Blair stirred and finally surrendered to the daylight in the room. 
He was a little surprised to be alone in the bed, and even more surprised
when he saw that it was ten o'clock.  He pulled himself up to sit,
surprised to feel his bare butt make contact with the sheets until he
remembered the night before, and realized his shorts were somewhere
under the covers instead of on his body.  There was a note on Jim's
pillow.

     "Morning, my little bear claw,

     You were sleeping so soundly that I thought you needed the rest
more than anything else.  Come downtown and join me when you can. 
If I don't see you there, I'll be home around three to pick you up to go
to the funeral home for Mae.  Fresh bagels are in the kitchen.
                         Love, 
                              Jim"

     Blair laughed at the endearment that started the message.  He
had let himself in for at least two days' worth of strange new love names
for teasing Jim about his propensity for "sticky" endearments.  Blair
loved being called by the love names, and Jim knew it, but when the
younger man called him on it, Jim would launch into a pattern of teasing
him ruthlessly with the sappiest concoctions he could think up.

     He re-read the note, and smiled at the mention of fresh bagels. 
Since they'd moved to the house, that meant a ten minute drive into
town, pick up bagels, and another ten minute drive back out to the
house to leave them there.  Jim was a once in a lifetime find, and Blair
was more than a little pleased to be the one to have found him.  Bagels
might not cure nightmares, but it was typical of Jim to try anything he
could think of to make Blair feel better in the wake of one of them.

     Getting out of bed, he dug around for his underwear and tossed
it and the tank shirt into the hamper in the bathroom before stepping
into the shower for a quick clean-up.  He shaved, pulled his hair back
and found a pair of jeans and a navy blue Rainier t-shirt, then pulled on
socks and shoved his feet into his athletic shoes.  As he was heading
downstairs, he froze in the middle of the staircase.  A door had just
slammed somewhere in the house.

     "Jim?"  he called out, not surprised to get no response.  It
sounded like an interior door, not one of the doors leading outside. 
"Shit," he muttered, retreating back upstairs.  He located his baseball bat
in the back of the closet, and started back downstairs.  He stopped again
when the slamming noise repeated itself--over and over again, as if the
door were opening and closing again and again.

     Mustering all his courage, Blair made it to the foot of the stairs
and turned to walk down the hall toward the back of the house, where
the sound originated.  The door into the sitting room, which used to be
Michael's music room, was swinging open and slamming shut
repeatedly, and each time it did, a gust of cold air flooded the hall.

     The ringing of the phone made him jump, and as the new sound
invaded the house, the door slammed a final time, and didn't open again. 


     Blair walked slowly into the kitchen, casting the occasional
suspicious glance over his shoulder at the closed door.  

     "Hello?"

     "Hey, Chief, it's me.  Anything wrong?"

     "Huh?  Oh, I, uh...just got up and I was on the stairs when the
phone rang."

     "Blair."

     "Something's going on in the TV room."

     "Something...like what?"

     "Like the door opening and closing and cold air coming out into
the hall."

     "I don't hear anything now," Jim responded.

     "It stopped when the phone rang."

     "You're on the cordless in the kitchen?"

     "Yeah."

     "You want to go check out the room while I'm on the line?"

     "Okay."  Blair started across the kitchen and into the hall.  He
eyed the door with great trepidation, moving slowly toward it.  Just as
he approached it, the knob turned and it opened slowly on its own.  No
one was behind it.  "Jim?"

     "What's up?"

     "The door just opened by itself.  But I don't see anything."

     "Nothing behind the door?"

     "Um," Blair moved slowly around to check.  "Nope."

     "You think it's calmed down now?"

     "Looks like it.  Man, I don't know.  If this is Michael...I don't
understand why he's trying to scare the living shit out of me every five
minutes."

     "Why don't you get out of there, Chief?  We'll tackle it together
tonight, huh?"

     "Yeah.  I'm gonna grab one of the bagels and then I'll be there. 
Thanks for getting them for me."

     "Anything for my little buttercup."

     "I *really* hope you're alone, man," Blair replied, laughing at
this latest addition to the list of truly sticky names Jim had come up
with.  "The last thing I need is Simon calling me 'buttercup'."

     "I better be the only one calling you that, Chief.  No, I'm in the
break room on my cell phone.  Listen, don't hang around there too long. 
Grab your bagel and get out of there, huh?"

     "I will.  Love you."

     "Love you too.  See you later."  Jim broke the connection, and
Blair turned off the phone, then let out a long sigh.  He glanced out the
window at the partially finished garden, and then at the trees beyond,
where Michael's body had been found.  

     "Whatever it is you're trying to tell me, man, you're going to
have to be a little more specific."  Blair shook his head and opened the
bag of bagels, finding a tomato basil and slicing it, spreading a little of
the veggie cream cheese on it and continuing to stare out the window as
he ate.  Maybe this house was too good to be true after all.

********

     The funeral home was fairly crowded with mourners paying their
final respects to Mae Devon and expressing sympathy to her family.  Jim
and Blair didn't linger long, but managed to see Brian and Kelli, and also
to pay their respects to Mae.  

     When Blair approached the casket, he couldn't help but notice
how much more frail the small woman looked than she had looked in his
encounter with her.  He wasn't sure whether to categorize it as a dream
or a vision or a psychic encounter, but whatever it was, the Mae he had
spoken with was a wholly different woman than the corpse he was
viewing.

     "Wish we could ask her how to handle things now," Jim said
quietly, surprising Blair a little.  

     "She already told me.  Well, she made me see it.  She asked me
why I wasn't listening to Michael now."
     
     "Then I guess that's what we need to do, huh?"

     "Yeah.  He's trying to tell me something.  I just need to figure it
out."

     "The roses you sent from us are really nice, Chief."  Jim nodded
toward the large vase of yellow roses.

     "Well, I figured she ought to have them for real this time."

     "Blair?"  Brian approached them from behind.  "Could I speak to
you for a minute?"

     "Uh...sure."  Blair shrugged a little, a bit uneasy at Brian's
unspoken implication that he didn't want Jim a part of the conversation.

     "Excuse us a minute?"  Brian said to Jim, who hadn't moved.

     "There's nothing you need to say to me that Jim can't hear--or
won't hear about later anyway," Blair spoke up.  What he said was true;
there was nothing he didn't hash over with Jim anyway, but something in
Brian's dismissal of Jim from the conversation rubbed Blair the wrong
way.

     "I was just wondering if, uh, there had been any more...you
know...incidents."

     "You're asking after Michael again?"  Jim clarified.

     "I know you said he was at peace, but I always hope that...you
know, if I visit--maybe there's a way to still contact him."

     "I don't think Michael wants to interfere in your life, Brian.  Not
now.  He wanted you to have a full life, with Kelli."

     "I can't help how I feel.  And...things aren't working out so well
with Kelli.  I just thought, maybe, if you would be willing...you know, to
try to contact him--"

     "If you're asking Blair to channel Michael again, you can forget
it."  Jim seemed more than mildly annoyed.  "That was a one-time shot,
pal."

     "I don't believe you're jealous of a spiritual experience.  He was
channeling Michael's spirit--"

     "I don't care if he's channeling Elvis.  If you think you're going to
have another little game of smashface in the music room, let me save
you the trouble of asking."

     "I wasn't asking you."

     "Yeah?  Well I'm *telling* you.  For the last time."

     "Excuse me, but I *am* still here," Blair spoke up.  "Look,
Michael said what he had to say to you that night.  I can't conjure him
up like uncorking the genie's bottle."

     "But he *is* still present?"

     "I have no proof of that."

     "But you feel his presence?  God, man, that's all I'm asking--to
feel close to him.  If Jim were dead, wouldn't you want that chance too? 
Or Jim--if someone could channel Blair's spirit for you, wouldn't you
want to be near that person--have contact?"

     "I'm going to say this again, slowly, so that maybe you'll get it
this time.  It.  Isn't.  Going.  To.  Happen."  Jim pinned the other man
with an angry glare.  "Blair's not a fortuneteller or a medium--and you're
not going to show up and use his body like some sort of...of...*device*
to make out with Michael from beyond the grave."

     "This isn't about sex."

     "Look, both of you, just cool it.  This isn't the place to have an
argument."  Blair looked at the other two men.  "Brian, I understand
how you feel, but Michael isn't communicating the same way he used to,
and there was a real sense of closure about that encounter you had with
him."  Blair paused.  "If I ever get any kind of feeling from Michael that
he wants to reach out to you, I promise you, I'll get a hold of you.  Fair
enough?"

     "I--"

     "You heard him, Brian.  This discussion is over," Jim stated,
moving away, guiding Blair with a gentle hand in the middle of his back. 
The younger man didn't resist the movement, and the two of them
headed for the exit.  

     "He was asking after Michael again, right?"  Kelli met them at
the front door as they were about to leave.

     "Kelli, I--"
     
     "Blair, you don't have to protect him.  I know that's the main
reason he was so willing to drop everything and come here for
Grandma's funeral.  It wasn't for moral support for me, I know that
much."

     "I'm sure he'd want to be with you for something like this."

     "Our marriage is a joke.  I knew the night of the seance it was
really over--that I was just babysitting him until he could be with
Michael again."

     "But he loves you--"

     "Like a best buddy or a sister, sure.  But he's in love with
Michael, and that isn't going to change.  And he's going to stay hung up
on him until the day he dies and joins him.  I know you can't keep giving
in to him, but if there's anything...you know, that you can tell him about
Michael?  I think Brian's very close to...wanting to go be with him."

     "You mean you think he's suicidal?"  Jim asked.

     "I don't think Brian will ever take his own life directly, but he's
careless and reckless--he has a very real death wish.  Things might not
be going all that great in our marriage, but I do still love him.  I don't
want to see him die a stupid death."

     "You think communicating with Michael would alleviate that?" 
Blair asked.

     "I don't really know.  Maybe not.  Maybe it would make it
worse.  I think it's a no-win situation."  Kelli glanced back toward the
room where her grandmother was being shown.  "Brian has a great
career, and he's trying like hell to do what Michael told him to do, but
he's dead inside.  He can write such good lyrics because he's so
miserable all the time."

     "I'm really sorry things are turning out this way," Blair said
sincerely.  "I like Brian, I think he's basically a good guy.  And I know
how I'd feel in his place."

     "Well, anyway, I'm glad you're not too angry with him.  I know
he's nervy asking you to try to repeat what happened the night of the
seance.  We really both value having you guys for friends.  I don't want
this to mess that up."  She tried a faint smile, and both men returned it.

     "No hard feelings, Kelli.  It's just a hard situation," Jim
responded.  

     "Yes, very," she agreed, nodding.  

********

     "You know, Jim, I don't want to feel guilty for another death." 
Blair watched the scenery move past the window as Jim drove back
toward headquarters.  "If he needs to feel like he's tried to contact
Michael--"

     "You don't need to feel guilty about Wendy Evans."

     "I feel better than I did about it--honest.  I just...there's still a
part of it that I feel I had a hand in.  But with Brian--"

     "As for the Evans case, that's just a mess.  There was no good
way to handle that one.  With Brian--hell, I don't know.  The worst part
of it is, I know how I'd feel if I were him and I knew someone could
channel your spirit.  I'd probably kidnap them and drag them off to some
remote hideout and chain them up there until they did it again.  And
again--well, you get the picture.  The whole thing would probably drive
me insane if losing you hadn't already."  Jim was silent in the wake of
what struck Blair as a very open, verbal admission from Jim.  He
reached over and rested a hand on his lover's thigh.
     
     "I would never leave you, Jim.  Even if something happened to
me.  If I could reach out to you somehow, you know I would."

     "But that's my point.  If there was any way--I wouldn't have any
ethics about what I did to make it happen.  So that's why Brian sniffing
around you worries me.  People get obsessed enough with an idea...I
just don't want you getting hurt or getting in the middle of an unpleasant
situation."

     "Michael would never let that happen to me.  If I helped them
get in touch, he'd protect me."

     "You have a hell of a lot of faith in a ghost."

     "Michael warned us--I didn't understand the warning, but if he
hadn't done what he did with the chimes...God, Jim, I'd probably be in
the same boat Brian is right now.  I don't want to even think about it. 
But Michael saved your life.  He protected what was most precious to
me the only way he could--by warning us."

     "So what's he warning us about now--the headcase that left the
thing on the porch last night?"

     "I don't know.  I just need to make contact...to *listen* to him."

     "You think he'd communicate with you if I were there?"

     "I think so.  Are you game to try contacting him?"

     "I know you're going to, one way or the other.  I don't want you
doing it alone."

     "He wouldn't hurt me, Jim."

     "When I was first wrestling with this Sentinel thing, I needed
you to pull me out of zone-outs more than once.  You're playing around
with this Shaman thing now, contacting spirits--I just want to be sure
that you don't have any similar risks--you know, something weird
happening, where you need someone around to get you grounded back
in reality again?  There are a lot of people in asylums babbling about
seeing spirits."

     "Ugh," Blair responded, shuddering.  Then an odd look crossed
his face. 

     "Look, Chief, about this Brian thing--if you want to try to
contact Michael for him again, I won't stand in your way.  But I do want
to be there, and I want you to think hard about sticking to the resolution
of keeping this guy weaned away from you.  This whole obsession with
Michael could take an ugly twist if he sees you as the vessel for his dead
lover."

     "I know.  Jim?"

     "Yeah?"

     "Thanks for backing me up either way.  I really love you, you
know?"

     "Yeah, I know.  Me too."  Jim hooked a hand behind Blair's
neck and pulled him over for a quick kiss to his mouth.  "Let's go," he
said, pulling back and getting out of the truck.   Blair hurried around the
vehicle and fell into step with Jim.  "I have a couple ideas to follow up
on with the Evans thing.  There are a couple possible hiding places we
haven't checked."

     Still talking over the case, the two men walked into the bullpen,
startled to see a vase of red roses on Jim's desk.  A large greeting card
in a white envelope was leaned against the vase, with Blair's name
carefully printed on the front of it.

     "Did you...?"  Blair asked quietly, frowning a little at Jim.  If Jim
planned to send flowers, he wouldn't have done it exactly this way, or in
the middle of such a somber day.

     "No, I didn't."

     "Got a secret admirer there, Sandburg?"  Simon teased good-naturedly 
as he walked back into the room, pausing on the way to his
office.

     "I don't know."  Blair reached for the card, but Jim took a hold
of his wrist.

     "Use these.  Just in case."

     "Good idea."  Blair pulled on the gloves, and Simon frowned.

     "After that delivery we had last night..."  Jim let the sentence
trail off.

     "Good thinking," Simon agreed.  

     Blair opened the card carefully and slid it out of the envelope. 
Against a red background, the words "Be Mine" were scrawled in a
white script, obviously a Valentine card.

