimble, careful fingers
carded through his hair, loosening it and spreading it on the pillow
behind him.  A moment later, Jim enclosed the smaller body with his
own, spooning up behind Blair and kissing his shoulder.

        "Love you, cuddlebug," Jim whispered in Blair's ear.

        "Love you too, babe," Blair said, the smile plain in his voice. 
"This is nice."

        "There's an understatement," Jim said, chortling.  

        "You didn't answer me about the phone call.  You didn't say
anything to your dad."

        "You're right, I didn't.  I don't plan to, because I don't plan on
taking the call."

        "What if she catches you on the phone?"

        "That's what hanging up is for."

        "She's your mother, Jim."

        "That was an unfortunate accident of biology, Chief--not a role
she played with any enthusiasm."

        "You're working on forgiving your dad."

        "Blair, don't push this, okay?  I know you mean well, but this thing
with my mother is not negotiable.  She made her choice when she
walked out on us.  I was six years old, and Steven was only a little over
two.  She had no problem walking out the door and turning her back on
us when we needed her.  Truthfully, even when she was there, she
wasn't worth a hell of a lot."

        "Maybe she wants to make amends--"

        "She wants to clear her conscience, or she wants something. 
Maybe she thinks it'll be a way to get back in with my father."

        "You think maybe her marriage is on the rocks now?"

        "Could be.  Maybe he died.  I don't know.  I don't much care,
either."

        "Don't you want to at least talk to her?"

        "No.  You know, it's weird, but even when we were little and she
was there...when one of us was up sick at night or had a nightmare, it
was my dad who came in and checked on us."  Jim sighed.  "I can
remember--and it's a really, really faint memory--but I can remember
him coming into my room one night when I had a fever and was feeling
really sick, and taking care of me for...well, what had to be *hours*. 
Looking back, I can't believe he had to do that...  My mother wasn't
working, she always slept late..."

        "Why do you think your dad didn't remarry?"

        "I don't know, Chief.  I think he was married to his work, and I
also think he was a little gun-shy after the first disaster."

        "Probably.  I'm sorry I pushed about your mom.  I didn't mean to. 
I just know that this reconciliation with your dad has been a good thing
for both of you--well, for all of us--and I didn't want to see you close
the door on things with your mother if it might work out."

        "I know, honey.  I didn't mean to snap at you about it.  Let's just
forget it for now, okay?"

        "Okay."

        "How's your side feeling?"  Jim asked, hand rubbing lazy circles
on Blair's stomach.

        "Better tonight.  But...would you be real disappointed if we stayed
like this?  I mean, maybe if we waited to make love?  This feels really
good."

        "I love being close to you, Chief.  Either way."  Jim squeezed him
a little.  "Anything wrong?"

        "Nothing special.  I guess that nightmare last night just left me in
sort of a...*funk*.  That's part of why I was piling on the layers before
bed."  Blair paused.  "I'm sorry."

        "For what?  If you want to wear your winter coat to bed, you don't
have to apologize for it."

        "For not leveling with you.  Dressing for the North Pole was sort
of a sneaky way around telling you I still felt kind of...crawly."

        "Do you want to put on your sweats, sweetheart?  If so, go ahead. 
It's okay."

        "This is really nice.  It feels even better.  But it's not fair."

        "I'm enjoying it," Jim said, smiling and kissing Blair's cheek. 
"You feel good and you smell good."

        "And you wanted to make love.  I think the General was starting to
come to attention," Blair quipped, referring to the large cock that was
nestled happily between his cheeks.

        "The General's happy to call 'lights out' for tonight."  Jim rested
his head against Blair's.  "Saying 'no' is okay, remember?"

        "It's still scary.  Isn't that dumb?  After all this time, it's still really
hard to say that I'm not in the mood."

        "It's not dumb.  It was something you were made to feel you
couldn't do for a long time.  Undoing those habits is hard."

        "You're too good to me.  You spoil me rotten."

        "I like spoiling you.  You deserve it."

        "I love you so much...it scares me sometimes, because I need you
so much."

        "I wouldn't make it too long without you, either, sweetheart.  Now
go to sleep, and think good thoughts.  If anyone gives you a hard time
in your nightmares, you just remember that I'm right here to kick his
ass."

        "I'll try to drill that into my subconscious," Blair replied, smiling
and leaning back into Jim.  "G'night, lover."

        "'night, angel.  Sleep tight."  Jim felt the body in his arms relax,
and kept watch over Blair until he slid into a deep, peaceful sleep.
//You still need to test the waters sometimes, don't you, sweetheart?//
Jim thought, feeling a little twinge of sadness in his heart. //Go ahead
and give me all the tests you want.  Nobody's ever going to hurt you
again.  Not like that.  Not as long as I'm alive.//

        Wishing he could follow Blair into that realm of dreams and keep
him safe there too, Jim buried his nose in a few loose curls and let
himself doze.

********

        Blair stacked up the last of the term papers, the momentary panic
sweeping over him that he would have to get them graded before this
time next week.  Not only were final projects due in December, but
final exams followed, and to add to all that, people seemed more intent
on beating each other up during the holidays, so the Domestic Violence
Unit was working overtime.   He'd been a little hesitant to return to
Rainier for the partial teaching load, but the unexpected death of an
aging faculty member had left them short-handed, and Blair wasn't sure
their good will would last through him refusing to make time to help
out, even if he had been scheduled for an unpaid, unofficial leave of
absence.  

        Blair had to smile at the thought of how many off-duty hours Jim
had given to the DVU project, despite the fact there was nothing in the
budget to pay him overtime.  Ever since the unpleasant outcome of the
Ryker case, Jim had accompanied Blair on any home visits that might
be the least bit dangerous, even if he waited in the truck.  Fortunately,
in the past few months, Jim had only had to interrupt one such visit due
to mounting tensions.  

        Checking his watch, he noticed that he was running late for his
next class.  Cursing his pager as it beeped, he hurried out of the empty
classroom and up to his office, dumping the papers on the desk and
dialing the number of the DVU office.

        "Yeah, it's me.  What's up, Stacey?"  Blair asked the social work
student who was doing her internship as a volunteer at the unit.  She
handled a lot of clerical work as well as dealing with walk-ins until
Blair or the licensed social worker was available.  

        "You're not going to like this."

        "Great.  What is it?

        "Brenda's in the hospital--your 'discipline' couple, remember?"

        "Damn.  What happened?"

        "She had a miscarriage."

        "That jerk was hitting her while she was *pregnant*?"

        "He didn't know.  She just found out a couple weeks ago, and she
didn't tell him because they agreed no kids, and she sort of...well, I
guess she conveniently forgot to use contraception, and the rest is
history.  He spanked her, and a couple hours later, she had these really
awful abdominal pains and bleeding and they rushed her in and she lost
the baby.  She's doing okay, I guess."

        "Did they arrest him?"

        "She won't--"

        "Press charges, yeah, I know."  Blair let out a long breath and
slumped in his desk chair.  "And the baby wasn't far enough along to
call it a homicide."

        "Right."

        "Terrific.  Just terrific.  Can she have visitors?"

        "I don't know all that.  I just got the call from her sister."

        "I wish she had managed to convince Brenda to get out of that
situation before now."

        "Brenda insisted it was her fault because she lied to him--not his
fault for 'disciplining' her like he normally would."  Stacey was quiet a
moment.  "How could she think it was her fault?"

        "She approves of the spankings--says she's glad to have a man who
can give her what she needs.  So from her perspective, it wasn't wrong
that he hit her--it was wrong that she didn't tell him she was pregnant,
because then he could have behaved accordingly."

        "Oh, yeah, right--probably just corner time and send her to bed
without supper."

        "You're preaching to the choir again, Stacey," Blair said, friendly
reproach in his voice.

        "Yeah, I know."

        "Thanks for calling me.  I have a class I'm late for right now, but
it's only ninety minutes, and they won't object to getting out early.  I'll
head over there and see what's up."

        "Okay.  If you see that idiot Neanderthal she's married to--"

        "I'll give him your best, along with my personal greetings," Blair
added, smiling and hanging up the phone.        

        At the conclusion of a class that seemed to last forever, while only
in fact lasted an hour, Blair dumped his paperwork in his office and
headed for Cascade Memorial Hospital to see Brenda.  

        He had met the young woman when her sister, Janice, a senior at
Rainier, had insisted that she meet with Blair and talk about her
discipline lifestyle.  Janice had been convinced that when Brenda saw
the parallels between her own restrictions and punishments and the
way Blair had been treated in a relationship that had escalated to near-fatal 
violence, she would be convinced to either end her recent
marriage or go into counseling to eliminate the discipline aspect of it. 
The desired results had, unsurprisingly, not been achieved.  Brenda had
been very polite in meeting with Blair, but it was clear from the start
she was only there to assuage her sister, and nothing Blair said seemed
to make a difference.  Brenda was convinced she was in a relationship
that gave her what she needed, with a man who loved her.  

        As Blair rode up in the elevator, he realized that from Brenda's
perspective, all of that was true.  He'd done a lot of soul-searching
before even meeting with her, since despite his own horrific
experience, he had a strong respect for the lifestyle choices of others. 
The fact there didn't appear to be anything sexual about the discipline
element bothered him, but more so the fact that the "spankings" were
more like beatings, and left Brenda in pain for a considerable time after
they were over.  While he didn't personally agree with Brenda's choice
to enter into a discipline situation, he wouldn't have interfered based on
that alone.  It had been Janice's insistence, and Brenda's admission, that
the spankings were severe that had made him fear for the woman's
safety.

        Now she had miscarried as a result of one of these beatings, and
probably would never be convinced to press charges for the death of
her unborn child.  Feeling depressed and burdened with the weight of
the world on his shoulders, Blair made his way to the nurses' station,
showed his Cascade PD identification as Director of the DVU, and was
directed to Brenda's room.

        "Blair, I'm glad you came," Janice said, as she pulled Brenda's
door shut behind her.  "She's asleep.  I haven't called Mike yet."

        "He doesn't know?"

        "No.  I know she won't press charges, but I thought maybe if you
talked to her, maybe you could convince her."

        "You want to sit down a minute and talk?"  Blair gestured toward
a waiting area several feet away.  Janice nodded.  "I think we have to
be realistic about a few things."

        "Like what?"

        "Well," Blair began as they sat at opposite ends of a small couch,
turning to face one another, "first off, please bear in mind that if it were
up to me, I'd have Mike arrested and throw away the key.  But I'm
playing devil's advocate here.  Suppose we arrest Mike for assault--
probably aggravated assault."

        "What about the baby?"

        "We can't go for charges in the death of the fetus because it wasn't
developed enough to live outside the mother's body."

        "That's bullshit."  Janice turned and slumped back on the couch,
crossing her arms over her chest.  "That child will never *be* because
of him."

        "I agree.  But we're talking about the law here."

        "Okay, so we have to just accept the miscarriage as part of the
assault charges."

        "Right.  But those aren't without problems too.  One big one is
your sister.  If she won't press charges, and we have to charge him
without her help, getting it to stick is going to be pretty tough.  Getting
the D.A. to even *look* at it is going to be tough.  But if we get the
green light and it goes to trial, and Brenda is sitting there telling
everyone that she consented and approved of their lifestyle and it was
her choice...I just don't see him getting convicted.  And if he did, it
would be surprising if he got more than a slap on the wrist."

        "So this is hopeless."

        "Not entirely.  We might be able to prosecute without Brenda's
help, but I just want you to understand that it's an uphill battle.  We're
in a weird realm here between investigating a crime and intruding on
their private lifestyle."

        "I can't believe I'm hearing this from you.  You said you thought it
was an abusive relationship."

        "I do, but that's my opinion, not a legal judgement."

        "He hits her until it leaves bruises, and he hit her hard enough to
make her miscarry."

        "I put a call in to Jim.  I need his input on how to proceed with
this one."  Blair sighed.  "Janice, I'm on your side.  I think Brenda's
being abused.  She doesn't think so, and she consents to the beatings. 
That makes the legal end of things tricky, and starts calling her
freedom of choice into question.  I'm hoping the severity of the
outcome is enough to proceed."

        "You have to talk to her.  Make her see that she has to press
charges."

        "I can't force her.  Nobody could force me."

        "You had reasons to be afraid for other people--you said yourself
that you were ready to leave, that you would have if you weren't afraid
of what he was going to do to your friends and your family."

        "That's true.  That was my motivation for not pressing charges,
and maybe this...*thing* she has about being disciplined is hers."  

        "You know, I don't get it.  Our parents didn't hit us, corporal
punishment was outlawed in school by the time we went through...I
just don't understand why this is an issue for her."

        "Maybe it's an issue for Mike, and she's been convinced that it's
good for her, that she needs it."
        
        "Probably.  His whole family are a bunch of Bible-thumpers.  It
wouldn't surprise me if his father beat his mother.  I kind of get the
impression they were extremists, and pretty patriarchal."

        "Should I see if she's awake?  I can try to talk to her."

        "Please."  

        Blair pushed the door of the hospital room open and looked at the
pretty blonde woman in the bed.  She was pale, even her yellow hair a
contrast with her white skin.  Her eyes fluttered open at his arrival.

        "Blair," she said quietly.

        "Hey, Brenda," he responded softly.  "How're you doing?"

        "They've got me all...doped up," she said a bit regretfully.

        "You understand what's going on?"

        "Yes.  This is all my fault.  I should have told Mike about the
baby."

        "Brenda, has Mike ever threatened you about leaving?  Said he'd
do something bad if you left him?"

        "No," she responded, shaking her head.  "But I think maybe now--" 
she froze, her eyes riveted on the door.  Blair turned to see her
husband standing there.  About six feet tall with dark hair and a
mustache, he was dressed in a business suit, obviously having come
from work.

        "You again," he said, spotting Blair.  "How about getting out of
here so I can speak to my wife?"

        "Brenda?"  Blair looked at her, and to his surprise, she looked
back at her husband.

        "I want Blair to stay."

        "I understand you're upset, princess, but we need some time to talk
alone."

        "I...I d-don't want this anymore."  She watched him with panicked
eyes.

        "Bren, you've been through something awful, and you're on
sedatives...you don't know what you're thinking just now."

        "I don't want you to hit me anymore.  Ever."

        "This isn't something we should discuss now.  And not with a
stranger here."

        "Blair's not a stranger to me.  He's a friend."

        "He's another case worker your sister dredged up to interfere in
our lives."

        "Mike, Brenda's in no condition to argue with you.   But she does
know what she wants, and she's told you.  If you love her, I think you'll
save the arguing for when she's better."

        "You keep your mouth shut."

        "I think I want you to go now, Mike," Brenda said hesitantly,
looking at Blair more so than at her husband.  There was a plea in that
look. //Make him go away.// Blair felt those words as if she'd said them.

        "Come on, Mike.  Let's go outside and let Brenda rest."

        "Take a hike.  Brenda and I are going to work this out."

        "Not while she's recovering you're not.  She asked you to leave. 
I'm telling you."  Blair straightened up all 5'8" and stared defiantly at
the larger man.  

        "You're going to throw me out."

        "If I have to."  Blair silently prayed the other man wouldn't test the
theory.  While he had started taking a few martial arts lessons from a
friend at the U, he wasn't very smooth at it yet.

        "I'd like to see you try it, you scrawny little shit."

        "Then you oughtta love seeing me try it," Jim spoke up from
behind him.  "Come on, Ace, hit the road."  Jim gestured at the door
with his thumb.  

        "Who the hell are you?  The social services bouncer?"

        "Detective Ellison, Major Crimes, Cascade PD."  Jim flashed his
ID.  "I'm also Mr. Sandburg's police partner in the Domestic Violence
Unit.  One more word out of you and I'll throw your ass in a holding
cell until you learn to control your big mouth.  Now move."

        The man assessed his options, then glanced back at his wife.  

        "This is what you want? These jerks splitting us up?"  he
demanded.  She just turned away and worked hard to hold back tears.

        "The door's this way," Jim prodded, waiting only a moment until
Mike turned away from his wife and walked out the door, while Janice
walked in.

        "Stay with her.  I want to see what's going on," Blair said to
Janice, moving past her into the hall.

        "I can't believe the cops can just walk in and interfere in people's
lives like this.  We have rights!"

        "Look, your wife has rights, and she just told you to back off.  I
think you'd be smart to listen, because the D.A. is reviewing this case
right now to determine if you're going to face charges--with or without
Brenda's testimony. Beating a woman hard enough to make her
miscarry is aggravated assault, my friend."

        "I didn't know about the baby.  How was I supposed to know she
was pregnant?"

        "The point is, if you hadn't been beating her with that kind of force
and for that duration and number of blows, she wouldn't have
miscarried.  There's documented medical evidence on file now of the
abuse you're dealing out.  Now here's how things are going down.  By
the end of the day, I can have a restraining order against you to keep
you away from her.  Meanwhile, I have the option of letting you walk
out of here, or holding you downtown."

        "Fine.  I'll go.  But I'll be back."

        "Don't leave town, Mr. Caldwell," Jim reminded as the other man
headed for the exit.  "We'll be in touch."

        "You'll hear from my lawyer," he shot back.

        "Good.  You should be in touch with him under the
circumstances."  Jim watched the other man leave.  "Asshole."

        "Man, I'm glad you showed up when you did.  I really didn't want
to have a scene in there with Brenda.  She's really weak."

        "Listen, Tarzan, you better stop picking fights with guys bigger
than you are."

        "Hey, he picked the fight with me--and somebody had to stand up
for Brenda."

        "I know."  Jim ran a hand over his face quickly.  "You're going to
get yourself killed by one of these nuts, Chief.  You can't take them all
on physically."

        "I didn't want to, but I wasn't going to let him badger her."

        "At least he's on his way for now."
        
        "Did you mean what you said about the restraining order?"

        "Absolutely.  Having her cooperation would be helpful," Jim said,
nodding toward Brenda's door.  

        "I think she's ready to be free of this situation.  I just hope she
doesn't backslide."