     "You want me to do the honors, Chief?"  Jim offered, picking up
on the spiking of Blair's pulse and heartbeat.

     "No, I got it."  Blair opened the cover of the card and read the
verse inside.  "Roses are red, violets are blue, Watson's not dead, and
he's coming for you."  Blair tossed the card on the desk and backed
away from it, staring at it like it was a live snake.

     "Son of bitch," Jim grumbled, picking up the card and envelope
by the corner and tossing them in an evidence bag.  He called down to
the Forensics lab to come up and get the roses in their vase, in case
there were any prints or florist information to be gathered from the
piece.

     "You okay, Blair?"  Simon asked, his voice softer than usual as
he rested a hand on Blair's shoulder.

     "I know it's just a verse on a card...I just..."  Blair swallowed
hard.  "Yeah, I'll be okay."

     "The lab's sending someone up to get this damn thing and have it
checked over.  We'll get this asshole, Chief.  Don't worry about it."  Jim
looked around the room.  "Hey, everybody, listen up!  Did anybody see
who delivered these flowers?"

     "It was Jenny from downstairs in Records," Brown responded,
joining the group.  "What's up?"

     "It's a threatening message--a sick joke."  Jim turned to Blair,
who still seemed more than a bit shaken, but was maintaining his
composure.  "Let's go talk to Jenny."  Jim gave Blair a gentle nudge
with a hand on his shoulder and the two of them headed for the Records
department.  "It's just a sick prank, Chief," Jim said softly as they made
their way down the hall.

     "I know.  It's just...chilling."

     "Yeah, it is."  Jim steered them into a nearby men's room and
seeing it was empty, locked the door.  "Think you can hold it together
all right, sweetheart?"  Jim asked gently, placing a hand on the side of
Blair's face.  The other man leaned into the touch, closing his eyes.

     "I know he's dead.  I just don't know why it's so hard for me to
see something like that without feeling...*crawly*."

     "It's supposed to make you feel crawly."  Jim pulled his lover
into his arms.  "It makes *me* feel crawly and I didn't live with the son
of a bitch.  But it's a sick joke, baby.  Watson's six feet under and he's
never coming back."

     "Michael came back.  Gavin came back."

     "As far as we know, Michael's a friendly spirit, and the last time
Gavin showed his ugly face, we sent him back where he came from. 
Now as for Watson, that fucker is dead.  And if by some weird
circumstance he tries to come near you again, I promise you that what
I'll do to that motherfucker will make hell look like a good option.  I
don't care what form he's in, he'll never touch you again."

     "I feel so stupid for even being afraid of this."

     "Yeah, so do I."  Jim chuckled a little bit.  "I guess we're a little
oversensitive given our...unique tenant at the house."

     "Who would do something like this?  Whoever it is, they have to
hate me so much..."

     "This was pretty common knowledge around the U given the old
grapevine, wasn't it?"  Jim asked.  Blair nodded, still not giving up the
comfort of the embrace.  "Could be a lot of people.  I think we can write
off your *friends*, since any of them would know this would be a
source of extreme stress to you and not in the least funny.  Could be an
angry colleague, a pissed off student--anybody got it in for you lately
that you know of?"

     "Not really.  I mean...nobody I've had any big showdowns with. 
I didn't even have to fail anybody last semester.  I gave out a couple of
D's, but I had a basically good group of students.  With colleagues...I
don't get along with all of them all the time, but there aren't any I have a
*vendetta* going with or anything."

     "I'll try to figure out if there's anyone around here, or anyone I
know who could be doing it.  A good way to harass me would be to
harass you.  I can't think of anyone right off hand, but I'm sure there are
plenty of candidates if I think about it long enough."  Jim squeezed his
lover and kissed his forehead.  "Come on.  Let's go find out from Jenny
who delivered the flowers to her."

     Jenny was a pleasant woman in her mid-thirties, with short dark
hair and a ready smile.  She was stationed at the front desk in Records, a
not always enviable spot.  

     "Enjoying your flowers?"  she asked pleasantly, looking directly
at Blair.

     "That's why we're here," Jim spoke up.  "Who brought those in
to you?"

     "It was a guy.  He was probably in his early twenties.  I figured
he was a delivery guy for the florist."

     "Can you give us a description?"  Jim persisted.

     "Well, sure, I suppose.  He was average height, muscular build,
short medium brown hair, no facial hair...he was wearing a Jags
sweatshirt and jeans, and he had a blue cap of some sort in his hand, but
he wasn't wearing it."

     "That's great, Jenny," Jim commented as he jotted down her
description.  "You think you could guide Amy through a composite
drawing?"  Jim referred to the PD's sketch artist.  

     "I can try.  I don't know as I remember the details that well. 
What's up, guys?"

     "The flowers were a threat," Jim responded.  "It's very important
we track down the jerk who sent them."

     "Oh, that's really lousy.  Kind of takes the fun out of getting
roses, doesn't it?"  she said sympathetically.

     "Yeah, you could say that," Blair responded, forcing a little
smile.  

     "I'll go downstairs and see if Amy's in.  If she is, I'll do what I
can."
     
     "Thanks, Jenny."  Jim smiled as the other woman called someone
to cover her phone while she was gone.  "We appreciate the help."

     "Oh, hey, no problem.  I hope you find the creep."

     "So do I," Blair agreed.


********

     The balance of the afternoon was spent following up on a couple
potential hiding places for Evans, including a trailer on some property
out in the country owned by his aunt and uncle, and a rental property
owned by his brother.  It was at the rental property where they hit
paydirt, Jim spotting the suspect sitting in a chair near the window of his
second floor apartment.

     "Talk about hiding in plain sight," Jim commented, checking his
gun.  

     "Most people couldn't see him from the street."

     "No--but this is still a pretty obvious place to hide.  I'm just a bit
embarrassed it took me this long to come up with it."

     "You've been distracted with this other situation with me...and
then Mae..."

     "Call for back up.  Stay in the truck, Chief.  I mean it.  This guy's
a nutcase.  I don't want you getting hurt."

     "Then wait for the back up to go in."

     "I'm not going to rush in there on my own.  I just want to get up
there and into position so the bastard doesn't slip away somehow before
we can nail him."

     "Okay.  Be careful."

     "Always," Jim responded, smiling slightly as he got out of the
truck and headed for the entrance to the building.  Blair called for back
up, then watched the building with growing anxiety.  Not long after he
made the back up call, his cell phone rang.  

     "Hello?"  He was still watching the building, not really
concentrating on the call.

     "I've been waiting a long time to get my hands on you," a raspy
voice growled over the line.

     "Who is this?"  Blair tried to keep his voice firm.

     "You always were an unfaithful little whore.  Who do you
fucking think it is?"  The connection was broken.  Blair put the phone
away with a shaky hand, and jumped at the sound of gunfire.  

     Grabbing the phone again, he called the dispatcher, reporting the
shots fired and adding that it could be an officer down because Jim was
the only cop on the scene, one on one with the suspect.  Finishing the
call, he jumped out of the truck and ran into the building, taking the
steps two at a time to the second floor, peering cautiously through the
stairwell door into the hall.  He saw Jim sitting against the wall across
from the open door of one of the apartments, talking on his own cell
phone.  His head was back against the wall, and there was a spreading
dark patch on the arm of his beige jacket.  

     Blair rushed down the hall to his partner's side, dropping to his
knees on the floor.

     "He's gone.  Out the fire escape down at the end of the hall.  See
if you can find a towel or something in there.  No one else is in there," 
Jim nodded toward the open apartment.

     Blair rushed into the apartment and located the bathroom,
snatching an armload of clean towels out of the linen closet there.  Jim
chuckled a little at the number his partner returned with as Blair
carefully wadded one up and pressed it against the wound.

     "I called it in as shots fired with a possible officer down."  

     "I hear them.  They're almost here," Jim responded.  "I thought I
told you to stay in the truck."

     "Give me a break, man.  You're shot!  Would *you* have stayed
in the truck?"

     "Point made," Jim said, rolling his eyes a little.  "I wasn't careful
with this at all."

     "What happened?"  

     "Bad timing," Jim said, wincing a little at the pressure on the
wound in his upper arm.  "I think it's just a flesh wound, Chief.  It's
bleeding like crazy, but the bullet passed through."

     "Thank God. This was too close."

     "Things have been getting a little too close the last few days. 
Anyway, I didn't draw my gun as soon as I got up on the second floor,
which I should have, so when I came out that stairwell door where you
just came out, and started down the hall, he swung open his door and
walked out and took one look at me, and drew and fired.  I didn't have
time to even get my gun.  The only reason this is a lesser wound is
because I had both arms back to grab for my gun when he fired."

     "So your arm wasn't as much in the line of fire as it would have
been?"

     "Right.  Plus I think he was a lousy shot.  I was going to go in
there and have a look around, but I started feeling shaky from the
wound, so I just parked here."

     "Why didn't you wait for back up?"

     "I planned to.  I didn't figure on him coming out when he did." 
Just then, two uniformed officers emerged through the stairwell door. 
Blair took Jim's ID from him and held it up.

     "Get the ambulance guys up here!"  one of the officers yelled
down the stairs.  

********

     "I still feel like an idiot," Jim grumbled, settling into the comfort
of a mountain of pillows in their bed.  After bullying the medical staff
into treating and releasing him, Jim had ridden home with Blair driving
the truck, and was now luxuriating in the comfort of his own bed,
getting what he considered better nursing care then he'd have enjoyed at
the hospital.  

     "You said yourself it was bad timing, lover.  It wasn't your
fault."

     "The son of a bitch got away.  Again."

     "You know, we could look on the bright side here.  He was a
lousy shot and you moved for your gun at the right time, and because of
that, you're here instead of in intensive care or...worse."  Blair seemed
to shudder a bit at that mental image as he placed the bed tray of food in
front of Jim.  "And it could have been your right arm."
     
     "Guess we have to be grateful for small favors, huh?"

     "We'll find Evans.  You tracked him this time.  You'll track him
again."

     "This isn't good timing for me to be laid up.  Not with this other
situation going on."

     "Don't worry about that."  Blair sat cross-legged on his side of
the bed.  He hadn't mentioned the phone call to Jim, and didn't plan to
until his wounded lover had enjoyed a good night's sleep and was feeling
a little stronger.  

     "Of course I'm worried about it, sweetheart."

     "Yeah, well, so far all he's done is mess with my head.  That's
probably his thing...you know...scaring me."

     "Probably.  But probably isn't good enough when we're talking
about your safety."

     "The doors and windows are all locked, you can still hear if
anyone gets in, and we have two cell phones and the phone by the bed,
and a gun up here.  Short of laying in a year's supply of canned goods
and berming up the front yard with sandbags, we're better prepared for
war and disaster than most survivalists."  Blair smiled as Jim laughed
out loud.

     "Can't argue with that logic."

     The evening passed in comfortable companionship, with Blair
reading, curled up on his side of the bed with the textbook for his
summer class, which he would begin teaching in a couple of weeks, and
Jim channel surfing on the small television opposite the bed.  

     "Listen."  Jim muted the TV sound and waited.  Blair looked up
from his book, watching his lover intently.  Then he heard the rising
crescendo of the windchimes.  "Take a look outside.  I don't hear any
wind."

     Blair got up and went to the window, pulling back the drapes
and looking outside.  The moonlit branches were only barely moving
with the lightest of breezes.

     "It's not that windy outside."  Blair looked back at Jim.  Then he
heard the same sound of the TV room door slamming downstairs.

     "Shit."  Jim started to get up.

     "Be careful.  Don't move too fast."  Blair was at his side in a
minute.  "It's just the TV room downstairs."

     "That's what it was doing earlier?"

     "Same thing."

     "Goddammit, Michael, if you've got something to say, fucking
say it and knock off the goddamned theatrics!"  Jim shouted.  Both men
lurched a little as the door to the bedroom opened and closed twice,
hard enough to shake the pictures on the wall.  "Fine.  Slam the
goddamned door.  It'll save you saying anything useful!"  Jim shouted at
the invisible force.  

     "Jim, come on, man, don't antagonize him."

     "Why not?  You're the one who sings his praises.  If he's Casper
the friendly ghost, let him say or do something useful instead of these
adolescent pranks.  Next thing you know he'll be rattling chains and
running through the halls with a sheet over his head!"

     As abruptly as it had begun, the symphony of noises ended.  

     "Geez, Jim, you probably pissed him off and now he'll never
communicate with us."

     "Let's give him a little more credit than to assume he's gone
away pouting.  Maybe he knows he's got our attention now.  So let's
hear something worthwhile."

     "Jim?"

     "What?"

     "Are you up to doing a seance with me?"

     "A seance."

     "Yeah, a seance.  You don't have to really *do* anything.  Just
sit there and let me do the rest.  I think we should do it in the TV room. 
That was Michael's music room--his favorite room in the house.  And
it's where we feel his presence most, and where the door was
slamming."

     "I don't know, Chief.  What Mae could handle and what you
could handle could be two different things.  She had experience."

     "She told me to listen to Michael.  I think he'll tell me what I
need to know if I give him half a chance."

     "All right.  We're not going to get any rest at this rate tonight
anyway."

     After Jim was comfortably settled on the couch in the TV room,
Blair went to the kitchen and found six fat white candles he often used
for meditating.  Returning to the room, he lined the candles up on the
coffee table and lit each one, then turned off the lights and took a seat,
cross-legged, on the floor in front of the table, across it from Jim.  

     "Okay, I'm not too sure how to go about this, but let's just start
by closing our eyes, and trying to clear our minds of everything but
an...openness to communicate."  Blair watched Jim a bit anxiously, and
was relieved when the other man nodded. //Either he's humoring me or
what I said actually made sense to someone but me,// Blair thought,
smiling a little and closing his eyes.

     The house was strangely silent, and despite the breeze picking
up a bit outside, no sound was heard from the chimes.  

     "Michael, we're listening.  If there is something you want us to
know, please show us a sign."  

     The slight jangling of the windchimes.  

     "Are you trying to warn us of something?"  Blair asked, opening
his eyes.  He tried not to be distracted by the fact that Jim opened his at
the precise same moment. //God, can he hear my *eyelids* moving, or
are we that attuned to each other?//

     A misty form glowed from the corner of the room.

     "Michael, please help us understand what it is you're trying to
tell us.  Are we in danger?"  Blair asked.

     "Yes," Michael's voice came through softly, but clearly.

     "Is it Evans?"  There was no response.  "Michael, who is the
threat?"

     "My battle."

     "What does that mean?"

     "My fault."  Michael's voice was strained, almost regretful,
apologetic.

     "What's your fault?"

     "Danger."

     "The danger is your fault?  How?"

     "I did it."

     "Michael, what did you do?"  Blair persisted.

     "Is it Brian?"  Jim interjected, surprising Blair a little.  There was
a long silence before the spirit responded.

     "Never Brian.  Tell him...I love him."

     "I'll tell him.  Do you want to see Brian again?  Kelli's afraid for
him.  He misses you terribly."

     "Not our time yet."

     "Why is the danger to us your fault?  Who is the threat?"

     "I...was angry.  Haunted him...  But he is angry with you..."

     "Who?!"  Blair prodded, becoming impatient.  

     "I wanted to protect you."  Michael's voice was still softer now. 
"I was wrong..."  

     And with that, the form began to fade, and in an instant it was
gone.  Both men lurched back as the flames on the candles shot up
almost a foot from their wicks and then returned to normal.

     "Damn.  He's gone."  Blair exhaled, running a hand back through
his hair.

     "That was weird."  Jim rubbed a hand over his face, shaking his
head a little.

     "He said it was his battle and his fault, and that he was wrong. 
What do you suppose that means?"

     "Well, maybe he was wrong in scaring you instead of
communicating with you."

     "I get the feeling it was something else.  I mean, I don't know as
Michael can just pop in for coffee and chat whenever he wants to. 
Maybe he was communicating the only way he could."

     "The only way without someone with psychic ability drawing
him out.  Blair, do you realize what just happened here?"

     "I guess I...I guess I did that, didn't I?"

     "You drew him out, opened up a line of communication with
someone from the other side.  All by yourself."

     "Maybe what Incacha said...maybe he really did pass something
on to me."

     "One thing I know about Incacha.  He didn't talk just to have
something to say."

     "Whoa."  Blair sat there, a bit stunned at the significance of what
had happened.  

     "Michael said he wanted to protect you, and that he was wrong."

     "Okay, let's take this one step at a time.  He said it was his
battle.  The big battle he fought was with Gavin."  Blair looked up, fear
plain in his eyes.  "You don't think...?"

     "You mean that Gavin's back?  Shit, I hope not," Jim responded
honestly, leaning back in the seat, wincing at the movement of his arm.

     "Man, you must be tired.  We should call it a night."

     "We can't just go to bed and forget about this."

     "Mae thought Gavin was gone."

     "Well, who else has Michael fought a battle with?"

     "I don't know."  Blair walked over to the wall switch and turned
on the overhead fixture in the room, then returned to the table and blew
out the candles.

     "I can think of one."

     "Who?"  Blair moved to sit next to Jim instead of in his old spot
on the floor.

     "Mark Borden."

     "We don't have any proof of that, Jim.  Mark Borden wasn't
wrapped too tightly when I had him in class.  The fact he went off like a
roman candle and slugged me for flunking him was a pretty good
indicator he wasn't in great shape.  We know he had some major
psychological problems and ended up in a sanitarium."  Blair shrugged. 
"I just thought it was a nice, fancy way to get his sentence for the
assault charges deferred."

     "You know your first thought was that Michael had paid him a
visit.  Or several."

     "I know I thought that, but--"

     "But what?"  Jim paused.  "It all fits.  If Borden is all pissed off
and wants revenge, it truly is Michael's battle, Michael's fault, and if he
thought he was protecting you by going after Borden, he was *wrong*. 
Everything he said tonight fits."

     "So you believe that Michael drove Borden crazy, and now
Borden wants a piece of me because he thinks it's my fault?"

     "It makes sense."  Jim chuckled a little at that.  "Well, as much
sense as holding seances in our TV room, I guess."

     "It's just weird how he seems to know the lingo about Vince...I
mean, it's like it's beyond knowing about the S&M thing.  What he said
on the phone--" Blair stopped.

     "What he said on the phone?"  Jim asked, a definite tone of
irritation in his voice.  "And you talked to him on the phone *when*?"

     "This afternoon," Blair admitted quietly.  "I didn't want to upset
you, and it seemed so unimportant with what happened--"

     "Unimportant?  Blair, this nut is *stalking* you!  Sending threats
in the name of your dead lover!  How much more do you need to take
this seriously?!"  Jim demanded angrily.

     "I take it plenty seriously!"  Blair shouted back.  "I can't sleep, I
can't eat worth shit because I feel like there's a rock in my stomach, and
I have this horrible feeling like Vince is back from the grave following
me around!  If I take this any more fucking seriously I'll be as crazy as
Borden!"  Blair was on his feet and pacing now.  

     "I'm sorry, Chief.  I didn't mean to jump you that way."

     "It's not your fault.  It's me."  Blair sat in a chair that faced the
window, behind the couch and out of Jim's line of view.  "I just feel like
I can't deal with it anymore...and everything just...sets me off.  I didn't
mean to go postal on you."

     "Tell me what he said this afternoon, and how he called you--was it on 
your cell phone?"

     "Yeah.  I was waiting in the truck for you, and he said he
couldn't wait to get his hands on me.  When I asked who it was, he
said..."  Blair paused, and Jim finally looked over the back of the couch
at where the younger man sat slumped in the chair.  

     "What?"  Jim prodded gently.

     "He said that...that I always was an unfaithful little whore.  God,
Jim, it sounded just like him."  Blair's voice shook, and Jim could see
him brushing a hand past his eyes.  

     Jim got up and walked over to stand behind Blair's chair.  He
caressed the bent head with his right hand. 

     "Watson's dead, sweetheart.  You know that."

     "He's never going to be dead.  You can kill his body but he's
always going to be some goddamn *boogeyman* I can't get away
from!"  The tears were coming harder now, and Jim cursed the
limitation on his arm that made his movements to comfort Blair slower
and a bit labored.  Still, he got down on one knee in front of the chair
and held out his good arm.

     Always mindful of Jim's injured arm in its sling, Blair wound his
arms around his lover's neck and good shoulder, and did his best not to
put any pressure on the injury.  

     "It's okay, baby.  Let it out.  I've got you."  Jim put as much
security into the one-armed embrace as he could, holding Blair firmly
against his body.  "We'll nail Borden or whoever this creep is, and it'll be
over."

     "The memories never go away," Blair moaned softly against
Jim's shoulder.  "I think they're gone and I feel okay and then something
happens and it all just comes back."

     "We've all got bad memories, Chief.  There's nothing wrong with
you because they bother you or scare you."

     "You've got such a good handle on yours...they don't sneak up
and bite you on the ass all the time," Blair observed brokenly.

     "No, they just lurk in my subconscious until something triggers
them and then my senses shut down and if you weren't around, I'd
probably be drooling in the corner of a rubber room.  We all deal with
our...*shit* in different ways--but we've all got it."

     "Why does it bother me what he called me?"

     "You don't have to love a person who insults you in order to be
hurt or pissed off or offended by it."

     "If Evans was a better shot...if anything ever happened to you..."

     "I know.  I feel the same way."  Jim patted Blair's back lightly,
and kissed the side of his head.   "Shhh.  It's okay, sweetheart.  I'm
here."

     "I'm sorry."  Blair's voice was a bit steadier now, and his tears
seemed to have calmed to an occasional hitch in his breathing.

     "Nothing to be sorry for."

     "I should be taking care of you tonight."  Blair straightened up
and sniffed a couple of times, then laid a hand on the side of Jim's face.

     "How about if we take care of each other?"

     "We usually do," Blair responded, smiling as Jim used his
handkerchief to dry his lover's tears.  "What, you don't want me to
blow?"  Blair joked as Jim tucked his handkerchief back in his pocket.

     "I don't love you that much, Chief," Jim shot back, and then
smiled as Blair laughed out loud. //Mission accomplished.//

********

     "I was noticing that the shadow of those tree branches up there
in the lower right hand corner of the ceiling look sort of like a sailboat," 
Jim observed.  

     "You're supposed to be sleeping.  I thought those pain meds the
doctor prescribed usually work for you."

     "I didn't take them."

     "Jim."  Blair pulled himself up on one elbow and looked down at
his lover, who was lying on his back and analyzing the shadows on the
ceiling.  "You need your rest, man."  

     "I didn't want to be too dopey.  I dialed it down.  I'm all right." 
Jim was quiet a minute.  "What's your excuse, Darwin?"

     "Guess my mind's just moving too fast...too much to process." 
Blair flopped on his back next to Jim.  "Who'm I trying to kid?  Every
time I close my eyes, I see...*him*.  That last phone call just freaked me
out, you know?"

     "I called Simon before bed, and he ran a check on it.  It came
from a stolen cell phone."

     "Swell."  The two men were quiet a while longer before Blair
spoke again.  "I'm really sorry about all this, Jim."

     "About what?"

     "About...well, about all the...*crap* you've had to put up with
because of...well, Vince, and now maybe Borden..."  Blair shrugged.  "I
really am sorry for dragging all my baggage into our life like this."

     "Your baggage is my baggage, Chief.  Just like mine's yours. 
Comes with the territory."  Jim groped around under the blanket and
found Blair's hand.  "We'll figure this mess out."

     "I hope so."  Blair rolled onto his side and rested against Jim's
good side, laying his head on Jim's shoulder.   "Love you."

     "Love you too, cuddlebug."  Jim ran his hand up and down
Blair's back in long strokes.  "Don't worry about Borden.  We'll get
him."

********
     
     The first day of Jim's forced convalescence began on the phone,
as he was on the line to Simon first thing to check up on the progress in
hunting down Evans, as well as to run a check on Borden to see if he
was still safely ensconced in the mental facility.  

     "No word on Evans, and Simon's running a check on Borden
himself.  He'll call back when he's done," Jim reported to Blair, who was
serving him his breakfast, saving him the effort of maneuvering around
with his bad arm.  The doctor had stated that the flesh wound probably
wouldn't take too long to heal, but it was serious enough to warrant
limiting the arm's movement to prevent re-opening the wound. 
Meanwhile, Jim was off active duty at what he considered the worst
possible time.

     "Man, we were *so* close.  He can't have that many more places
to hide out."

     "He's probably trying to get out of town.  We've got roadblocks
set up, the airports, bus terminals--all that's covered."  Jim took a drink
of his coffee.

     "Did they ever lift a print of any kind off that matchbook they
found at the scene of the shooting?"

     "Just the bar owner's.  Henri and Joel questioned him, but there
was no evidence linking him to the shooting, and he had several
witnesses attest to the fact he was behind the bar all afternoon.  It's a
little odd that his was the only usable print.  Unless the guy who picked
it up was wearing gloves when he was in the bar."  Jim thought for a
moment.  "I'm going to see if Brown can take a run over there and
question the regulars, see if anyone remembers seeing a guy in there
wearing gloves recently.  I mean it's May--that's got to attract
attention."

     "Really," Blair agreed, sitting at the table with his own coffee
and bagel.   "You know you're working as much as you would at
work?"  Blair observed as Jim dialed another number on the cordless
phone, most likely to share that suggestion with Brown.

     "Ah, but this is even better.  I get to hand out orders and
*supervise* while I'm recuperating."  Jim smiled a little evilly, then,
"'morning, H.  Hey, would you be willing to follow up on something for
me?"   Blair watched his lover, amused, as the other man dispatched
Henri to go talk to the folks at Sonny's Grill.  "Really?  Great, can you
transfer me in there?  Thanks."  Jim covered the mouthpiece.  "Simon
wants to talk to me.  Hopefully we've got something on Borden."  Jim
waited a moment.  "Yeah.  What've you got?"  Jim listened, then rolled
his eyes.  "When?"  Another pause.  "Shit.  Timing's perfect."  Jim
listened a bit longer, then nodded.  "That's great.  Thanks, Simon--we
appreciate it."  Jim nodded slightly.  "Yes, I'm taking it easy. 
Sandburg's waiting on me hand and foot.  It was just a flesh wound. 
Between you two, you'd think I was in ICU or something."  Jim paused
again.  "Right.  Thanks again."  Jim hung up the phone.

     "Well?"

     "Borden escaped from the mental hospital where he was staying,
and he beat an orderly nearly to death in the process.  The guy's on life
support with a bashed in skull."

     "Oh no."  Blair covered his mouth briefly with his hand.  "When
did he get out?"

     "A little less than a week ago.  The facility is located near
Sacramento, so Simon is going to get a hold of a friend of his at the PD
there and find out what they know about Borden, what his obsessions
are, anything his doctors might have been able to tell them.  Plus, he's
putting an unofficial word-of-mouth APB out on him."  Jim paused. 
"Unless you can ID the voice as being Borden's--then it would be
official."

     "I didn't recognize it.  But then, I never talked to Borden on the
phone before, and I haven't talked to him at all for over a year now."

     "Before all this started...you got a phone call, here at the house. 
Remember?  Some guy threatening you?"

     "Oh yeah.  Now I do.  He said something like he was coming to
get me.  I figured it was some smart ass who didn't like his grade and
got my number off the syllabus."

     "The timing would have been right for Borden--that would have
been right after he got out."

     "Maybe we could find out where that call came from?"

     "Good thinking.  We've got to get going if we're going to make
Mae's funeral."

     "Are you up to that?"

     "It's just a flesh wound, sweetheart.  As long as I take it easy and
keep my arm in the sling, I should be fine."

     "Okay."  Blair stood up and reached for his breakfast dishes. 
"I'll go upstairs and--" He was cut off when Jim pulled him into a 
one-armed clutch, his butt landing on the larger man's lap.  Jim started
nuzzling the back of his neck.  "What're you doing?"  Blair asked,
laughing a little.

     "You have about ten minutes to spare?"  Jim asked, a decidedly
devilish tone to his voice.

     "What about your arm?"

     "I don't need my arm for what I've got in mind."  Jim punctuated
the remark by letting his tongue snake out to lick at the side of Blair's
throat.

     "I have an idea."

     "Dangerous words, baby," Jim growled against the spot on
Blair's neck he'd been licking and nuzzling.  

     "I think you're gonna like this."  Blair wriggled out of Jim's
clutches and turned to face him, kneeling in front of the chair and
opening Jim's robe.  Grasping the waistband of Jim's boxers, Blair
looked up at his lover with blatant lust.  "We need to lose these.  Now."

     "Aye, aye, sir."  Jim obligingly lifted his butt and Blair dispensed
with the offending garment easily.

     "Mmm.  Breakfast."  Blair licked his lips slowly, concentrating
on the shaft that was already beginning to take an interest in what he
was doing.  Sliding his own robe off his shoulders, Blair tossed it aside
and slid his boxers down and off, kicking them out of the way to join the
robe.  Kneeling again in front of Jim, he encouraged the strong thighs
apart and moved between them, leaning in to lick at Jim's balls, finally
sucking the first oval into his mouth, then moving to the second.  His
hair brushed the insides of Jim's thighs as the larger man watched the
slightly sleep-rumpled curls moving between his legs.