        "I'll call Simon and see if we can get her some protection tonight. 
Meanwhile, tell her sister to be sure there's a safe place for her to go
when she gets out of here--preferably with more than just Janice. 
There's safety in numbers.  We can put her in a safe house, but since
she's recovering, she'd be better off in a familiar setting, I think."

        "Yeah, you're right.  Her parents live in Tacoma, so maybe she
could stay with them.  Her younger brother still lives at home.  He's on
the college football team there."

        "Sounds like she'd have some good back-up there.  See if Janice
can set that up.  I'll head downtown and check in with the D.A. 
Hopefully I'll have some good news."

        "I'll wait here until the guard arrives."

        "Okay.  Remember, Chief, no heroics.  If Caldwell comes back
here, you call hospital security and then you call me.  Got it?"

        "I got it."  Blair was quiet as Jim started to walk away.  "Hey."

        "Yeah?"  Jim turned around, pausing in his trek toward the
elevator.

        "I love you a lot," Blair said softly, and Jim smiled broadly.

        "Yeah, same here, Chief.  Be careful."

        "You too."  Blair sat in a nearby chair and let out a sigh of relief
that there was some help in sight for Brenda--and offered up his own
little thanks that he had Jim.

********
        
        Slumped on the couch in old sweats, watching a re-run of one of
the old Police Academy movies, Blair finally felt himself relaxing from
the tensions of the day.   Brenda was in stable condition and would
probably be released from the hospital in a few days.  After a little
more gentle coaxing from her sister, she had signed a complaint against
her husband, and Jim had enjoyed the singular pleasure of arriving at
Mike's office and escorting him out in handcuffs.  Blair had enjoyed
the singular pleasure of watching the process.

        The doorbell was not a welcome intrusion, but it was obviously
going to fall to Blair to answer it, since Jim was snoring steadily in his
corner of the couch and only snorted and shifted a bit at the sound of
the bell.  For a sentinel, he could sleep like a corpse when it suited him. 
Grumbling, Blair got up and padded to the door in his stocking feet. 
Peering out the peephole in the new windowless, solid oak front doors
they had installed for security reasons, Blair frowned at what he saw. 
A tall, elegant woman in an obviously expensive long black coat stood
there, the large pin on her coat catching the light of the porch lamps. 
Her gray hair was upswept somewhat dramatically.

        "Damn," he muttered, suddenly realizing that this could only be
one person.  The tall, straight stature, the bearing, the features...  The
doorbell rang again.

        "Who is it, Chief?"  Jim asked, coming down the hall from the TV
room, concerned at Blair's hesitation to open it.

        "Look.  I...Jim I think it's your mom."

        "What?"  Jim looked out the peephole.  "Oh, shit."

        "We can't just leave her out there."

        "Why not?  She can't see us."

        "I turned the porch lights on, remember?"

        "Oh."  Jim sighed.  

        "You want me to get rid of her?"

        "No.  I'll handle this."  Jim smoothed his hair back and swung
open the door.  "Mother," he said, coolly.

        "Jimmy," she said a bit stiffly, seeming terribly uneasy with the
whole encounter.  "I'm sorry to drop by unannounced, but I tried calling
you several times, and your father was not the least bit helpful when I
tried to reach you through him."

        "Is something wrong?"

        "I don't understand," she responded, confused.  "May I step in?" 
she asked, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow.  Jim stepped back, and
she entered, removing her black leather gloves.  She opened her mouth
to speak and then looked at Blair as if she had just spotted an alien,
closing it again.  "I didn't know you had guests."

        "Blair's not a guest, Mother.  We live together."  Jim took a hold
of Blair's left wrist and held up the hand bearing the wedding ring, and
held up his own at the same time.  

        "My God," she said, quietly, blinking.  "William never told me..."

        "That I got married again?  You weren't interested when I got
married the first time."

        "Married?"  She looked from Jim to Blair, and back again.  Then,
as if dismissing a notion too bizarre or troublesome to be dealt with,
she shook her head.  "Would it be possible for us to talk in private?"

        "I don't have any secrets from Blair.  You can say whatever you
want in front of him."

        "Jim, it's okay.  I've got a mountain of exams to grade, and I really
ought to put some time in on that tonight anyway."  

        "You don't have to--" Jim was cut off by Blair's hand, gently
resting on his forearm.

        "I don't mind.  I need to get some work done anyway."  He looked
at Jim's mother, wishing he could say something to her--something
along the lines of, "hurt him again and I'll make you regret it", but he
refrained, and simply continued through the entry hall and into his
office, closing the door behind him.

        "I take it he's a teacher of some sort?"

        "A professor of Anthropology at Rainier University, and Director
of the Cascade PD Domestic Violence Unit.  I guess you could call that
being 'a teacher of *some sort*," Jim used his mother's same
condescending tone on the last two words.

        "The house is quite lovely.  Have you lived here long?"

        "A while."  Jim gestured toward the living room, resigned now to
having this encounter whether he wanted it or not.  Grace glided into
the large room and began unbuttoning her coat, which Jim realized was
his cue to take it from her.  He did so silently, along with the obscenely
soft leather gloves, and placed them neatly over the arm of the sofa. 
Noting the contrast between her neat cranberry-colored two-piece suit
and high heels, and his own sweatshirt, faded jeans and socks, he took
a seat in the chair opposite the one she chose.  

        "So you're back on chummy terms with Bill again," she said,
crossing her long legs.  Over 60 now, she was still a stunning woman,
and Jim imagined she still turned heads wherever she went.  

        "I guess you could say that.  Look, Mother, I would really
appreciate it if you would cut to the chase here.  You haven't been
interested in seeing me in almost 35 years."  Jim paused, frowning and
shrugging a little.  "Why now?"

        "I wanted to see you."

        "Well, now you've seen me," Jim concluded, nodding.

        "When did you...how long...?"  She struggled over what was
obviously a question about Blair, about their lifestyle, as she inclined
her head toward the door of the living room, in the direction of the
entry hall and Blair's office.

        "We've been together almost six years now, and we've been
married for over two of those years."

        "You can't be married to another man, Jimmy.  It isn't legal."

        "It's official in every way that counts.  It's official *to us*, and
that's what's important here."  

        "You're gay."

        "I'm in love with and committed to Blair.  He happens to be male. 
If that makes me gay, fine, I'm gay, if you need a label for it."

        "I didn't mean to offend you," she said, seeming to pull in her
claws, as if she felt her purposes would be better served by courtesy. 
"Owen passed away in September."

        "I'm sorry to hear that."

        "Are you?"  At Jim's annoyed expression, she hastened to add, "I'm
sorry--I was just surprised that you could express sympathy under the
circumstances."

        "So you're traveling around now and renewing old relationships, is
that it?"

        "While Owen was alive, we had a wonderful life together.  It
seemed as if we barely could get a moment for ourselves, with all the
social events and commitments we had.  And now that he's gone...I...I
find myself alone a very great deal.  I've had time to think, to remember
some things..."
        
        "I fit into your day planner now, is that it?"

        "It's not like that.  I suppose it would sound that way."  She stood
and started pacing a little.  "I've never been truly alone, Jimmy.  I'm
finding that I don't enjoy it."

        "Well, it's only been three months, Mother.  I'm sure you'll land
another rich one after a respectable time has passed."
        
        "That's a horrible thing to say," she admonished, but didn't turn to
face him.  "I loved Owen."

        "Did you?  Then I am sorry," Jim said sincerely.  "I'm sorry you
lost someone you love.  I'm sorry to hear that about anyone.  But it
doesn't change anything between us.  Probably because there *isn't
anything* between us."

        "I'm your mother."  She turned to face him, a sort of horrified
surprise on her face as if he'd said something truly shocking.

        "Yeah, I thought so too...when I was six."  Jim rose also now. 
"When I was six and you walked out the door without so much as a
backward glance and left Dad with two little boys to raise by himself. 
You know, I've really spent a lot of time resenting the hell out of him
for all the mistakes he made with us--but you want to know what it
boils down to?  For better or worse, he was *there*.  He raised us.  He
stuck around.  Even when you were there, I don't remember you ever
being there for me when something was wrong.  You want to know
what I remember?  Trying to do something good enough to get your
attention!"  Jim shot out angrily.

        "I always thought you were a wonderful little boy--"

        "Oh, get off it, Mother.  You liked the *concept* of having
children.  It was *socially correct*.  When I was sick or had a
nightmare, or I fell got scraped up and it was messy, you want to know
who was there for me?  Dad or Sally.  For all the...negative things he
may have done, Dad was more of a parent than you could have ever
been, and Sally was more a mother to me than you ever *wanted* to
be.  You want to know when you noticed me?  When I made you some
stupid clay statue, or when I said something precocious that amused
one of your socialite friends."

        "I did love you--I *do* love you."

        "Maybe that's what's most pathetic about this.  Maybe that's as
deeply as you can love anyone.  You love them when they please you."

        "That isn't true!  God knows I'm not pleased to show up here and
find my son shacked up with another man, but that doesn't change the
fact that I lo--"

        "I think you remember the way to the door," Jim stated calmly, but
firmly.