     "Oh, man!"  Jim gasped, his back arching as the oral
ministrations shot hot pokers of pleasure from his groin throughout his
entire body.  

     Blair moved from the now saliva-slicked, taut balls to the rapidly
engorging shaft, drawing his tongue up the underside of it in a long,
tortuous stroke.  Then he pounced, swallowing Jim whole in one
passionate swoop.  If Blair could have smiled, he would have, at the
loud growl of pleasure that brought.  He kept his hands on Jim's hips,
hoping to control the undulations that seemed to be happening
independent of Jim's will.  

     And then he pulled back, releasing the pulsing cock from the hot
wetness that had brought it to hardness.

     "What...?"  Jim opened passion-glazed eyes and looked down at
Blair, who was standing up now.  He calmly handed Jim the small
plastic tub of whipped butter, then turned around, bending over and
gripping his calves.

     "Your move, stud boy," Blair teased, thrusting his ass out
invitingly.

     Jim grappled with the container with a shaky hand, dipping his
fingers in it, knowing he'd never be able to put it on toast again without
getting semi-hard.  Wishing he had both hands to devour the prize in
front of him, he went through a cursory preparation of stretching the
snug passage, since Blair was relaxed and more than willing.  

     Blair felt the greasy fingers probing his hole, first one, then two,
then that delicious stretch as the third one slipped inside him, opening
him and getting him ready for Jim.  The stroke to his prostate turned his
grunts of pleasure to a scream, and Jim repeated the stroke several times
over until Blair was nearly mindless with the ecstasy of it.  Bending over
this way for Jim, coupled with the movements of the busy fingers had
brought Blair to full hardness, and he was relieved to feel the fingers
slide out of his body, and a firm hand on his hip, encouraging him to
turn around, guiding him toward his goal.  

     Jim guided his lover until his slick hole was positioned over the 
hard shaft waiting to claim it.  He moaned in pleasure as Blair made the
descent in one long, slow motion until rounded buttocks brushed against
Jim's thighs.  

     "Come here," Jim got his good arm around Blair's middle and
pulled him close, kissing his way across the smooth expanse of Blair's
throat and shoulders.  Blair had straddled his lap, and now began to
writhe on the hard column that impaled him.  

     Jim's cock was hitting Blair's prostate with almost every move,
and the painful intensity of the pleasure made Blair cry out with each
impact.  Blair's engorged shaft, trapped between their writhing bodies,
thrived on the friction of flesh on flesh.  Blair grabbed one of Jim's
shoulders and the edge of the table, riding his lover faster and harder
until both men were groaning and crying out their pleasure, the sounds
mingled until neither was sure which came from his own mouth and
which came from his lover's.  

     "That's it, baby.  Come for me," Jim whispered huskily against
Blair's ear as the younger man's head dropped back, his hair brushing his
shoulders and falling down his back, a few strands sticking to moist
skin.  

     "Oh, yeah, these little guys are interested in playing," Jim opined,
staring lecherously at Blair's taut nipples.  Moving in to drag his tongue
over the first little protrusion, he drew it firmly into his mouth, sucking
hard on the little bud of flesh, loving the groans it dragged out of Blair
as the younger man held onto Jim's shoulders, careful not to touch the
sensitive area of Jim's injured arm.

     "God, Jim, fuck me hard," Blair groaned, followed by a wail of
pleasure as Jim released the nipple held prisoner in his mouth and took
the invitation, making the effort to thrust upward as hard as his position
allowed.

     "Come on, baby, move that sweet ass for me," Jim goaded. 
"Ride it, baby."

     Blair let out a final cry of Jim's name, and spurted his completion
between their bodies.

     As Blair's body contracted around him in frantic spasms, Jim
shouted his lover's name and in a couple wild thrusts, filled Blair with
his seed before his body stilled, truly spent from the mind-blowing
orgasm.  

     Blair was panting above him, his own sweaty body finally
slumping against Jim, his head angling around so their lips could meet,
although awkwardly, for a lazy kiss.

     "Wow," Jim said eloquently, running his hand over Blair's damp
back, again wishing he could use both arms to cradle his spent lover in
the afterglow.

     "I should move while I still can," Blair said, grinning up at Jim.

     "You could just stay there.  I don't mind," Jim teased, nipping at
the nearby earlobe.  "That was beautiful, sweetheart.  You're beautiful."

     "We're beautiful," Blair responded, smiling and finding Jim's
mouth for another kiss.  

     "God you smell good," Jim opined, nuzzling the damp curls.

     "I need a shower," Blair retorted, laughing a little.  The motion
vibrated the lax cock still buried in his body.  "And I need to move
before the general salutes again," Blair added, moving carefully to let
Jim slide free of his body.  In an instant, they were kissing deeply,
smiling as they ran into each other while each trying to kiss every part of
the other's face.

     "Are we late yet?"  Jim asked, focusing on the kitchen clock. 
They had about an hour before they had to leave the house.  "Great. 
Time for a nice, long shower."

     "I love you," Blair said softly, leaning in for a much slower,
gentler kiss.

     "I love you too, angel.  Let's go get washed up, huh?"

     "That means I have to move."

     "Well, normally I'd carry you, but a one-armed load you're not."

     Blair hauled himself off Jim's lap with a little groan, and Jim
stood up on his own slightly shaky legs, shrugging his robe back on his
shoulders.  Blair grabbed his robe and boxers as well as Jim's discarded
boxers and walked shamelessly nude toward the stairway.   Jim tried not
to concentrate too hard on how it felt to be buried to the hilt in the sexy
bare ass that was making its way up the stairs in front of him. 


********

     The funeral dinner for Mae was held at her church, and since
Brian and Kelli would be making their trip back home immediately
following, Jim and Blair opted to stay for it.  As they sat at one of the
long tables mixed with friends and relatives, Jim happened to glance
over at Blair, to see him shifting a bit in his seat.  The other man caught
his gaze and winked.  Jim wondered if his face was turning the color it
felt like it was turning, and sincerely hoped it was only his heightened
sense of touch magnifying the hot blush beyond what it really was.

     "So, you two are heading home this afternoon?"  Blair said.

     "Our flight leaves in about two hours," Brian responded, still a
bit subdued after their confrontation at the funeral home.  

     "Maybe when we come up in the fall we can spend a little more
time together," Kelli suggested.  "We'd like to invite you guys to come
out to one of the shows.  Brian--aren't you going to be playing in Seattle
during the tour?"

     "Probably.  Nothing's firmed up yet.  We don't even have the
album out yet."

     "I just mean that you usually do."

     "Yeah, we do."

     "The label's talking about them going on as headliners this time," 
Kelli added.

     "Congratulations," Blair spoke up.

     "Thanks.  The whole opening act scene sucks.  I'm glad to be
finally planning a *real* tour."  

     The conversation progressed along calmly, with Jim and Blair
meeting and talking with Kelli's sister and her husband, as well as a few
other family members.  By the time the dinner was over, and the four of
them were strolling out into the vestibule of the church, Blair managed
to get Brian aside for a moment.

     "Michael sent you a message," Blair said quietly.  Brian's face
brightened immediately.

     "You've talked to him again?"

     "He said to tell you he loved you."

     "Blair, look, I know Jim's against it, but if you can contact
him...*please* help me to talk to him.  I...I *need* to talk to him."

     "I told him you missed him, that you were having a hard time
without him.  He said he loved you, but that it wasn't your time yet. 
He's going to wait for you, Brian.  But he wants you to live your life
now.  Not pine away for a ghost."

     "Look, I promise, I won't keep harassing you for this.  But I
really, really need to just spend some time in his presence again.  If you
can do that, why won't you let me be in on it?  My God, I loved him
with all my heart and soul!  If anyone deserves to make contact with
him, why not me?"  Brian took a hold of Blair's upper arms and gave
him one hard shake.  A firm hand clamped on one of his wrists.

     "Because Blair's not hanging out his shingle as a medium."  Jim
stepped up behind Blair.   "Get your hands off him.  He's not Michael,
and he's not going to be your stand-in either."

     "He has contact with him.  Is it so wrong to want to get in touch
with someone you love?  Besides, man, I don't hear him speaking for
himself."  Brian backed off a bit physically, but he wasn't giving up his
argument.

     "You hear it now, Brian.  Michael has said it isn't your time.  I
asked if he wanted to see you, and that's what he said.  I take my cues
from him."

     "I don't believe he doesn't want to see me.  I don't believe that
he'd refuse to communicate if I were there."

     "I don't know how to make this any clearer."  Jim's entire body
seemed to stiffen out with anger.  "Michael doesn't own our house, and
he's not calling the shots.  Neither are you.  Blair did what he did out of
the goodness of his heart.  It was a one-time shot, pal.  I've tried to keep
this friendly because I didn't want to have a confrontation over it during
Mae's funeral.  But I'm telling you now--once you get on that plane, you
stay the hell away from Blair and quit harassing him about Michael.  Got
it?"

     "I want to hear it from Blair."

     "You did hear it from me but you weren't listening, man.  I told
you that Michael said it wasn't your time.  If you can't take it from us,
take it from him."  Blair paused.  "I understand that you love him--he
loves you too.  But he's not...of this world anymore.  And every time we
talk, you bring the subject back to Michael and start hinting at asking
me to make contact with him."

     "I love him.  I want to be near him.  I don't care if it's once a
year or once every fucking *decade*."  Something in Brian's
desperation seemed to soften Blair's resolve.  

     "Brian, there's something going on...  There's this guy who's
stalking me--it's a long story.  See, I think the reason Michael is around
is to try to warn me about this mess--to help me.  I honestly don't think
he wants to mess up your life with Kelli.  When he said it wasn't your
time, I think he was trying to let his good bye to you stand so you could
go on living."

     "Yeah?  Well, I'm sorry about your stalker problem.  Your cop
friend here doing anything about it?"  Brian tried to lighten his tone a
little toward Jim.  

     "We're doing everything we can, and a few things we normally
wouldn't if Blair weren't as important to the PD as he is."

     "I'm just trying to say that I think that's why Michael's restless. 
I'm going to be honest with you on one thing, Brian, because I think you
deserve to know.  I feel Michael's presence very noticeably quite a lot,
but he doesn't usually communicate in any direct manner anymore. 
This...problem I'm having...it's brought him out.  But I really felt that he
was at peace with how things were left with you--and while he loves
you as much as you love him--for that *reason*--he's trying to let you
have a life.  He's still going to be waiting for you when it's over.  But
you've got the success now you always wanted, and you have a great
wife--"

     "But I don't have him.  If you didn't have Jim, would any of that
shit matter to you?"  Brian asked, pinning Blair with an intense gaze.

     "No, I don't suppose it would."  Blair looked at Jim, and then
back at Brian.  "If you want to stop by the house before you leave...we
can give Michael the opportunity if he has anything else to say.  I'm not
promising anything, and I'm not going to do anything...like before.  I
don't want this getting physical."

     "Anything you're willing to do, I'll be grateful for.  I won't push
you to do anything you're not comfortable with.  I just want to talk to
him."

     "Okay.  Stop by the house before you leave today.  What you
tell Kelli--well, that's up to you."

********

     "I don't like this, Chief."  Jim didn't look a bit happy as he sat in
one of the big wingback chairs in Blair's study.  "I think you're taking a
dangerous road with Brian."  

     "I couldn't say no.  Not when I put myself in his place."  Blair
sighed, staring into the dormant fireplace across from where they sat. 
"If something happened to you...I would want to be with you.  And if I
could find someone who could make that happen...  It's just like you
said--it would make me crazy to be denied that."

     "Still, I--" Jim paused when the phone rang.  Blair got up and
picked up the extension on his desk.  

     "Hi, Simon.  Yeah, he's right here."  Blair handed the phone to
Jim.

     "Yes, Simon?"  A smile curved Jim's mouth like a large cat that
just set his sights on a choice, fat canary.  "When?"  A pause.  "You bet
I want to be in on it.  I can be there in a half hour."  Jim hung up the
phone.  "Guess who the cat just dragged in?"

     "Who?"  

     "Evans.  Caught the fucker hiding in the basement of his
grandmother's house.  Mr. Tough Guy," Jim snorted, standing up and
heading for the door of the room.  "Come on."

     "Brian's due here any minute."

     "I thought you were all gung-ho about this case, Chief."

     "I am.  But I promised Brian, and they're leaving in a little over
an hour.  He probably won't get another chance to do this for a while. 
Look, why don't you go ahead and I'll handle this situation with Brian."

     "Absolutely not."

     "Jim, Brian isn't going to hurt me.  He's a good guy, and besides,
if he hurts me, he closes the door on communicating with Michael. 
Besides, Michael won't let anything happen to me."

     "So I'm supposed to trust Brian's character and a ghost?"

     "The ghost hasn't let us down yet, and we don't have any reason
to think that Brian is suddenly this horrible psychotic who's going to
attack me.  I think of him as a friend."

     "I want you to keep my old gun within reach.  It's been cleaned
within the last week, and it's loaded."

     "Oh for God's sake, Jim.  Like I'm going to shoot Brian."

     "If he decides to force an issue with you, you might consider it."

     "What, you think he's going to rape me while I'm channeling
Michael?"

     "The thought had crossed my mind.  The only reason he stopped
last time was because Michael called a halt to it.  What if this time, they
both want it?"  Jim shook his head.  "No way."

     "Jim, Brian isn't going to hurt me.  And I want you to go deal
with Evans.  You know that case means a lot to me."

     "Yeah, I know that, Chief.  But not half as much as you mean to
me."  Jim rested his hand on the side of Blair's face.  "You really think
this is safe?"

     "Yes.  And truthfully, Jim, as negatively as you feel about this
whole thing right now with Brian--I think it could have a bad effect. 
Spirits respond to those negative feelings, and Michael might not show
up at all."

     "Okay then."  Jim kissed Blair's forehead and walked into the
foyer, picking up his keys off the table there.

     "You can drive all right?"

     "Sure.  My right arm's fine, and I'm not planning on doing any
high speed pursuits," Jim concluded with a smile.  

     "Be careful."

     "You too.  And don't let anyone else in except Brian--got it?"

     "I got it."

     "Go get the gun.  It's in the top left drawer of the dresser."

     "I know where it is."

     "Promise me, Chief."

     "I promise," Blair agreed.

     "I'll call you."

     "Give us a while, huh?"

     "I will."  Jim paused a moment and then headed out the door. 
As he stood in the open truck door, he looked back up at Blair, standing
inside the front door.  "Love you."

     "Love you too.  Let me know how things are going with Evans. 
If I get cleared away early enough here, I can drive in and join you."

     "Wait 'til you hear from me, okay?"

     "Sure.  See you later," Blair said, watching Jim get into the truck
and start up the engine.  The truck passed Brian's rental car as the two
vehicles went opposite directions up the wide, winding drive.

******** 

     Blair lit the final of the six candles on the coffee table.  Brian and
he were seated on the floor on either side of it, the shades in the TV
room drawn to close out the sunlight.

     "Okay, the last time I did this, I just sat here and tried to clear
my mind of all distractions.  So let's close our eyes, and try to clear our
minds.  And relax."  Blair waited until Brian had closed his eyes and
then Blair closed his, and took in a long, slow, deep breath, expelling it
slowly.  

     The first thing that popped into his clearing mind was that he
hadn't gone up to the bedroom to get the gun as he'd promised Jim. 
One thing he never did was break a promise to Jim, no matter how
minor it might seem.

********

     "Look, I don't know how many times you want me to say this," 
Evans stated, his face a mask of anger.  The hulking man's face was
framed with dark, semi-curly hair, a black mustache adorning his upper
lip.  Both forearms bore tattoos, one of a snake, the other a sword.  "I
didn't kill her.  I wasn't anywhere near the house that night.  There was a
fucking restraining order on me.  I didn't want to get my ass hauled into
court again by that bitch."

     "I can see you're all torn up about your wife's death," Jim shot
back, making a couple of notes on Evans' file, as if he could care less
about what the man was saying.  

     "She broke up with me and was trying to take me for my last
cent.  Then she starts sayin' I'm some sorta wife beater.  If you're lookin'
for me to get all misty because she's dead, you're gonna be
disappointed."

     "If you're so innocent, why did you go into hiding?"  Jim asked,
his face as impassive as if it had been carved in granite.

     "Because I figured the cops would take her word over mine. 
And when I heard she'd gotten murdered, I knew I was goin' down for
it."

     "So all of this was just a bad rap?  You never hit your wife?"

     "We had some fights.  Same as anybody."

     "There are arguments, and then there are fights.  What were
these?"

     "Don't get tricky with me.  I know my rights.  I want a lawyer."

     "Fine, you'll have your lawyer.  Don't forget to mention to him
that you shot a cop--assault with a deadly weapon against a police
officer is a damn serious offense, Ace.  And one way or another, you're
going down for that one, because *this* victim is still alive, and just
waiting to hang your ass out to dry."

     "Yeah, well, that doesn't prove I killed Wendy."

     "Oh don't worry.  We'll take care of that."  Jim smiled
sarcastically before rising and leaving the interrogation room.  Simon
was standing on the other side of the two-way mirror, chewing on his
cigar, looking more than a little perplexed.

     "Is he lying?"  he asked Jim.

     "Like a rug."  Jim shook his head.  "His voice is the same voice
that was on the tape of the 911 call that was the ruse to get the unit
away from Wendy's place."

     "I really hate that this case ended this way.  Not just because of
Sandburg's connection to it--but because it was so damned preventable."

     "Was it?  That's the thing I keep going back and forth with when
I talk to Blair about it.  If he was prepared to kill her, he probably would
have done it when the opportunity presented itself.  We couldn't guard
her forever."

     "No, that's true.  I guess it makes me think a little harder about
all that harping Sandburg's done about getting a more effective domestic
violence unit.  A couple overworked cops and a burned out part-time
social worker aren't really doing the job anymore."  Simon shook his
head, crossing his arms over his chest.  "This is the third family dispute-relate
d homicide we've had in the last year."

     "I know it'll mean a lot to Blair that the issue is even being
considered."

     "Technically, it isn't being considered by anyone but me.  But I
do plan to run it by Chief Warren."  Simon looked back through the
glass at Evans, a look of disgust on his face.  "Oh, by the way, Jim," he
turned to look at Ellison,  "we got the Forensics report back on the
flowers and the greeting card Sandburg got.  One of the prints on the
vase was Mark Borden's."

     "I just stopped by and took a look at the composite drawing of
the delivery guy on my way up here.  It looks to me like the son of a
bitch walked right into headquarters and delivered them himself."

     "Where *is* Sandburg anyway?  I thought for sure he'd want to
be here for this."

     "He did, but a friend of ours was coming over, and he's leaving
tonight to fly back out to New York--Mae Devon's granddaughter's
husband."

     "The lady whose funeral you went to today?"

     "Right.  She...helped us with the house."

     "I remember who she was," Simon responded, the skepticism
still evident in his voice.  

     "So who's hot shot's attorney?"  Jim inclined his head toward the
interrogation room.

     "Public defender.  Don't know who it's going to be, but it better
be somebody good, for his sake."

     "Better be a miracle worker," Jim added, a sneery little smile on
his face.

********

     Jim looked at the clock, bored with waiting for Evans' attorney
to arrive so they could resume questioning.  It was almost four, two and
a half hours since he'd left Blair at the house.  Brian should be airborne
by now if all went well, and if it didn't, he'd be airborne as soon as Jim
got a hold of him.  Figuring it was safe to call the house without
disturbing any significant contacts with the spirit world, Jim dialed the
number.  

     "I'm sorry, the number you are dialing is temporarily out of
service."  

     Jim stared at the receiver, stunned, and then dialed his number
again.  The same recording greeted him.  In a flash, he was out of his
chair and in the hall, heading for the elevator, cursing himself for having
trusted the obsessed man to be alone with Blair.

     The drive to the house was a blur of traffic, car horns and
ignored traffic signals as Jim made a single-minded flight with lights and
siren, calling back into headquarters to request back up for what could
be a hostage or assault situation.  He could faintly hear other sirens in
the distance, one of which was the ambulance that he'd requested.  He
wasn't sure what had happened, and prayed fervently that he had
overreacted, and that Blair would be sitting in his study, reading calmly,
and that the whole phone situation would be a simple technical
difficulty.  He found that whole scenario highly unlikely.  

     Pulling up in the drive and bringing the truck to a halt, Jim
jumped out and ran for the front door, tearing the sling off his arm and
tossing it aside, drawing his gun and ignoring the flare of pain in the
healing wound.  He unlocked the front door, then gave it a shove, 
sending it swinging open.  He burst through the opening, scanning the
house with all senses on full alert.  If the entry hall was any indication,
something was seriously wrong.  Beads from the crystal chandelier near
the stairs were scattered all over the floor and the staircase, the plant
that had been on the table looked as if it had exploded, shards of the pot
everywhere, mixed in with dirt, shredded leaves and the crystals.  The
two framed pictures that had been on the wall were on the floor in piles
of smashed glass.

     "Blair!"  he called out.  No response.  There was some sound of
movement coming from the other side of the staircase, but it wasn't
Blair.  Jim edged around the foot of the stairs and sprang into a firm
stance with his gun aimed at the source of the noise near the side of the
staircase.  Brian lay on the floor in a pool of his own blood, the result of
a wound in his chest.

     "Brian?"  Jim squatted near the wounded man, and tuning in to
the slowing pulse, the white pallor and the lack of consciousness,
realized he was very near death.  "Hang on, Brian.  There's an
ambulance on the way," Jim squeezed one limp, cool hand before rising
to his feet again and resuming his search for some evidence of his lover's
whereabouts.  He stopped at the foot of the stairs and zeroed in on a
small red splotch on a step near the middle of the staircase.  

     A thorough search of the house revealed almost every room in
the same condition as the entry hall.  It looked as if a tornado had ripped
through the interior of the house, and the Forensics team that arrived
wandered through the destruction, baffled for a way to explain how any
human could wreak this particular type of havoc.  Items that were
broken were left in patterns that implied they had exploded rather than
been smashed.  The damage to the chandelier appeared to be the work
of an incredible wind rather than human vandalism.

     Jim found the dresser drawer still open, items in it hastily shoved
aside, the gun missing.  When Blair went after it, he was obviously in a
hurry.  

     Brian was rushed to the hospital in the ambulance, barely
clinging to life.  And Blair was nowhere to be found.

********

     Blair tugged at the restraints that held his wrists and ankles
firmly in place.  He knew he was nude except for his boxer shorts, as he
could feel the fabric of the bedspread beneath his bare skin.  He fought
the effects of whatever drug had been injected into his system and
forced his eyes to open.  They widened in horror at what he saw.  He
was back in the bedroom he used to share with Vince.

     "Welcome home, bitch," a low voice pulled his attention to the
small easy chair in the corner of the room.  Mark Borden sat there,
grinning sadistically at his captive.

     "How...why are we here?"  Blair asked, trying to ignore the
barrage of unwelcome memories his situation was bringing back.

     "I rented the place.  Thought you might enjoy a trip down
memory lane."

     "You're making a big mistake, Borden."

     "No, man, *you* made a big mistake."

     "You've probably killed a man...and now you're holding me
hostage, over a *grade*?"

     "What?  A *grade*?  You think I give a shit about your two-bit
class or your stupid fucking grading curve?"  Borden threw his head
back and laughed.  "I was talking about Vince."

     "What do you know about Vince?   Why the obsession with
him?"

     "I'll give you three guesses, professor," Borden shot back,
watching Blair with a satisfied smirk.

     "I figured it was to get back at me."

     "Let me ask you something.  Did you really think some pathetic
excuse for a sorry-ass bitch like you was enough for a man like Vince
Watson?"

     "What are you driving at?"  Blair demanded, angry enough at
that moment not to care if he antagonized his captor.  

     "'No, please, not that...it's not going to fit!'" Borden shouted in a
sappy, almost effeminate tone of voice.  "Sound familiar?"

     "Not particularly, no," Blair retorted, knowing only too well that
it sounded very much like one of his countless pleas for mercy when
Vince was either raping him or torturing him with one of his ungodly
oversized toys.  He swallowed the bile that rose in his throat.

     "It's a quote from one of my favorite adult films.  You know,
Vince really knew how to put on a hell of a show.  When he got done
fucking your little pansy-ass, you wanna know who fucked his?" 
Borden stood up.  "What's the matter?  Did you think he was married to
you or something?  You were a joke."

     "What are you talking about?"  Blair asked, a little of his fight
gone as the thoughts that dawned on him were nothing short of
horrifying.

     "When I was a freshman at Rainier, I met Vince.  I stayed off the
wrestling team because we got involved right away, and he figured his
job would be on the line if he was doing it with one of his students."

     "You and Vince?"

     "Yeah, me and Vince."  Borden looked over the gun he was
holding with great interest.  "You know, I never figured on picking up a
handgun.  That's going to be helpful."

     "If you kill me, it's murder one.  You could be executed for
that."

     "They've gotta catch me first.  Besides, haven't you heard?  I'm
crazy."  Borden leaned on the brass footboard of the bed with both
elbows.  "You know, you've put on a little weight since you starred in
the movies.  Not weight exactly--looks like you've been working out. 
Nice muscles.  You're not bad for a little guy."  Borden ran the barrel of
the gun along the inside of Blair's left calf.  Blair jerked his leg as far
away as he could, but the other man persisted until he could continue
the stroking despite Blair's disdain for it.  

     "You and Vince were lovers?"

     "Until you and that asshole you live with murdered him."

     "So that's why you came after me about the grade?"

     "I didn't care about the motherfucking grade.  But I made up my
mind I was gonna make your life hell.  That was just the beginning."  To
Blair's relief, he abandoned the stroking activity.  "There's something
seriously weird about you, man.   What did you do to conjure up all that
shit I saw--some kind of weird ancient spell or something?"

     "If you believe that, why are you chancing this?  I could do it
again."

     "You could.  But you know what?  I don't care.  I've got nothing
to lose, man.  Give it your best shot."  He moved up to the side of the
bed and knelt on it with one knee, running the barrel of the gun from the
middle of Blair's chest down to the edge of the waistband on his boxers,
tugging at it a little.  "This is going to be more than worth it, bitch."

     "What do you want from me?"

     "Plenty."  He got up off the bed and walked over to the dresser. 
"You know, it's a real break that they rent this place furnished.  Kind of
completes the whole deja vu thing, doesn't it?"  Borden gestured around
the room with his muscular arms.  He looked like an ugly clone of
Watson, right down to his brown brush cut and his undersized white t-shirt 
fitting each curve of his muscled torso.  "I have something you
might get a kick out of.  Don't go away now," he taunted, leaving the
room momentarily.  When he returned, he was grunting under the
weight of a 25" TV, which he plunked on the barren dresser.  "This is
one that's got the VCR right in it.  Handy, eh?"  

     "What're you doing?"  Blair asked, trying to keep his voice
steady and assertive.  He couldn't think about what Borden actually had
in mind for the rest of their time together.

     "Well, Vince dubbed me a copy of this one movie I particularly
liked.  He didn't like to have them out and around, so usually, we
watched together and he kept the tapes.  But this one--he gave it to me
for my birthday.  Actually, he knew I had a real kink for dildos, so he
*made* this little film just for me."

     "Get to the point," Blair shot back, forcing himself to sound
tougher than he felt.  

     "You remember Vince's toy box?  The little green felt covered
one?"  Borden smiled wickedly as Blair bit his lip and closed his eyes
briefly.  "I see you do.  Well, one of the nights he used the whole gamut
on you, he had a tape rolling.  You didn't know that, did you?  This was
Vince's one and only 'candid camera' venture."  Borden popped the tape
into the machine and turned on the power.   Then he moved over to sit
on the bed next to his captive, aiming the gun at him.  "You keep your
eyes open and on the screen, or I'll blow your fucking brains out--got
it?"  Blair didn't answer him, and Borden reached down and took painful
hold of his prisoner's balls.  "Understand me, bitch?"

     "Yes," Blair ground out.

     "Yes, what?"  Borden grinned, increasing the pressure.

     "Yes, sir," Blair managed, feeling tears spring to his eyes at the
pressure.

     "That's better."  Borden removed his hand and Blair tried vainly
to move his legs up as he writhed against the pain radiating from his
abused privates.  "You know, we used to watch tapes of you before
we'd fuck.  It got us both horny.  We used to have to wrestle for who
got to top.  Sometimes I'd fuck him while he was on his stomach,
watching one of these tapes.  I used to hear you screaming almost as
much as I'd hear him.  You got quite a set of pipes on you, Sandburg. 
You better not try that tonight, or I'll kill ya--understood?"  Borden
pressed the gun against Blair's temple.  

     "Yes, sir."

     "You *are* a good little whipped bitch, aren't you?  Fuck, man,
Watson really taught you some manners.  You just have to be reminded
of them once in a while."

     Borden pressed the play button the remote and cranked up the
volume, then tossed the control aside, leaving one hand free to explore
while the other held the gun.

********

     "What the hell really happened here, Jim?"  Simon picked his
way through the debris in the entry hall.

     "Michael," Jim said quietly from where he sat on the bottom
step.  "The blood was Blair's, wasn't it?"