        "I'm sorry.  I shouldn't have said that."

        "For the first time tonight, we agree on something."  Jim let out a
long, exasperated breath.  "I'm sorry that you're a widow now, and I'm
sorry that you've hit a snag in your plan.  But that doesn't build or create
a relationship between us where there never has been one."

        "I'm only asking for the same chance you're giving your father."

        "My father never left.  My father may not have been perfect, but
you know what?  When Steven and I were kids, we always knew he
was going to stay with us.  We never worried that he'd go on a business
trip and never come home.  We never had to say good bye to him at the
front door a week before Christmas, for God's sake!"  Jim shouted,
hating that there as a tremor in his voice on the last words.  "Do you
know what it's like to be six years old and try to figure out a way to
make your two-year-old brother stop crying because your mother is
walking out the door?  Do you know how fast you grow up when you
overhear your mother giving your father divorce notice, and shoving
you off on him at the same time?"

        "Oh, Jimmy, I'm so sorry," she said, a little of her smooth exterior
faltering.  She moved a couple of steps toward him, but he held up a
forestalling hand with a humorless little smile.

        "Don't.  What I wanted from you at six and what I want from you
now are two different things."

        "What can I do to make it up to you?  To make things right
between us?"

        "You never liked me, Mother.  That's the part of this that still
haunts me.  I'm standing here, looking at you, dumb enough to think
that maybe I should fall for this lonely widow routine you've perfected,
and then I realize, you never liked me.  I was an annoyance because I
was different."

        "I don't know what you're talking about," she shot back
defensively.

        "The nights I was awake because I heard things no one else did,
the times I was afraid of some noise no one could identify because they
couldn't hear it.  The times I overheard something you said and then
said something in front of Dad that made you angry--you didn't like me,
Mother.  Not from the start."

        "You were a difficult child, Jim.  I won't deny that."  She looked at
him for a long moment.  "I didn't know how to deal with you."

        "So you dumped me, along with Steven.  You didn't even want us
to visit you."

        "You visited us in England."

        "*Once*.  We spent a short vacation with you and Owen one
summer, and all I recall was getting the feeling we were in Owen's way
the entire time--and I don't remember being asked back again.  What I
remember is my father not being able to get you to take us off his
hands for a couple weeks when Sally was going to be out of town and
not there to take care of us."

        "I don't remember what you're talking about."

        "You need a date?  It was 1972."

        "That was almost thirty years ago," she said, shaking her head. 
"How am I supposed to remember one argument with Bill thirty years
later?"

        "Look, I don't really have any desire to travel down memory lane
with you.  I'm sorry that I can't give you what you're looking for, but
frankly, any feelings I had for you died when you walked out on us."

        "So that's it?  There's no forgiveness?  My being your mother
doesn't mean anything to you?"

        "When it mattered to me, it didn't mean anything to you.  That's
the part I just can't forget."  Jim took a deep breath.  "It's late, I have to
be up early tomorrow...I'd appreciate it if you'd go now."  He picked up
her coat and held it, and she moved to slide her arms into it.  As soon
as it was on her shoulders, she turned around, as if she hoped to
embrace Jim.  He stepped back.  

        "I thought maybe all these years later, you could forgive me."  She
searched his face with a certain hopefulness.

        "This isn't about holding grudges anymore, Mother.  I just don't
have the feelings you want me to have.  I'm not interested in trying to
get them back.  If you'd come home when I was six, I would have been
delighted.  But that was a long time ago, and sometimes, you can't go
back and recapture what you gave away in the past."

        "I'll be in town a few more days."  She took a card out of her small
handbag and held it out at Jim.  

        "Ah, you have a cell phone number, I see," he said, taking the card
and reading over it.

        "Yes.  It's a good security measure for a woman traveling alone." 
She paused.  "Please, if you change your mind, call me."  She pulled on
her gloves and headed for the door, with Jim behind her.  As she
opened it, and stood there next to it, she looked back.  Jim was staring
at her, as if lost in his own thoughts.  "What is it, Jimmy?"  she asked,
frowning.
        
        "You standing in the doorway, on your way out, next to a door
with a wreath on it...it's a very familiar picture."  Jim held her gaze a
moment longer.  "Goodbye, Mother."

        She hesitated, as if she wanted to say something else, and then
pulled the door closed quietly behind her.  

        A moment later, Blair emerged from his office.  

        "I heard the front door."  He paused just outside the doorway.  "Is
everything okay?"

        Jim crossed the entry way in a couple of strides and pulled Blair
into a tight embrace.  He held on for a long time in silence until he
whispered against Blair's ear, "Let's go upstairs."

        Without further discussion, the two men turned off lights, checked
locks and finally headed upstairs to their bedroom.  Jim plunged his
hands into Blair's hair, claiming and devouring his mouth as Blair's
hands tugged at the bottom of Jim's sweatshirt.  

        They clumsily undressed each other, hesitant to give up the
connection of their mouths long enough to discard the clothing.  Falling
back on the mattress, Jim gathered Blair into a tight embrace, returning
to the succulent mouth for another bout of deep, prolonged kissing
until Blair finally pulled back a bit, gasping for breath.  Jim licked the
slightly swollen lips with the tip of his tongue, then plundered them
again while his hands kneaded the firm globes of Blair's ass.

        "Love you," Blair breathed into Jim's ear the moment his mouth
was released.  

        Something in the back of Jim's mind told him that he wasn't giving
Blair much time to recover from one onslaught of kissing to the next,
and that he was giving him little chance to participate.  Still, the need
spurred him on, and at that moment, he feared nothing more than
Blair's rejection.  If this would be a night Blair wanted to say no, Jim
didn't think he could bear it, and yet, if he heard the word, he would
always obey it.  Blair had to be too obliterated with pleasure to even
consider it...

        "Jim, love, slow down," Blair managed, getting gentle hand on
either side of Jim's face and moving it up from the nipple Jim's mouth
had begun to torment.  "Look at me.  Relax, lover.  I want you too."

        "I need you, baby," Jim muttered, then pounced for another long
kiss.

        "Hey, come on, love.  I need you too, and I love you.  And I want
you inside me.  I'm not going anywhere...and I'm not going to refuse
you."  Blair smiled at Jim's stunned expression.  //Having your mind
read during foreplay can be unnerving//, Blair thought, smiling at his
lover.  

        "I love you, sweetheart," Jim said in a strained voice, kissing Blair
again, more gently this time, his whole body seeming to lose its
tautness as he relaxed into making love to Blair.

        He sucked nipples to pebble-hard peaks, he peppered Blair's body
with wet, sucking kisses, moving in a wet path down to Blair's navel,
teasing it with his tongue.  He nuzzled his lover's groin, moving down
to lick and suck at the ovals there, dragging moans of pleasure from
Blair as he lay there, relishing the onslaught.  

        Ignoring the erect shaft begging for his attention, Jim dipped
lower, licking and sucking at the tender skin of Blair's perineum,
knowing how crazy it made him, smiling as Blair grabbed onto his
knees and pulled them back, opening himself, shamelessly eager for
more stimulation.

        Blair groaned loudly as Jim dragged a hot, wet tongue in long laps
over his center, wetting the little pucker and teasing it before going to
work at giving Blair one of the most ardent tongue-fuckings of his life. 
In that moment, Blair came close to knowing what it was like for Jim
to zone on something.  That hot, wet, insistent invader claiming his
most sensitive, secret place with such exuberance was the only thing in
his consciousness, the center of every nerve ending in his body.

        When Jim finally withdrew, it was only long enough to grab the
lube, gently but efficiently adding the slippery stuff and a bit more
aggressive stretching with eager fingers.  In some tiny part of his brain,
Blair wondered what it said about him that his universe was, at that
moment, completely centered on his eager, needy hole, and the passion
to feel Jim fill it.  

        //It means Jim's one hell of a lover,// his subconscious provided
helpfully, and Blair settled back on the mattress, relaxed and happy in
his shamelessness once more, pulling his knees back even farther,
writhing down on Jim's fingers.  

        "You're ready for me, baby," Jim breathed.  It wasn't a question, it
was a statement of fact, and Blair was in no mood to deny it.  

        Jim coated himself with the slippery gel and lined up with Blair's
center, then eased himself in slowly, grunting and biting his lip a little
at the sensation of the slick, hot tightness engulfing him.  When he was
fully sheathed, he guided Blair's legs over his shoulders and started
pumping, watching the sweat breaking out on Blair's forehead, losing
himself in the sounds of Blair's moans and the wet, slick sounds of
their sex.  

        For this once, he wasn't trying to give Blair words of love.  Blair
already knew he was treasured beyond what any words could say.  This
was one of the rare occasions that Jim gave into pure lust, relishing the
sounds, sights and smells of sex without distracting himself from it in
any way.  Judging by the way Blair screamed his name each time Jim
hit his prostate, he was enjoying himself just as much.  

        Blair threw his head back and screamed out Jim's name, riding the
tide of the electric jolts that coursed through his body each time Jim
nailed his prostate.  It had taken Blair a long time to reach a point
where he could appreciate, and delight in, a thorough, intense fucking,
but he was there now, and as he grabbed onto the headboard above his
head and let out an animal-like wail, proof of that delight shot in a
white stream over Jim's chest and belly.

        Spurred by Blair's orgasm, and the clenching of his internal
muscles, Jim sped up his thrusts a bit, finally reaching his own climax,
filling Blair, and barely managing to support himself on his arms long
enough soften and slip free of the hot tunnel that had dragged such a
wonderfully fulfilling completion out of him.  Guiding Blair's legs back
down to rest on the mattress, Jim moved up and gathered his sated
lover in his arms.  

        "I love you, baby," he whispered into Blair's ear, nosing and
nuzzling the rumpled curls nearby.  

        "I love you too, lover."  Blair wound a leg around Jim's pulling
them closer.  "Mmm...that was so good."

        "Yeah, it was, wasn't it?"  Jim responded, grinning.  Blair chortled
at that, running his foot up and down Jim's calf.  

        "I'm sorry things didn't go so well with your mom," Blair said
quietly.

        "That wasn't what this was about.  I didn't use you, sweetheart.  I
never would do that."

        "Hey, come on, don't worry about that."  Blair pulled back. 
"There's nothing wrong with a little positive affirmation and love to
heal something that hurts.  That's not using me."  Blair pinned Jim with
an intent gaze.  "How often has our sex been about healing me
somehow?  Did you think I was using you all those times?"

        "Never, of course not."

        "Okay then.  When the rest of the world shits on us, we come here
to make it better--to each other.  We get what we need here--love,
holding, talking, sex--whatever we need to heal up from the wounds we
get out there.  You taught me that, Jim--you taught me that loving
somebody...when it's right and healthy and good...that it creates this...
*safe place*, where you can go when you're hurting or you're scared or
when you need something...and that love, it takes care of you and gives
you what you need."  Blair paused, running a hand over Jim's chest.  "I
was so...*scarred* when you got me back...and afraid.  You showed me
that our love was a safe place, where someone who loved me would
take care of me and make the hurts better.  That goes both ways, Jim. 
I'm strong enough now to do that for you too."

        "You do it all the time, Chief.  Every minute I have you."

        "Let's try to leave all the hurts outside for now, and think about
each other, and sleep, huh?  We'll talk things through tomorrow?"

        "Yeah, sounds good," Jim replied drowsily, snuggling in closer. 
"Love you, cuddlebug."

        "Love you, babe.  Sleep tight."  Blair stroked the back of Jim's
head, willing the angst to drain away and let him rest.  

        In moments, both men were sleeping in each other's arms.

********

        "I smell bacon," Jim sighed, smiling, not opening his eyes yet.  "I
smell eggs...I smell Blair," he concluded, grinning wickedly.  Blair
chuckled a little as Jim opened his eyes and took in the sight of Blair in
his favorite old plaid robe, holding a tray laden with breakfast goodies. 

        "I figured you'd need to replenish your protein supply," he
quipped, setting the tray in place as Jim sat up, hastening to stuff
pillows behind his lover's back.

        "What service," Jim said, looking over the repast.  "So what did I
do to merit this?"  Blair just raised an eyebrow and grinned a little
wickedly.  "That good, huh?"  Jim gloated, chuckling, digging into the
food.  Then he froze.  "What time is it?"

        "Eight.  Don't panic.  I called Simon.  If he asks, we had to have a
service call on the furnace."

        "Cops can check these things out you know."

        "Yeah, like he's going to call the utility company and ask," Blair
retorted, snorting a little laugh.  "You were sleeping so soundly, and
when I came around before the alarm went off, I didn't have the heart
to wake you up."

        "You ate already?"

        "I had a shake.  That bagel's mine, though."  Blair picked up the
small plate bearing the tomato basil bagel with its light coating of
cream cheese.  "Do you want to talk about last night?"

        "Last night?  If you want to talk to me about that, lose the tray and
the robe."

        "I meant your mom coming over."  Blair smiled as he chewed his
first bite.

        "I suppose you think I should forgive her and welcome her into my
life with open arms."  Jim started in on his eggs, apparently unruffled
by the subject matter.  

        "No, I don't think you should do anything specific.  I think you
have to do what feels right.  I just thought you might want to talk about
it."  Blair took another bite of his bagel, then stole a drink of Jim's
orange juice, having forgotten a beverage for himself.  

        "She dumped us over thirty years ago.  You know, I tried real hard
to care that she was alone, or unhappy...but it just didn't happen.  It's
like the feeling is just dead."

        "What made her show up now?"

        "You didn't overhear anything?"

        "I was in my office, with the door closed.  Some of us can't hear
through a layer of solid oak and a about eight yards of distance."

        "Her husband died this fall, and she's at loose ends, and doesn't
like being alone, and so now she's here to play the mother role and just
slip back into the family like nothing ever happened."

        "Has she seen Steven yet?"

        "I don't think so.  I hope she does go see him, because maybe he'll
still want to strike something up with her.  I don't begrudge him doing
it if he wants to, or it makes him happy.  I was older when she dumped
us.  I was old enough to...feel *dumped*."

        "He just missed his mother," Blair surmised, nodding.

        "He was miserable for months after she left.  He was only two.  He
didn't get it.  It was like a death.  She just wasn't *there* anymore.  For
me, I knew she had *chosen* to walk away.  It's weird to feel like
you've been divorced at six."

        "Did she ever explain...*why*?"

        "She apologized all over the place, except to say that she had
enjoyed a wonderful life with Owen.  It's weird," Jim said, shaking his
head and chuckling a little.  "She reminds me of some of the street
hoods I've busted.  They're so sorry.  Not sorry they did the deed, just
sorry they got busted.  She's not sorry she dumped us and moved to
England.  Just sorry that we don't accept her back with open arms
now."

        "For what it's worth, I don't blame you for not just taking her back
with open arms.  She hurt you, and deserted you...I'm not saying you
*shouldn't* reconcile with her if it would bring you some happiness,
but I'm also saying that I don't think there's anything wrong with not
taking another painful ride with her."

        "I used to zone out when I was little.  It's funny, but I didn't really
remember that until I was talking with her last night."

        "Who brought you out of it?"  Blair frowned.

        "Most of the time, I just got in trouble for daydreaming.  The
times I was really out of it, usually Sally or my father would bring me
out of it.  My dad took me to a child psychologist once to have me
evaluated...God, I haven't thought about that in years...it was soon after
my mother left.  I guess I thought he was doing it to see if I was
handling that all right.  Must've been for the zone outs."

        "Everything checked out normal?"

        "Oddly enough, yeah.  I guess.  I didn't end up labeled with any
disorder."

        "You zoned out with your mom, too?"

        "That must have been what it was.  I was never really sure when I
was little--just that I was out of touch for a while.  I must have learned
to control that as I got older."

        "I wonder if a sentinel who isn't traumatized into repressing his
abilities *has* built-in mechanisms to learn to cope with the whole
zone-out factor?"

        "Maybe.  I don't know.  At any rate, my mother's solution was to
get mad.  I remember more than once *coming to* and she was
slapping me or spanking me or something, and I didn't understand
why."

        "Dammit."  Blair set his partially full plate back on the tray. 
"Damn her.  I'm sorry, Jim, but that just...UGH!"  Blair grunted in angry
frustration, as he sat on the edge of the bed, visibly seething with anger. 
"I'm damn glad I didn't know that last night."

        "Probably lucky for her, huh?"  Jim said, smiling a little.

        "Was she that clueless or just that mean-spirited?  I mean, even if
she didn't understand the sentinel thing, that could have been the sign
of some serious behavioral or developmental problem in a child.  To
hit a kid in that situation...  Dammit!"  Blair got up and started pacing. 
"Did your father do that too?"

        "No.  I don't ever remember him hitting me for that...actually, he
almost never hit me at all.  He might have slapped me once when I was
a teenager, but if I'm recalling the incident correctly, I had it coming. 
Telling your father 'up yours' is a pretty good invitation for that
response."

        "At least he wasn't a hitter," Blair said, settling down on the bed
again.  "I don't know if I could stand him if I knew he'd hit you or hurt
you that way."

        "He wasn't into physical punishments.  I was never afraid of him
that way...neither was Steven.  Don't get me wrong--he could make you
think of beatings with a certain fond longing with what he *did* come
up with, but he wasn't a hitter."

        "Mind games mostly, huh?"

        "Well, yeah, or losing privileges or allowances or taking on some
extra chore you really hated doing for a while.  Actually, pretty much
like real life consequences for screwing up."  Jim polished off the last
bite of his eggs and chased it with some coffee.  

        "Too bad your mom didn't get interested in mending fences before
now," Blair said, moving the empty tray carefully over to the floor, out
of harm's way.   He climbed back up on the bed and snuggled into Jim's
open arms.

        "Thanks for organizing this little break for me, sweetheart."  Jim
leaned his head against Blair's, taking in the scents of soap and
shampoo and clean Blair, regretting just a little that sweaty, sex-stained, 
bed-warmed Blair had showered already.

        "Almond."

        "Hm?"  Jim asked, his sniffer still busy checking out the curls
nearby.