     "No.  It was Brian Nolan's."  Simon paused by the banister,
looking down at Jim."  Simon frowned.  "Michael?   As in Michael
Crandle, the musician who was murdered here?  Are we talking about
your ghost again?"

     "How do you explain this?  Simon, what blows the crystals off a
chandelier?  Or...*blows up* plants?"

     "I don't know, but I'm not ready to accept the ghost theory just
yet.  Madmen have a lot of strength."

     "Damn."  Jim got up and started pacing.  "Blair would know
how to look for a sign.  How to *ask* for a sign.  Any attack on Brian
or Blair would draw Michael out.  And not in a good way.  One thing
Blair's right about--Michael's spirit is very protective of him."

     "Jim, this is just a little too much for me.  I know you believe in
all this mumbo-jumbo--"

     "The music room."  Jim headed back for the room they now
used as the TV room.  Simon was still frowning when they entered the
equally ransacked room.

     "The *music* room?"

     "This was Michael's music room when he lived here.  It's the
center of the...activity."

     "What do you expect to find here?"

     "Something.  Anything."  Jim froze in his tracks.  The
windchimes were beginning to jangle with the breeze, but then they
picked up again, building to a crescendo that had even Simon covering
his ears.  

     "What the hell is that?"  he exclaimed, following Jim into the
kitchen.  

     "The windchimes on the back porch--" Jim stared at the
destruction in the kitchen, but his attention was drawn to the spilled bag
of flour in the middle of the tan linoleum floor.  The word "Vine" had
been written in it, as if with someone's finger.

     "Vine?"  Simon yelled over the chimes, which suddenly tapered,
and then quieted completely.  He looked at Jim, a bit wide-eyed.

     "You ready to believe me about our...tenant?"  Jim stared at the
word on the floor.  "Vine..."  A chill ran up and down Jim's spine as one
connection registered.  "Watson's place was on Vine Court."

     "Watson?  He's been dead for, what, two years now?"

     "Going on three."

     "Jim, your arm's bleeding," Simon noted with concern.  "Where's
your sling?"

     "Probaby in the shrubs out front."  Noticing Simon's surprised
look, Jim added.  "It was in my way when I was getting ready to make
my entrance.  I didn't want anything obstructing my shooting capabilities
in case."  Jim looked down at the spreading dark patch on the sleeve of
his gray shirt.  "I'll go change the bandage.  Then I want to go check out
Watson's place."

     "He's dead, Jim."  Simon followed Jim up the stairs, trying to
avoid slipping on the myriad of little crystals scattered on the stairs.

     "If Michael said 'Vine', he had a reason.  That's the only one that
comes to mind."  Jim pulled the supplies out of the medicine cabinet and
then took off his shirt, tossing it on the closed toilet lid.  After a couple
of aborted fumbles with the materials, Simon wordlessly stepped in and
took over.  "I guess I forgot...Blair usually does it for me."  Jim
swallowed, his jaw twitching visibly.

     "We're going to find Sandburg.  That kid always lands on his
feet, Jim.  He'll be okay."  

     "Anybody has a limit, Simon.  I'm just wondering where Blair's
is."

********

     The images playing out on the screen made Blair feel as if
someone had videotaped his most horrific nightmare in living color. 
Only worse.  Now he was seeing it from an angle he couldn't have
imagined...as a spectator.  He felt the tears leak out the corners of his
eyes, unable to stop the wrenching pain of reliving such a degrading
violation at Watson's hands, seeing himself pleading and crying and
bleeding, tugging on the restraints that were not unlike the ones he was
in now.

     When Borden's hand began its second voyage over his body,
trailing over his chest, and then rubbing over a nipple, Blair's stomach
rebelled violently.  He had already endured the whims of the questing
hand as it explored his body, and now he was unable to stop the intense
wave of sickness as he vomited directly into Borden's lap.  As the
nausea receded, he simply lay there, limp in his restraints, his wrists and
ankles raw from the struggle against the leather straps, the emotional
anguish and the physical illness draining the last ounce of his strength. 
He had no fight left.

     "You dirty fucking bitch!"  Borden shot up off the bed.  "When I
get back, you're gonna pay for that stunt!"  Borden stormed out of the
room, obviously intending to clean off his vomit-spattered pants.

     Blair's eyes darted frantically around the room, looking for any
possible means of escape.  But there was no loosening the restraints,
and even the curtained window or the open bedroom door didn't offer
any options when he couldn't reach them.  He could only think of one
possible recourse.  

     He took a deep breath and let out the loudest scream he could
muster.  And then another.  And another.  

     Borden came flying back into the room, bringing the hand that
bore the gun back and using it to smash across Blair's face.  The blow
stopped the yelling, and before Blair could muster the energy to try
again, Borden stuffed a large washcloth in Blair's mouth to gag him.

     "You better pray nobody calls the cops.  If they do, I'll put a
bullet in your brain before they can get to you.   Now we're going to
turn you over.  You fight me, you die.  Is that clear?"  He stared
menacingly at Blair, who just stared at him with wide, wet eyes.  "Is that
clear!!"  he bellowed.  Blair nodded.  "I'm going to release your right
arm.  Don't even think about fighting me.  You'll still have three limbs
restrained."

     Borden began the arduous task of rotating all the restraints, one
at a time.  He had little concern or regard for any pain he caused his
captive by stretching his limbs almost beyond their capability to change
the position of each restraint with the others still in place, but
eventually, he had Blair on his stomach, his wrists bound fairly close
together to the headboard, his ankles tethered to opposite posts of the
footboard.  

     Smiling as he noted the tremors passing through his nearly nude
prisoner, he ran the barrel of the gun languidly up and down Blair's
spine.  

     "I always wanted to get a piece of what Vince was getting.  I
wanted to do a threesome, but he kept saying you'd never last through
two of us.  We used to laugh about you."  Borden got down close to
Blair's face, but Blair turned his head the other way.  Borden grabbed a
handful of curls and yanked Blair's head back in the direction he wanted
it.  "You were a fucking joke.  While we were in the sack together, he
used to tell me what he'd done to punish you for sniffing around after
your cop boyfriend.  'Lovesick little puke', he used to call you.  Aw,
what's the matter?"  Borden said in a mocking tone.  "Did you think you
were his one and only?"  Borden sat back on the mattress.  "That's a
good one.  The only reason he kept you is because I wouldn't let him
top all the time.  You were such a weak little goddamned fairy that he
could fuck you anytime he felt like it."

     Blair closed his eyes and felt the tears running out now, realizing
he really didn't care anymore about dignity or whether or not Borden
was enjoying the show.  Between the pain in his stretched limbs and the
throbbing in his jaw from the blow and the icy terror in his soul about
the pain to come, dignity seemed a minor concern.  

     "You remember this?"  Borden poked at Blair's face with
something hard.  "Look at it!!"  he bellowed, startling his captive into
opening his eyes and looking straight at an ominously large dildo.  "It's
not the same one, but it'll do."  He smiled as Blair tried to move his face
away from the object, held in place by Borden's grip on his hair.  "Well,
I'm gonna get me some of that sweet little ass for myself."  

     Blair felt a hand slide under the waistband of his boxers in the
back, and then felt the fabric move as he heard something cutting it
away.

     "Whoa, that *is* a nice piece of meat," Borden opined,
snatching the ruined fabric away and swatting Blair's naked rear.  Blair
hated the startled little whine it brought from the back of his throat. 
"What's the matter, don't like getting your pretty ass paddled?" 

     "Hands up before I blow your head off, you sick motherfucker."
Jim's icy voice froze Borden in place.  Ellison was standing in the
doorway, gun aimed at his prey, having crept stealthily into the house
after picking the lock on the back door.  "Lay one finger on him again
and you're a dead man."

     "I'll kill him, man!  I'm not kidding!"  Borden made a grab for the
gun he'd laid aside on the bed while he'd been fondling Blair.  His reach
was not only an inadequate attempt, but a fatal error.  A moment later,
he lay dead by the side of the bed, blood oozing out of his ruined head.

     "Dammit," Simon spoke up as he followed Jim into the room,
seeing Sandburg's miserable situation, the TV still running the final
moments of the video, and the spatter of blood on the wall near the bed
from Jim's deadly accurate shot.

     "Baby, it's me.  It's over."  Jim sat on the bed and was grateful to
Simon for grabbing a quilt that was flung over a quilt rack in the corner
of the room.  Jim carefully covered Blair's exposed body and gently
pulled the gag out of his mouth.  The younger man coughed miserably a
time or two before the coughs dissolved into sobs.

     "I have to call this in, Jim," Simon spoke up from behind them.

     "What about...?"  Jim nodded toward the TV.  There was a long
pause from Simon while he looked at Blair, sobbing there on the bed
under the quilt. 

     "Like I said.  I have to call this in, Jim.  I think I saw a phone out
in the living room."  Simon turned and walked toward the other room.  

     "Hang in there a second, sweetheart."  Jim left Blair and
retrieved the tape, turning off the set before flipping the top on the
cartridge and yanking large loops of the tape out, tearing at them,
before stuffing the whole mess under his lightweight jacket and zipping
it up.  "It's okay, baby.  Gonna get you loose here."  Jim freed the bound
ankles and then the wrists.  He was surprised when Blair curled up in a
ball, facing away from him.  "Honey, look at me."  He tried pulling the
soft curls back to look at Blair's face, but that only made Blair curl
inward on himself, turning his head farther into the mattress.  "I need
you to turn over for me, Chief.  Look at me.  Come on," Jim coaxed
lovingly, rubbing the quilt-covered shoulder.  

     "How's it goin'?"  Simon re-entered the room.

     "It's not.  I need help.  I can't lift him--not with my arm like this. 
Can you help me get him in the truck?"

     "No," Blair moaned, sobbing into the mattress under his face.

     "Blair, please, sweetheart, look at me."

     "I can't."

     "Of course you can, Chief.  Just turn over and look at me."

     "I can't look at you!"  Blair shouted back.  "I can't...face you."

     "Blair, don't be afraid of me.  I won't hurt you, sweetheart.  But
I can't carry you, and you don't want to be still lying here when the back
up arrives."

     Blair finally turned slightly then, hesitantly looking over his
shoulder at Jim through wet, puffy eyes.  The bruise on his face was
darkening with each passing minute.  There was an odor lingering from
the bout of vomiting, and Borden hadn't bothered to clean off his
prisoner's face.  And to Jim, there had never been a more beautiful sight
in the world.  He leaned forward and kissed each moist, puffy eye.  
     "Shhh.  It's okay, Chief.  Come on.  Sit up for me, okay?"  Jim
used his good arm to give Blair a little support until he was in a sitting
position.   He wrapped the quilt more carefully around Blair's body and
guided him off the bed and onto his feet, where his knees buckled
almost immediately.  Simon was quickly on Blair's other side, steadying
him until he stood more securely on his own two feet.  

     "You're bleeding," Blair said in a strained voice, reaching up to
weakly touch the damp red splotch on Jim's jacket sleeve.  

     "I think we need to go home and patch each other up, huh?"  Jim
suggested, squeezing Blair's shoulders with his good arm, guiding him
toward the door.  

     "Jim, we're going to need a statement from him."

     "You think you'll get a clear, concise one tonight?"  Jim asked,
still ushering Blair to the door, hearing the sirens in the distance.  

     "Just sit tight in the living room for a minute.  I'll get someone to
drive you both to the hospital."

     "Can you see if anyone's got any clothes with them--sweats,
anything?"  Jim suggested, steering Blair to sit on the couch in the living
room.  

     "I'll see what I can do."  Simon headed out the door to meet the
arriving cops, directing them to the crime scene in the bedroom.

     "Please, Jim...get me out of this house," Blair managed, his voice
strained.  Jim could hear and feel all of his lover's systems going crazy,
his breathing becoming labored, his heart rate spiking as a full-fledged
panic attack got underway.

     "We need some clothes for you, sweetheart.   Try to breathe and
hang onto me."  Jim ignored the throbbing in his wounded arm and
pulled Blair into a tight hug, reaching under the quilt and rubbing Blair's
bare back in long, gentle strokes.

     "I can't stand this," Blair gasped, his voice choked off by his
rapid breathing and the return of tears.

     "As soon as we have some clothes and someone to drive us to
the hospital--"

     "No!  I want to go home."

     "So do I, baby.  But you need to be checked out by a doctor."

     "No," Blair protested weakly, clinging tightly to Jim.

     "Either way, we have to go to the hospital tonight.  I've probably
pulled out some stitches, and they'll have to repair that," Jim said calmly,
starting a slight rocking motion.

     "Your arm!"  Blair seemed to forget his own misery as he pulled
back far enough to look at Jim.  "I'm such an asshole.  Is it bad?"  he
choked out, trying to get his own emotions under control, reaching a
shaky hand toward Jim's bloody sleeve.  Jim seized the opportunity to
pull Blair out of panic mode.

     "The pain's really getting to me, Chief."

     "You have to..."  Blair paused to take in a sharp breath, still
trying to compose himself.  "You have to dial it down."

     "With everything that's happening, I just...I can't seem to
concentrate well enough to do it."

     "Pic...Picture the dial," Blair said, his voice coming back to him
a bit through a sheer act of will over his tears.  "Close your eyes," Blair
instructed.  "Can you see it?"  he asked, the shaking almost absent as
Blair's "guide voice" took over.

     "I see it, Chief."

     "Okay, just picture turning it slowly down."  Blair waited, and
finally Jim opened his eyes and nodded. 

     "I got it, sweetheart.  Thank you."  Jim kissed his lover's
forehead.  

     "How bad is the damage?"  Blair asked, looking up at Jim with
nothing but undistilled worry for the larger man's well-being.  Jim
almost felt guilty for having manipulated Blair this way, but it had saved
him from the paces his body was about to put him through with a full-scale 
anxiety attack.  Even the deja vu of their surroundings didn't seem
to be front and center in Blair's mind anymore.

     "I think it's minor.  Probably needs to be stitched back up,
cleaned up, re-bandaged."

     "Brian--oh, God--is he dead?"  Blair asked, his eyes widening.

     "He was still alive when I found him.  We'll check on him when
we get to the hospital."

     "Michael tried, Jim.  He tried so damn hard to help us," Blair
said, shaking his head sadly.  The clearing of Simon's throat drew both
men's attention to the captain, who stood a few feet away, holding a
folded pile of sweats.  

     "Compliments of Rafe.  He was on his way to the gym when he
responded to the call for back-up."  Simon handed the clothes to Jim.

     "Come on, Chief.  Let's use the bathroom for you to change in
so you can get washed up a little, huh?"

     "Yeah, okay."  Blair rose with Jim and the two men headed
down the hall, past the other police personnel and closed the bathroom
door behind them.  "I hate being in this house, Jim," Blair said quietly,
his voice shaking.  