        "The shampoo.  It has an almond scent.  I can *hear* you sniffing
it, man," Blair accused, smiling broadly.

        "I never asked you if you were okay last night.  Was I too rough?"

        "Nope."  Blair sighed contentedly, fighting the urge to doze off
again.  He had a full agenda ahead of him as soon as his day got rolling,
and he didn't have time for the luxury of another long nap.  "Did you
hear any complaints?"

        "I heard a whole lot, but not much that sounded like complaints,"
Jim teased.  He felt Blair's face flush a little, though the other man still
laughed.  

        "Guilty as charged."

        "I love listening to you when we make love.  Knowing I'm making
you feel that way."  Jim tilted Blair's face up for a long kiss.  "It turns
me on to hear you making all those love noises for me."

        "You know what was kind of nice last night?"

        "Everything?"

        "Well, yeah, but one of the standout things," Blair corrected,
smiling.  

        "What?"

        "You didn't ask me if I was okay.  You didn't hold back or worry
about tearing me."

        "I always worry about that, honey."

        "I know--you're always gentle with me, and you don't hurt me.  I
just mean that it felt like, for the first time, you were really taking what
you wanted and needed, full speed ahead, and trusting me to be able to
handle it, or if I couldn't, to say so."

        "I never want you to feel with me the way you did with--"

        "No."  Blair covered Jim's mouth with four fingers and held them
there.  "Don't ever make a comparison, because there is none."  He
moved the fingers and stretched up for another kiss.  "You couldn't
resemble him on your worst day...*times ten*."

        "I didn't give you much chance to say anything."

        "I had all the time I needed to say 'no', or to let you know it hurt,
and I didn't want to say either thing.  It felt great, and it was hot and
intense and wonderful.  It was the first time I really let loose and
enjoyed getting drilled, and the first time you...well...drilled me."

        "I guess part of me has always been afraid that it would hurt, and
remind you, or upset you, and I never want that to happen."

        "Making love with you reminds me of why it was worth living
through that mess.  It reminds me why I'm doing what I'm doing with
the DVU, even though my schedule is like, *bizarre*."  Blair sighed
contentedly, smiling again.  "Besides, I trust you totally.  I know that
you're always tuned in to me in a way no one else ever could be--and
probably beyond what anyone else would ever *care* to be--so I can
relax and enjoy myself and not worry about getting hurt."

        "Never worry about that with me."  Jim squeezed Blair a little
tighter, then relaxed his hold a bit, still keeping his lover snuggled
against him.  "You did good with Brenda's case, Chief."

        "I wish it had been in time to save the baby."

        "That had to be her decision--you know that.  But she made it, and
it was your moral support that turned the tide."

        "There's this part of me that feels really uncomfortable with that
whole case.  Sometimes I feel like I was...*peeping into their lives*,
interfering with their private choices.  You know, she said everything
was fine, and the way she wanted it, and I kept hounding her.  I mean, I
see now that it was a bad situation, that she *did* get seriously hurt. 
But being right about this one case...it's still hard to determine where
the line is."

        "You just have to use your judgement.  You did, and you were
right.  Besides, working with domestic violence from your job with the
DVU is different than what a cop's approach would be.  Unless the
victim cooperates, we can't help--barring a homicide.  But you have the
latitude to stay involved longer, maintain some communication... 
Besides, I know you, Chief.  You respect people.  You wouldn't impose
your values on someone else."

        "I try not to.  Then sometimes I think I was too wishy-washy, and
should have badgered her more, and maybe this wouldn't have
happened."

        "She would have shut you out totally, most likely."

        "Yeah, maybe."

        "So what time is the furnace guy going to be here?"  Jim asked,
smiling down at Blair, who chuckled.  

        "Nine.  But they're notorious for being really, really late."  Blair
climbed on top of his lover.  "Really late."

********

        Bill wandered into the living room with his morning coffee,
admiring again the festive Christmas decorations, and smiling at the
memory of putting them up several nights earlier.  He glanced at the
mantel, noticing the absence of family photos there.  He'd been unable
to ignore the hodge-podge of photos on Jim's and Blair's mantel when
he visited the house last.  There were many of the two of them
together, some of friends, a few photos of relatives...  One shot of Jim
with Steven.  

        //You had your chance to earn a place on the mantel or a place on
the Board of Directors.//

        Ignoring the barbed remark from his increasingly annoying inner
voice, Bill sat in a comfortable chair and opened The Wall Street
Journal, scanning the news items there, looking for something that
would make for sparkling conversation over lunch with the stodgy old
fart he hoped to shake down for a grant to the CAC for next year's
concert series.  Suddenly bored beyond comprehension, he tossed the
weighty paper aside and leaned back in his chair, sighing.  

        Removing his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose, he
glanced at the discarded paper.  

        //Screw it.//

        He got up and went to the hall closet, donning the stadium jacket
Steven had bought him for Christmas the previous year.  It had been his
younger son's attempt to get him out of dress topcoats, and this
morning, the mood struck him to eschew that look entirely.

        "I'm going out, Sally!"  he called as he headed for the door.

        "Don't forget your lunch with Mr. Dickenson!"  she called from
the kitchen.

        "Thank you, Sally," Bill retorted, already formulating a plausible
sounding excuse in his mind to free himself from the impending
luncheon.

********

        Jim worked hard to maintain his concentration on the computer
screen in front of him.  The residual tingle from Blair's morning
payback for the night before didn't qualify as discomfort, but the
impending hard-on it to which it was contributing heavily, was. 
Wondering if he could finagle a long lunch hour after missing most of
the morning, he looked at his workload and dismissed that thought.  It
was Christmas season, and the nuts were all out in full force, raping
and pillaging like they did every year at this time.  

        "Jimmy?"  

        Jim turned around in his desk chair, stunned to see his father
standing there.  He was even more stunned to see him dressed in a
casual coat, jeans and athletic shoes.  He hadn't seen him in that sort of
garb since Bill was in his late thirties, visiting a horse farm to pick out
a couple animals for his sons.

        "Hi, Dad," Jim responded.  "You get busted for shoplifting or
something?"  Jim joked, and Bill chuckled at that.

        "I thought you might be free for lunch.  If you're too busy, that's
fine."  

        Jim was thrown not only by the unexpected invitation, but by the
irony of having his father there, asking him to do something,
acknowledging Jim's busy schedule as a possible stumbling block.

        "Well, I was late getting in this morning--"

        "That's fine, I understand.  I should have called earlier.  I was just
in the area, and--"

        "You mind going somewhere close?  I'll have to keep it to a short
lunch hour, but we could grab some Chinese or something handy."

        "Sounds great," Bill said genuinely, smiling.  

        "I'll be right back.  Have a seat, Dad.  Don't let anyone book you
'til I get back," Jim quipped as his father occupied the chair where the
suspects usually sat, next to Jim's desk.  

        "I'll tell them I'm your collar," he retorted.

        Jim poked his head in Simon's office, figuring that another
disappearance would probably merit some explanation.

        "Simon, my father's here and wants me to have lunch with him. 
I'm going to run out someplace close by."

        "Your father?"  Simon looked up, surprised.

        "Yeah," Jim responded, finding himself smiling a little.  "He just
stopped in to see if I could get away for a while."

        "I think we can hold down the fort here until you get back."

        "Thanks, Simon."

        The two Ellisons stopped for lunch at a small Chinese restaurant
not far from headquarters.  When the food was served, Jim noticed his
father wasn't exactly digging in enthusiastically.

        "I thought you liked Chinese."
        
        "I do.  It looks great."  There was a brief silence.  "Jim, I think you
should know that your mother's been trying to reach you."

        "Ah.  So that's how she got my address."

        "Not from me, and not from Sally.  I've told Sally not to give out
your information to anyone--given the whole law enforcement issue.  I
figured your phone number and address are unlisted for a reason."

        "True, and Blair has his own phone line so he can give out the
number freely at the U.  He's a lot less difficult to trace than I am, so
that's easy enough for someone to find us if they want to."

        "Wait a minute--you've seen Grace?"

        "In all her glory, yeah."  Jim took a bite of his egg roll, then
continued when the bite was nearly gone.  "She came by the house last
night.  Said Owen died in the fall."

        "I heard about that when it happened.  The company has some ties
with one of his banks," Bill added.

        "Now she's alone and not happy about that and figured she'd come
back and dredge up her sons, I guess."

        "I take it things didn't go well?"

        "Not really."  

        "I'm sorry, Jimmy.  I swear I didn't give her your number or
address, and I know Sally didn't.  I wanted to talk to you to let you
know she was trying--in case you wanted to see her."

        "I appreciate that, Dad.  But no, I don't want to see her."

        "I thought maybe you'd want to have some contact with her now." 
Bill tried a forkful of his cashew chicken.

        "Why?"  Jim let the rhetorical question hang there a moment, then
shook his head.  "It was like seeing an old photograph, seeing her."

        "Still beautiful, huh?"  Bill asked, almost more to himself than
Jim.

        "You haven't seen her?"

        "No."

        "What I meant before is that when I saw her, she was just a
memory from the past.  There were no feelings from now.  I didn't
*care* about reconciling with her.  When it mattered to me, she wasn't
interested.  Now, I'm not interested."

        "I called Steven a little while ago.  He said he hadn't seen her, so I
gave him her number.  I think he wants to get in touch with her."

        "Then I hope he does, and things go well.  I don't hate her.  I just
don't feel *anything* anymore."

        "I wish I could say the same thing."  Bill smiled a little sadly and
shook his head.  "She still knows how to push all the same buttons."

        "You still love her?"

        "No, not really.  I suppose it just irks me that what she thinks of
me still matters."

        "One-upsmanship with Owen still hanging over your head?"

        "A little, I guess."  Bill snorted a little laugh.  "He who dies with
the most toys, wins, right?  Owen's definitely going to win this one."

        "Dad, the toys aren't everything."

        "No, but when you spend your whole life going after them, and
you lose..."  Bill laid his fork aside and took a drink of his water. 
"...and you lose so much while you're going after them, and then, when
it's over, you still aren't in the league you were shooting for..."  he
looked Jim in the eyes.  "It still feels like losing."

        "And that's the worst thing of all--losing, right?"

        "It is when you lose everything else along the way.  All that time I
spent on work...  Everything I *lost* while I was doing it...  In the end
result, who did I impress?  Grace stayed with Owen and Owen came
out on top anyway."

        "Owen had a fortune about ten times anything Grandpa left you."

        "Men have done better than Owen starting on less."

        "You were raising two kids by yourself.  Makes a difference how
far ahead you get."  Jim went back to poking at his food a moment.

        "I wish I'd done a better job at that too.  It's hard to look back at
your life and realize you didn't honestly succeed at much of anything
you worked so damn hard for.   The ironic part of this is that the only
venture I really feel was a big success out of my life were you and
Steven.  Steven's moving up the corporate ladder, making a name for
himself, successful.  And you."  Bill smiled, a father's pride practically
radiating from his expression.  "You were a hero serving your country,
now you're the best cop they've got in this city, with honors and
commendations.  I don't really mean I take much credit for that."  Bill
paused.  "I just wanted you to know that out of all of it, you and Steven
are what I'm proudest of."

        "That means a lot to me, Dad," Jim said, finding his throat oddly
tight, reaching for his water.  

        "I wish I'd been there more for you both, I do.  Sometimes I just
got wrapped up in the whole...*game*.  I know that's not worth much
now, but..."  Bill shrugged, taking another bite of his lunch.

        "I know you did the best you could.  That's about all you can ask
out of somebody."  Jim let a little silence hang.  "I always knew I could
count on you.  If I needed anything, I always knew where you were, and
I knew if I called, you'd come, even if you grumbled about it."  Jim
chortled a little.  "I remember you always leaving the name and number
of the hotel where you'd be when you went on a business trip.  It would
be up on the refrigerator."

        "I wanted you boys to be able to get a hold of me if you wanted to--without 
having to get Sally's permission.  I know she always tries to
screen out interruptions she thinks I won't want.  She's been a better
secretary than most of the ones I've had in the office over the years,"
Bill opined.

        "Are you going to see...Mom while she's in town?"

        "I doubt it.  She hasn't come by the house, and I don't really want
to see her."

        "Maybe she'd want to see you.  I mean, Owen's gone now--"

        "No thank you," Bill said simply.  "I may not have Owen's money,
but I still have some dignity.  Getting back together with Grace when
she has nothing better to do isn't my idea of the way to spend my
golden years."

        "Good for you," Jim said sincerely, nodding.  

        "If you ever decide to call her...I won't be angry.  I wanted to be
sure you knew that."

        "Thanks, but no thanks.  You know, it's amazing, but she even had
the gall to be looking down her nose at Blair--and making remarks
about my lifestyle."

        "That's Grace for you.  Long on beauty, short on tolerance."

        "I should have just tossed her out the moment she started giving
Blair the fish eye."

        "I'll admit, Jimmy...when you first told me that you and Blair
were...you know..."  Bill made an awkward gesture with his hand.

        "Together?"  Jim supplied.

        "Yes," he said, relieved.  "I wasn't exactly thrilled.  Even when I
got to know him, he was sort of a stand-in for the person I had wished
for you to find--a nice woman you could raise a family with who'd be a
good wife to you."  Bill took another sip of water.  "I don't think of him
as a stand-in for anything anymore.  I can't believe I'm saying this, but I
think you made a great choice."

        "I can't believe it either.  I hope you'll say that to Blair sometime."

        "I intend to.  That's one thing about getting older.  You don't have
the luxury of putting off saying the things you want to say quite as long
as you used to."

********

        When Jim arrived back at the bullpen from lunch, Blair was
sitting at his desk.  The younger man wasn't doing anything, just sitting
there, forearms resting on the desk, fingers entwined, staring into
space.

        "Blair?"  Jim hung up his coat and watched his lover, trying to
gauge his vital signs or his expression for some sign of the cause of the
unusual stillness.

        "Ryan Cooper died this morning."  Blair closed his eyes then, and
took a deep breath.  "His grandmother okay'd them disconnecting the
life support at 10, and by 11:15..."

        "I'm sorry, Chief.  I know it wasn't a surprise, but it's still rough." 
Jim rested his hand on Blair's shoulder, sitting against the edge of his
desk.

        "You might as well tell Simon he's going to be getting a call from
Child and Family Services.  I just ripped the caseworker a new one.  I
wasn't politically correct.  I wasn't even remotely polite.  I let her have
it both barrels, and I have no plans to apologize in the foreseeable
future."  Blair took in another deep, if not a little shaky, breath, and
continued to stare straight ahead.  "I want to take someone apart here,
man.  And she's just the tip of the iceberg."

        "You did everything you could for Ryan--"

        "That's the fucking pathetic part of all this.  You know, if he'd
been a housing project with a single mother, he'd have been pulled out
of that home and put in foster care six months ago.  He was *two years
old*.  Because his parents drove a Lexus and lived in a five bedroom
house, it was okay for them to abuse him.  It was okay for a 6'4" man to
take that little tiny body and shake it until..."  Blair's fists clenched and
his voice was choked off.  "Dammit," he swore softly, giving in to the
tears.  Seeing Blair's state, Megan paused by the desk and she walked
by.  

        "The little Matthews boy was taken off life support this morning," 
Jim said quietly, by way of explanation, before pulling up a chair and
putting his arm around Blair.

        "Oh no," she responded, covering her mouth briefly, her own eyes
filling before she turned away and walked back to her desk.  

        The bullpen became strangely quiet, as Megan told Rafe and Rafe
told Henri and slowly but surely, news spread throughout the group. 
Simon emerged from his office, puzzled and unnerved by the silence,
broken only by the occasional escaped sob from Blair and a few
sniffles and murmurs among the others.  

        Everyone in the room had heard Blair spout off his frustrations
with Child and Family Services for their unwillingness to remove the
sweet little toddler from what Blair was positive was an abusive home. 
He had met with nothing but frustration, until the horrible morning two
weeks earlier when Mrs. Matthews had taken Ryan into the emergency
room, unconscious, and he had been diagnosed with brain damage
resulting from severe shaking.

        "Ryan Matthews died this morning," Henri explained to Simon.

        "Damn it.  Unnecessary waste of a great little kid."  Simon shook
his head and walked over to Jim's desk, where Blair had managed to
pull himself together fairly quickly, with Jim patting his back and
talking with him in low tones.  "I'm sorry, Blair.  I know how hard you
worked on that case."

        "Yeah, well, you might not say that after you hear from Child and
Family Services."  Blair wiped his nose with the Kleenex Jim handed
him.  "I expressed my feelings to the caseworker."

        "I'm behind you 100% on this one.  He was a great little kid.  And
they dragged their feet."

        "Because his parents were wealthy, white collar, and had the right
address."  Blair swallowed, then sniffled, then smiled a little.  "I
remember how much he liked your statues," he said to Simon, who
looked as if his own hold on his emotions wasn't too dependable.  Blair
had brought the little boy down to the bullpen to entertain him while
his mother had blustered at the social worker and reminded everyone
within a ten mile radius who her husband was, and what company he
ran.  The reports from a day care center supervisor and Blair's
persistence had been enough to bring him in for evaluation, and to
investigate the household, but not enough to overcome the Matthews'
clout in the community.

        During that brief visit, little Ryan with his dark curls and big
brown eyes, had beguiled the room full of detectives, and had spent
considerable time looking at Simon's collection of statues and
figurines, fascinated by each and every one.

        "I'll handle the caseworker."

        "And her supervisor," Blair added.

        "And her supervisor," Simon confirmed.  "And the mayor and
anyone else who has a problem with our pursuit of this case.  I want to
be present when you talk to the D.A.  I think we should go for murder
one on this."

        "You think we can sell premeditation?"  Jim asked, frowning.

        "Matthews is about my size, Jim.  If I picked up a little body the
size of a two year old and shook it with all my strength, what could I
reasonably expect would be the outcome?"

        "It's worth a shot," Jim said, picking up the phone to call the D.A. 
"Maybe if we have to reduce it at some point, that'll keep the level up
high enough to get him some hard time."