     "I know, honey.  That was part of Borden's game.  Just hang in
there.  We won't be here much longer."  Jim took a gentle hold of Blair's
shoulders and kissed the back of his head as he stood behind him in
front of the sink.  "We've got socks here but no shoes, and I think
mine'd fall off you anyway.  You'll just have to watch your step when
we go out."  Jim carefully removed the quilt from around Blair's
shoulders, looking around for a washcloth or a towel.  "Guess we'll have
to use this to dry off," he said, gesturing with the quilt.  The bathroom
was not stocked with any supplies of any kind.  "The whole four-unit is
up for sale, so everything's vacant."  Jim pulled Blair's hair back while
Blair leaned forward and splashed some water on his face, doing his best
to wash away the after-effects of the vomiting. Jim dried the cleaned
face with the corner of the quilt.  

     "He had another video," Blair said quietly, biting his lip as a tear
trailed down one cheek.

     "I have it.  It's history.  Nobody'll ever see this damn thing
again."

     "Should we fix your arm?"

     "No.  I think we better leave it until the doctor looks at it.  Here,
put these on--" Jim paused when he noticed the slight bruising and
swelling around Blair's genitals.  "What the hell--?"  He focused on them
for a closer look, but Blair took the sweatpants from him and started
putting them on.

     "He, uh, grabbed me there," Blair muttered, his face flushing
pink.

     "You don't need to be embarrassed, Chief.  Here."  Jim handed
him the top, which was gray like the pants, but had both sleeves cut off . 
"Put the quilt back around you to stay warm.  Don't want you getting
shocky on me."

     "I was *so scared*, Jim," Blair admitted in a whisper. 

     "So was I, baby.  Losing you is the scariest thing I can think of." 
Jim pulled his lover into his arms.  "It's okay to be afraid.  But it's all
over now."

     "They were lovers," Blair muttered against Jim's chest.  

     "Who?"

     "Vince and Borden."

     "Two assholes made for each other," Jim responded, patting
Blair's back gently.  He knew Blair would need to deal with all of this
eventually, but for now, they needed to make their trip to the hospital
and get home.  "Come on.  We'll talk this all through at home.  Let's get
this hospital thing over with, huh?"

     "Okay," Blair agreed, following Jim out of the bathroom.

     The hospital stop was made fairly tolerable by an efficient and
sensitive emergency room staff.  The two men stayed together for their
respective treatment, which for Blair amounted to a blood test, check of
his vital signs and brief exam of his swollen groin area.  Jim's wound had
lost a few stitches, and the doctor gave his expected admonition about
overdoing it and the potential for more extensive bleeding, concluding
with a few remarks about Jim's good fortune in escaping major nerve
and muscle damage.  

     As soon as the doctor finished with them, Jim inquired at the
desk about Brian's condition, flashing his badge to override the usual
restrictions on information to non-relatives.  The nurse informed him
that Brian was still in critical condition, but his vitals had remained
steady since he was admitted.

     Simon, who had driven them to the hospital, now drove toward
the house with his two passengers sitting together, silently, in the
backseat. Blair was tucked under Jim's good arm, head on the larger
man's shoulder.  From the occasional glance in the rearview mirror,
Simon determined it was a draw who looked more exhausted.  When
they arrived at the house, Simon turned off the engine.

     "Things are pretty messed up in there.  Why don't you let me at
least clear off a spot for you to sleep?"  

     Jim was about to refuse the offer when he looked at Blair, who
was slumped against him, exhausted, and then thought about the
expediency of making the bed with one arm, as his injured one was back
in a sling with strict orders not to abuse it this time.

     "That would be great, Simon.  Thank you," Jim responded,
concentrating on nudging at Blair to get him in motion to go in the
house.  "Could you grab a pair of shoes for Blair?  There's a lot of
broken glass and I don't want him walking in stocking feet through it. 
There's an old pair of Nikes by the door in the kitchen."

     "No problem."  Simon took Jim's house keys and hurried up the
front steps, letting himself in the door.

     "You think it's safe for him to go in there?"  Blair asked
drowsily.

     "Michael's got no argument with him."  Jim kissed the top of
Blair's head.  "How're you feeling, sweetheart?"

     "Tired...lots of things..."  Blair shook his head.  "It was like the
next thing to my worst nightmare.  In some ways...in some ways, it was
even worse."

     Simon arrived back at the car with the shoes, opening the door
and handing them in to Jim.  

     "The master bedroom isn't too bad.  It won't take long to get it
straightened up."

     "Thanks for helping us out, Simon," Blair said quietly, the first
time he'd addressed Simon directly since his rescue.

     "If I don't, hot shot over here'll open up that arm again before
I'm all the way down the driveway," Simon responded with a slight
smile.  

     "Everything quiet inside?"  Jim asked.

     "Jim, let's not have this ghost conversation again."

     "He was right about Blair's whereabouts."

     "Borden could have left that message."

     "Maybe we should just let the issue rest a while," Blair
suggested, his voice more tired that Jim ever remembered hearing it.

     "Sounds like a good plan," Simon replied, leaving the two of
them on their own to go back inside the house.

     With Blair finally in shoes again, the two men made their way
wearily to the front door, Blair still under Jim's good arm, his own arm
around the larger man's waist.  

     "Oh, my God."  Blair moved away from Jim, leaving him holding
the quilt.  "I knew things were going nuts when Borden was here, but I
had no idea..."

     "We'll get it cleaned up, Chief.  Don't worry about it tonight."

     "I hope Michael knows that Brian's still alive...that I'm back."

     "Something tells me that not much gets past him.  I'm sure he
knows."

     "All right, gentlemen.  I can't say much for the rest of this place,
but you've got a place to crash, anyway."  Simon came down the stairs
and paused at the foot.  "I better get back downtown.  Between the
Evans case and the paperwork with the Borden thing..." 

     "Is morning time enough for a report from me?"  Jim asked.
     
     "It's after midnight.  Why don't you two come in early
afternoon?  We can get Blair's statement and your report taken care of. 
IA will probably want to talk with you about Borden, but it should be
just a formality."

     "He would have killed me, Simon," Blair spoke up, worried.

     "It's nothing, Chief.  I went through a routine interview over
Watson's shooting, and any other fatal shooting I've been connected
with.  It's procedure."

     "Take it easy, you two.  I'll see you both in the morning."

     "Thanks, Simon," Jim responded.  Simon just waved as he
headed for the door, then pulled it shut behind him.

     "How did Michael tell you where I was?"  Blair asked.

     "This way."  Jim motioned to Blair to follow him and headed
back toward the kitchen.  He pointed to the message in the spilled flour.

     "And you thought of Vine Court?"  Blair squatted near the
writing.

     "It was the only 'Vine' that was relevant to anything."  Jim
watched as Blair straightened, wincing a little.  "My back and my legs
hurt," Blair explained.  "He really...twisted me around when he
was...changing the restraints."

     "Changing them?"  Jim frowned.  
     
     "He had me facing up first...so I could...watch the video."

     "He made you watch it?"  Jim opened his jacket and pulled out
the ruined tape.

     "Most all of it.  He...told me he'd kill me if I didn't watch it." 
Blair stared at the destroyed tape, tears filling his eyes.  "Jim...they used
to...to watch...Vince...showed him...the tapes..."  Blair's voice was
choked off by his tears, and in one swift move, Jim had his lover pulled
tightly against him with one strong arm.  He was a little startled when a
racking sob seemed to rob Blair of his stamina, but the two of them
dropped to their knees on the floor without parting.  "They watched
me...those tapes...when they...did it.  God, Jim, I was their fucking
entertainment!!"  Blair shouted, sobbing until he had to struggle to
breathe.

     "I'm so sorry, baby.  I'm so sorry."  Jim didn't know what else to
say.  The revelation hit him like an icy dagger in his heart.  Hurting Blair
the way Watson had was inconceivable.  Taping it was an abomination. 
Considering it entertainment was a perversion beyond Jim's
comprehension.  Easing his arm out of its sling, he gingerly brought it
around Blair.

     "The...sling..."  Blair choked out, his face still buried against
Jim's chest.

     "Holding you could never hurt me, Blair.  Just don't make any
sudden moves on me, okay?"

     "Why do I care if he cheated on me?"  Blair shouted, still crying. 
"Why does that hurt so bad?"  he asked, crying steadily in the security of
the embrace.

     "Because you were faithful to him.  You played it straight.  And
he hurt you so badly if you even had a friendship with someone other
than him."

     "It was all...a...lie," Blair managed.  "His mother...those letters...
her saying he...loved me...  I know it's...stupid...but...that somehow...
made it...easier...the memories...to think he maybe sort of...loved me...
at least a little..."

     "I know, honey.  I know."  Jim patted Blair's back, rocking them
slightly, praying for an inspiration of just one worthwhile thing to say
that would ease Blair's pain.  

     "I was a joke to him...all that pain...I was screaming and
bleeding and he was taping it so he could get off with his lover!!!!" 
Blair screamed out angrily, coughing and choking a little on the sobs
that came too fast for his breathing to handle.  

     "Try to breathe, baby.  I know it hurts.  Damn it, Blair, this is
so...cruel and sick that I don't even know what to say to you to make it
better."

     "I was so...humiliated...that he taped me...  Just thinking about
*him*...watching it later...watching me...the things he used to make me
do...  But he was using it and getting off on it with Borden.  God, Jim,
the guy was in one of my classes, looking at me and thinking about what
I looked like..."

     "The tapes are all gone, baby.  No one's ever going to look at
them again.  Watson and Borden are gone."  

     "He was right," Blair moaned miserably, still crying, though the
worst of the sobs had eased a bit.

     "About what, sweetheart?"

     "I...I *am* a whore.  He made me into one," Blair concluded,
fresh tears seeming to spring from that concept.

     "Never."  Jim closed his eyes and felt a couple tears of his own
slide down his cheeks.  "Blair, I worked Vice long enough to know
what a whore is.  I've dealt with them.  I don't mean good people who
ended up in bad situations--I'm talking about amoral people who don't
care about anyone but themselves and use the vices of other poor
schmucks to get rich.  Bloodsuckers who will do anything for a buck,
with anybody, in front of anybody--on camera or off.  Those are
whores, Blair.  You were Watson's victim, but you're nobody's whore."

     "I feel like one," Blair croaked out miserably.

     "I know, angel.  I know."  

     "Don't call me that!  Come on, Jim!  I've been through every sick
kink in the book and not one, but *two* guys have gotten off on it. 
How many 'angels' can say that?!"  The tears came harder in angry sobs
against Jim's chest, the fabric of his shirt beginning to feel damp.

     "Blair, sweetheart, listen to me.  I know you think I'm just
babbling reassurance here to make you feel better, but I'm not a liar,
Chief.  I could still love you if you'd sold it for $20 a shot down on the
waterfront.  But you didn't.  You were tortured, humiliated, violated
and used.  None of that was your fault, Blair.  Not one minute of it." 
Jim paused and took in a shaky breath.  "You're the most beautiful
person I've ever known.  I don't just mean the way you look, though I've
got no arguments with that either.  I mean your light.  You have this
beautiful light inside you.  You're *good*, Blair.  Nothing that Watson
or his sick little fuck buddy did extinguished that light.  When I call you
'angel', I don't mean that I think you're so pure you've never done
anything wrong in your life, or that you're some sort of vestal virgin in a
flowing white robe.  It just means that you're *my* angel, my light...
you were when I met you and you still are now."

     "I'm sorry to keep...putting you through this," Blair said quietly,
working on getting his voice back a little.

     "You're worth it, baby."

     "Wonder when you'll finally wake up one day and decide that I'm
not."

     "I'm figuring sometime after Hell freezes over."  Jim leaned
down and kissed Blair's forehead.  "You're stuck with me until I croak. 
And even then, if Michael's any example, you still won't be off the
hook."  Jim smiled as Blair actually chortled a little at that.  

     "I love you, mine."

     "I love you too, sweetheart.  But if you ever call yourself a
'whore' again, you're in deep shit, got that?"

     "I got it," Blair said, sniffling and pulling back slowly.  "You
should put that back on."  Blair started helping Jim with the sling.  "I
even messed up your arm.  I'm--" Blair was cut off with a gentle hand
over his mouth.

     "You didn't mess up anything.  I took my arm out of the sling,
*I* overused it. *I* messed it up.  All by myself.  Not you."  He moved
his hand and kissed Blair's mouth gently.  "Let's go upstairs and get
cleaned up and fall into bed.  We're both wasted."

     "What I don't understand is how it could hurt so much that he
cheated on me.  I didn't love him.  Nothing would have made me
happier at the time than if he'd left me for Borden.  I'd have been
thrilled."

     "Is it that he cheated on you or that he showed him the videos?"

     "Well, both, but both things bother me in different ways, if you
know what I mean."

     "There's betrayal...well, and then there's *betrayal*."

     "I guess it does boil down to the same thing, only in different
degrees."  Blair was satisfied now that Jim's arm was securely back in its
sling, but he still held onto Jim's hand where it stuck out the end of the
fabric support.  "But at first, I stayed with him because I thought he
really loved me, and because I felt guilty that I was sort of using him...
and because he'd always tell me how much I meant to him...  And I
thought, you know, he was a really physical, aggressive guy...maybe he
just needed someone to love him enough to help him learn how to love
someone without hurting them."  Blair shook his head as an ironic smile
spread over his flushed face.  "What a dumb shit I was."

     "Yeah, probably.  The same dumb shit who jumped under a
garbage truck to save some asshole who'd just slammed him against a
wall and told him to fuck off.  The same dumb shit who stuck with that
jerk every time his senses went ballistic--the same dumb shit who
believed that it was possible to rein in and channel hyperactive senses
and turn them into something positive and functional."  Jim rubbed his
thumb over the fingers of the hand still holding onto his.  "Blair, you like
to help people.  It's what you do.  It could be that old guy that lived
behind you and Watson that you used to mow the lawn for, or it could
be Daryl with his biology homework, or it might be me with my senses
all over the map--but your tendency is to see someone who needs...
*fixing*, and to try to help them."

     "Why do you always see my screw ups as something positive?"

     "Because you usually come down way too hard on yourself. 
You thought Watson was worth redeeming--worth a try, anyway.  You
were selfless enough to forgive him for beating you and abusing you up
to a point, until it all degenerated into threats and intimidation.  But you
*tried*.  And you cared.  Even if you didn't love the guy, you cared
about him as a human being.  You did what you did in good faith."

     "All that time...he was involved with Borden.  They were lovers
the whole time."
     