        "I figure with life expectancies being what they are, Ryan lost
about 75 years.  Seems fair the man who murdered him ought to lose
the same," Blair said succinctly.

        "No arguments here, Chief," Jim retorted.

********

        Jim watched Blair pick at his salad.  When he pushed that aside,
the picked at his steak.

        "We're going to nail Matthews, Blair."

        "Yeah, I know.  Fat lot of good that does Ryan."  Blair pushed the
plate forward on the kitchen table and looked out the window at their
bleak, barren garden.  "Jim, I've been thinking.  This job at the DVU...it
deserves more attention than what I'm giving it.  Right now, we've got
one of the most aggressive, effective systems of dealing with domestic
violence of any PD in the country.  And if the director--that would be
me--was dedicated to it single-mindedly, it would be even better." 
Blair paused.  "I'm going to resign from Rainier."

        "Are you sure about that, Chief?  I know how much that teaching
job meant to you."

        "It still does mean a lot to me.  I just realized when I got called
back in to teach this semester and I'm trying to do that and the DVU...I
can't do both and do either one well.  I'm using canned lectures from
past years, and I'm not always around the PD when I'm needed.  I'm
tired all the time, and everybody's getting the short end of the stick. 
Including you."

        "I'm fine, Chief."

        "You like having sex with a zombie?"

        "If you're a zombie, I'm all for it," he responded, chuckling. 
"Seriously, though...if the schedule is too much, you're right to
eliminate something."

        "There are a lot of good people out there teaching Anthropology. 
There aren't nearly enough good people dedicated to dealing with
domestic violence.  I don't want to turn my back on teaching
entirely...permanently.  I just want to devote the time to this project
that it deserves.  And I also want to do some research."

        "On...?"

        "Domestic violence in the upper socioeconomic strata.  What
happened to Ryan should have never happened.  We had enough to
remove him from that home, and nobody moved on it until he was a
brain damaged vegetable.  Now that he's dead, the whole system is all
geared up to fry his father for the murder.  But that's useless.  It's
nothing.  Ryan is still dead.  We need to raise the awareness that abuse
isn't a dirty, back street issue.  That it doesn't just happen in poor
households, or single parent households.  It happens in fancy big
houses like the Matthews', to children of people who drive big cars and
belong to the country club."

        "You know I'm behind you no matter what."

        "Yeah, I know.  That's why I feel like I can move mountains," 
Blair said, taking a hold of Jim's hand where it rested on the table.  

        "I'm really proud of what you've done with that unit so far, Chief. 
I know if you put your full concentration on it, you'll really kick some
serious ass."

        "Thanks," Blair responded, smiling.  "And I do want to shed some
light on abuse in households that don't fit the stereotypes."

        "Maybe so Ryan didn't die for nothing, huh?"

        "Yeah, exactly."  Blair nodded, looking at his cooling meal.

        "Think you might get a few bites down?"

        "Probably should, huh?"

        "Keep your strength up.  You never know when you might need
it."  Jim grinned evilly and flexed an eyebrow at Blair, who returned
the expression before digging back into his dinner.

********

        The ringing of the phone jerked Bill out of the unplanned nap he
was taking in his favorite chair in his den.  Muttering a mild obscenity,
he picked up the phone.

        "Hello?"

        "William...this is Grace."

        "Yes, Grace."

        "It's delightful to speak to you too."

        "I understand you've been to see Jimmy already."

        "News travels fast.  Why didn't you tell me he was...about his...
*situation*?"  Grace demanded.

        "What situation would that be?"  Bill prodded, knowing exactly
what had Grace's socially correct feathers ruffled.  Probably the fact
Jim's "wife" had a penis and a five o'clock shadow.

        "Don't be obtuse with me, William.  You're not that dense."

        "Age dulls the mind.  Look, Grace, if you're talking about his
relationship with Blair, why would I tell you about that?  Carolyn sent
you an invitation to their wedding and you didn't go."

        "You didn't go either."

        "I wasn't invited."

        "I see," Grace responded, a slight note of triumph in her voice. 
"This is hardly a normal marriage situation and you know it."

        "No, it's not 'normal', but Jimmy's happy, and Blair's good to him. 
That's all I would have hoped for out of any marriage he entered into."

        "You weren't maybe hoping he'd marry a *woman*?"

        "I tried that.  We know how much of a guarantee of eternal
wedded bliss that turned out to be.  Look, Grace, I'm sorry if you're
unhappy about Jim's choice of a spouse, and I honestly am sorry that
Owen passed away, but I'm not exactly sure what it is you want from
me now."

        "I thought perhaps since you had this newfound closeness with
Jimmy, you could talk some sense into him.  For heaven's sake, Bill,
how long do you think this...*diversion* with some throwback flower
child is going to last?  Probably just long enough to destroy his career."

        "First of all, the last thing I would do is try to tell Jim how to run
his life.  Adult children tend to frown on that, and I've waited too long
to have some kind of relationship with my boys as it is.  Secondly, as
far as I'm concerned, Blair is part of my family now, and I don't have
any desire to work at freezing him out of it."

        "So you're happy your son is gay."

        "I'm happy my son is happy."  Bill sighed, exasperated as always
by going a few rounds with Grace.  "Look, it would have been nice and
neat and convenient of Blair were a woman.  But he's not, and he's the
person Jim's chosen, and they're happy.  They're both adults.  What in
the hell do you expect I could do about it, even if I wanted to do
anything?"

        "You're condoning this perversion of his?"

        "No, I'm glad he's happy.  I don't understand what he sees in
another man sexually, but his sex life isn't any more my business in this
relationship than it would be if he were married to a woman--unless he
brings up the subject to me."

        "I knew you weren't exactly a stay-at-home father, but I can't
believe you let the boys run wild to the extent that Jimmy came out of
it in this condition."

        "If I were you, Grace, I wouldn't criticize anyone else's parenting
abilities."

        "I entrusted you with our children and you let him grow up gay,
for God's sake!"

        "You *entrusted*..."  Bill paused to take a deep breath, wishing
there were some way to get both hands around Grace's neck via
telephone.  "You *dumped* our children on me and left me for another
man.  Don't make it sound like something other than it was.  I was
there.  I remember.  So does Jimmy."

        "I've been in touch with Steven," she announced.  "He's invited me
to spend Christmas with him and his lady friend."

        "I hope you have a good holiday together.  If you jerk Steven
around, Grace, you will regret it.  I promise you that."

        "How would I do that?"

        "Just see that you don't make him regret forgiving you.  They may
be grown men but they're still my boys, and if you make their lives
miserable now, so help me God, Grace, I'll do the same to you."

        "That sounds like a threat, Bill," she said tauntingly.  "I don't have
any plans to make their lives miserable.  I just want what you seem to
already have--a chance to spend some time with them.  Well, this has
been a pleasure, as always, but I must be going.  Happy holidays, Bill."  

        There was a click and then a dial tone.  Bill hit the button on the
cordless phone and then hurled it the full length of the room, watching
it smash against the wall.  

        "Are you all right?  What was that?"  Sally came rushing into the
room, tying her robe, eyes wide with fear.

        "Just an old man throwing a tantrum, Sally.  Sorry I woke you." 
Bill hauled himself up out of the chair, moving to pick up the pieces of
the phone.  

        "Mrs. Winslow?"

        "Good guess," Bill responded, looking at the carcass of the phone. 
"That was mature.  Guess I better ask for a new phone for Christmas." 
He threw the pieces in the wastebasket near his desk.  

        "Would you like some tea or cocoa--"

        "No, thank you, Sally, I'm fine.  Thanks for checking on me. 
Sorry again about dragging you out of bed for nothing."

        "That's all right.  I'll see you in the morning."

        "Goodnight, Sally."  Bill watched her make her way back toward
the bedroom and bath that had been her quarters for years now.  Sally
had given all the best years of her life to raising his family.  He
wondered how much she felt she had lost by devoting so much of
herself to her job, and sincerely hoped she didn't have the same regrets
he did over his own preoccupation with his work.

        He started up the long staircase and paused when he reached the
top.  Only a few months after he'd had a confrontation with Jimmy on
this very spot, admonishing him not to "tell stories", it had been a grim
Christmas in the Ellison household.  What a black day that had been...
probably the start of the rapid decline of his relationship to his son. 
Jim told no more stories after that.  He rarely smiled, and generally just
didn't say much at all.  

        Christmas had been spent with Bill's sister and brother-in-law
visiting, along with their two children, a boy and a girl, just slightly
younger than Jim and Steven.  His sister, always resplendent with
parenting advice for her brother, couldn't control her own two to save
her life.  While those children had turned the house upside down, with
Steven in a sort of reluctant alliance, Jim had sat sullenly in the living
room with the adults, finally excusing himself at the first opportunity
when he felt he might get away with doing so.  He'd opened his gifts
with the same lack of enthusiasm, issued a few polite thank you's and
then left most of it piled up near the tree and retreated into his room.

        Maybe this year would finally breathe a little happiness into what
had been for a good many years a very large, very cold, very lifeless
house.

********