     "Lovers?  Do you think Watson was capable of having a
*lover*?  I don't.  He had a victim and a fuck buddy.  You and Borden. 
If Borden was walking around thinking Watson was capable of loving
him, then he was crazy before Michael ever had a go at him."

     "Oh, my God."  Blair pushed some rumpled hair away from his
face.  "Michael knew."

     "What?"

     "Michael.  When he went after Borden the way he did, way back
then...he *knew*.  That's why he went after him so violently--almost
like overkill given what had happened between Borden and me to that
point.  I mean, he was an asshole and a jerk, but it always seemed like
driving him nuts was a little extreme.  But Michael *knew* what
Borden was, who he was connected to...and he knew what Borden was
planning--how much of a threat he was.  It just all falls into place now."

     "Certainly makes sense.  I was always surprised at the degree
of...of *punishment* Michael inflicted...I guess I figured vengeance
from beyond the grave wasn't an exact science.  But if he knew that
Borden was a life and death threat to you, then whatever means he had,
he used to protect you--that fits."  Jim looked back at his exhausted
lover, and at the ugly bruise darkening on his face.  "I'm sorry you had
to find out about Watson and Borden."

     "I guess I keep going back and hoping to see something positive
about the whole mess.  And you know, there was that one little
fragment I had--that I was his only one, and the things his mother said
to me last year when I met with her--that he told her he'd found 'the one'
and that he really was in love with me... I didn't feel so
damned...*used*.  It didn't make me view the whole thing as a good
experience or anything, but at least I felt like I was loved, even if it was
a sick, destructive kind of love.  Now..."  Blair shook his head, "now I
know I was just one more sex toy in Watson's collection.  I was a
*thing* to him...not a person.  That's how he could hurt me the way he
did over and over again until he almost killed me, and not feel any real
remorse."

     "You said he did a time or two."

     "The worst time, I thought he felt sort of sorry for me.  I'm not
sure now if he did, or if he was afraid I would panic and call the police,
or if he was afraid I was going to die and he didn't want to have to hide
the body and answer the questions.  In a way, the fact I had friends...
even if I didn't keep in touch with them--but I had friends at the PD--I
think Vince was afraid when he thought he'd gone too far and I might
end up dying from my injuries.  He probably knew my disappearance
would only go unquestioned so long before you or Simon or someone
started asking some seriously pertinent questions."

     "I wish there was a way I could take all that pain away from
you, sweetheart.  If I could take it myself, I'd do it in a heartbeat."  Jim
stroked a hand through the rumpled curls, stopping to rub lightly at
Blair's cheek with his thumb.  "That's the hardest part of this for me. 
That there's no way to stop you from hurting."

     "Jim, you've made my life so...incredible."  Blair took a hold of
Jim's wrist with his free hand, their other hands still clenched together.
"I can't forget what happened to me with Vince...I wish I could. 
Anymore than I can forget what Borden did to me tonight...or what it
was like to see that tape..."  Blair swallowed.  "But that's not what my
life's about anymore.  It's about you, and about us...our home, our *life*
together."  He reached up to cup Jim's cheek with his hand.  "It's about
the way you love me and spoil me and take care of me.  And that's the
way you keep me too distracted to hurt too much."

     "I only give as good as I get," Jim said, turning to kiss the palm
of the hand on his face.  

********

     Jim picked up the ringing telephone as they entered the
bedroom.  

     "Jim?  Simon.  Interesting development.  We just finished
searching Borden's car--we found it parked outside the rooming house
where he was staying.  Guess what he had tucked under the front seat?"

     "I wouldn't even try," Jim replied dryly.

     "A high-powered rifle.  The same type of rifle that was used in
the shooting at the home improvement store.  If the ballistics match up,
then it wasn't Evans shooting at you at all.  Borden was apparently
trying to get you out of the way."

     "Terrific."  Jim let out a long sigh.  "Thanks for letting me
know."

     "We should have the final report from the ballistics testing in the
morning.  See you tomorrow."  Simon broke the connection and Jim
hung up.  Not exactly sure how to relate this development to Blair
without the other man spinning off on another tangent of guilt and self-loathing 
for having put Jim in the line of fire, Jim just stared at his lover
as he tossed his robe aside and changed into fresh underwear.  Realizing
that staring at Blair nude was probably the most unnerving thing he
could do to him at the moment, he diverted his eyes and sat on the side
of the bed.  Sex was the farthest thing from his mind right then, but his
fixation on his naked lover would have indicated something other than
an internal struggle over how to deal with this new development.

     "What'd Simon say?"

     "How'd you know it was Simon?"  Jim shot back, more than a
little defensive.

     "I just thought it sounded like you were talking to him.  Did I
say something wrong?"  Blair asked, frowning.

     "No.  It's not you.  It's me.  Look, Chief, there's been a new
development in the case you need to know about, but I don't want you
getting all upset and beating yourself up about it, okay?"

     "Why don't you tell me what it is first?"  Blair moved to sit on
the bed next to Jim.

     "Simon said that they just searched Borden's car--apparently
they found it at the rooming house where he's been staying."

     "*And*...?"  Blair prodded.

     "They found a high-powered rifle that looks like it's the same
one that was used in the shooting at the home improvement store.  So
that wasn't Evans at all--it was Borden."

     "Oh man."  Blair shook his head, then leaned his elbows on his
knees, dropping his head down to massage both temples with his
fingertips.  "Shit."

     "Hey, it's over.  He's dead.  He's not a threat anymore, Chief." 
Jim laid a hand on Blair's back, rubbing gently.

     "If he had shot you...Jim, it would have been my fault."

     "Dammit, Blair, it would *not* be your fault.  It would be his
fault.  Period.  End of story.  Saying it was your fault would be as silly
as saying it was my fault because I walked in front of his bullet."

     "He wanted to take away the one thing that was the most
precious to me."

     "He wanted to get me out of the way, and he also wanted to
take revenge because he figures we killed his lover--turnabout is fair
play."

     "Thank God he missed."  Blair straightened enough to lean on
Jim, resting his head on the large man's shoulder while Jim wrapped his
good arm around Blair's shoulders and squeezed gently, kissing the
younger man's head.

     "We both lived through it, baby.  We're still together.  Nobody's
managed to stop that, and nobody ever will."  Jim sat there a moment
quietly, just holding onto his lover.  "I should call and see how Brian's
doing before we turn in."

     "Yeah.  I keep feeling like we should go over there, but I'm so
damned tired.  I don't think I can do it."

     "We both need some rest, Chief.  We'll be better off tomorrow,
after a little sleep."

     Jim called the hospital and checked on Brian's condition one last
time as Blair turned back the bed Simon had straightened up for them. 
It seemed more than a little odd thinking of Simon roaming around their
bedroom, tidying up and making the bed, but as bone tired as Blair was,
and the way his pulled muscles were protesting now, he was
unspeakably grateful.  Blair listened as Jim talked to Kelli a few minutes,
and gave her a very brief synopsis of what happened.  Jim himself was
missing most of the pertinent detail, but with the perpetrator dead and
Brian unconscious, Simon had felt the details could be handled the next
day.

     "How is he?"  Blair asked, hovering while Jim got into bed,
waiting until his lover was situated comfortably on his back with a
pillow under the elbow of his injured arm.  Blair was selfishly grateful
that his favorite sleeping spot, Jim's right shoulder, was undamaged and
still available.  If there was one thing he needed to have a prayer of
sleeping, it was to feel Jim holding him.

     "No change.  He's still unconscious, still critical.  Kelli's parents
are with her, so she's not on her own or anything.  She said I should tell
you to get some rest and take care of yourself."

     "I feel really sorry for her."  Blair got into bed and turned off the
small lamp on his bedside table, shifting over to snuggle against Jim as
the other man extended his good arm in invitation, wrapping it around
Blair's shoulders once he was situated.  "I mean, she loves Brian and
married him for all the right reasons, and he never really loved her the
way he loved Michael."

     "Did anything happen earlier?  With Michael, I mean--well,
besides the little tornado trick he pulled on the house."

     "Brian and I were just getting started on the seance, and I
remembered I'd left the gun upstairs.  So I stopped everything and told
him I had to go upstairs.  He was kind of pissed about that and asked
what the big deal was that I had to stop in the middle of things, and so I
told him about Borden, and I said that you'd made me promise to keep
the gun handy.  I said I never broke a promise to you, so I had to go get
it.  He sort of smiled and nodded at that, and said he'd wait for me."

     "Is this going to upset you to talk about this, Chief?"

     "No.  I kind of feel like facing up to it once.  With you--just us--
before I have to make a statement."

     "Okay.  Stop anytime you don't feel like you can deal with it,
okay?"

     "Okay."  Blair sighed.  "So I went out into the hall and walked
toward the staircase when the doorbell rang.  I know it was stupid--feel
free to clunk me over the head with something--I deserve it.  But I
answered it.  I was thinking about the thing with Michael, and it was
broad daylight, and I just forgot to be paranoid.  So like a dork, I swing
open the door, and Borden's already got the storm door open so he just
like, *lunges* in at me and we start struggling.  Brian heard us and he
comes tearing down the hall like a bat outta hell and grabs Borden
around the throat from behind, and the two of them start fighting.  Brian
knew there was a gun up here, so he just yelled *GO* at me when
Borden lost his grip on me."

     "Then you ran up here for the gun?"

     "Yeah.  I figured Brian could hold his own pretty well--Borden's
a little more muscular, but they're about the same size, and Brian seems
like a pretty good fighter.  So I made a run for it and got the gun.  It
was then that I heard the windchimes go nuts, and this...*wind*
started...*whipping* through the house, and doors were opening and
slamming shut, the chandelier was rattling--it was like something out of
some kind of...of *armageddon* movie, like the end of the world or
something.  I knew it was Michael, I could just feel it--and I figured he
was trying to help us.  When I got halfway down the stairs, I didn't hear
anything, so I looked over the banister, and Brian was lying on the floor,
bleeding, and Borden was crouched there with the knife at his throat,
and he said that if I didn't..."  Blair swallowed and took a deep breath,
reassured by the gentle rubbing of Jim's hand up and down his back. 
"He said if I didn't drop the gun, he'd...he'd slit Brian's throat, and did
I...did I think I was a good enough shot to stop him."  Blair was quiet a
minute.  "I was *so* sorry at that moment that I didn't go to the
shooting range like you wanted me to."

     "You learned how to shoot, how to handle the gun."

     "But you wanted me to get better at it, and I refused.  If I'd had
more confidence...maybe..."  

     "Maybe you'd have done something really stupid, shot, missed
the target and Brian would have had a slit throat to show for it. 
Learning how to shoot well shouldn't make you careless.  You did the
right thing whether you were a good shot or not."
     
     "So when I dropped the gun, he left Brian and headed upstairs
after me, telling me that if I ran away, he'd finish the job on Brian.  The
wind was still blowing, and it was like I had to hold onto the banister to
even stay upright.  I thought the chandelier was gonna go, but in a way I
sort of knew it wouldn't because Brian would have been hurt when it
fell."  Blair paused for a breath.  "I was ready to bolt for the upstairs,
but I knew he would do what he threatened, so I didn't, and he picked
up the gun and held it on me while he pulled this syringe out of his
jacket pocket with his other hand.  He stuck it in my upper arm before I
really had time to do anything--it happened a lot faster than I can tell it. 
All of it was like, seconds...  Then I don't remember much of anything
until I woke up...*there*."

     "At Watson's old place?"  

     Blair nodded.

     "Blair...we *did* get there in time, didn't we?"  Jim asked gently.

     "Yeah, you did...well, in time to stop him from going all the
way."  Blair was quiet for a few long seconds, then in a shaky voice he
added, "His damn hands were everywhere...all over..."  There was a
sharp intake of breath and a couple of tears Jim felt on his skin before
Blair moved a hand up and brushed them away.  "While he was making
me watch the video...he had the remote in one hand and the other..." 
Blair dissolved into tears and Jim felt his own emotions surging up to
the surface.  

     "I know he grabbed you hard enough to leave swelling and
bruising.  Do you want to tell me the rest of it?"  Jim probed gently.

     "He just...he touched me...all over...and even after...he grabbed
me like that...he started...*playing* with me...down there..."

     "Oh, baby, I'm so sorry."  Jim kissed Blair's forehead and his
hair, pulling him as tightly against his own body as he could with one
powerful arm.  

     "Not supposed to...be anybody...but you..."

     "Shhhh.  I know, baby.  You don't say 'yes' to anybody but me. 
That's what matters, sweetheart."

     "I'm gonna be sick."  Blair bolted up out of the bed and flew
toward the bathroom.  Jim was close behind him, crouching next to the
gasping man kneeling in front of the toilet.  He pulled Blair's hair out of
the way the best he could with one hand, and when the younger man
finished, Jim managed to get a washcloth dampened with some cool
water for Blair's face.  

     "The doctor said the drug might make you a little nauseous too. 
Although he said you got rid of a lot of it when you threw up before." 
Jim let Blair handle applying the cool cloth to his own face, using his
functional arm to cradle his lover close to him.  

     "I couldn't move my arms or my legs," Blair said quietly.  "He
could do whatever he wanted and I couldn't stop it.  I tried to fight him
but I didn't have anything to fight with."  The tears that came now were
silent, sliding down Blair's face as he spoke.  "I couldn't even bring my
legs together..."  Blair sniffled a little.  "The tape he had...I remember
when it happened, but I didn't know Vince taped it.  The thing I used to
be most afraid of was his 'little green box'."  Blair's face seemed to flush
hotter now.  "It...it was..."

     "I know what it was, honey.  It was part of the stuff I
destroyed."  Jim closed his eyes and let his own tears come, thinking
back on how horrified he'd been at the hideous-looking collection of
dildos he'd tossed into the big trash can and set ablaze, along with an
array of other devices he considered torture tools.

     "Jim...stay with me..."  Blair started crying in earnest again,
turning to press his face against Jim's chest, winding his arms around the
larger man's waist.

     "I'm right here, Chief."  

     "I mean...please don't get sick of me.  Of all this.  I'm trying to
forget it."

     "I'll never get sick of you, cuddlebug," Jim responded, a little
smile in his voice.  "I know you can't just forget it happened.  We have
to do just what we're doing.  Take it out, look at it, cope with it, and
recover together.  Your pain hurts me too, Chief.  We both have to
work our way through this stuff."

     "I feel like I...just...backslid...to the...beginning."

     "I know."

     "I just feel like...I feel...*crawly*...like I used to...  When I was
with Vince...I'd stand...in the shower...just trying...to get the feeling...of
his...hands...*off me*..."

     "You still feel Borden's hands, huh?"  Jim asked gently.  There
was a little nod against his chest.

     "I don't want to."

     "It's okay, baby.  I understand."

     "I was just...entertainment...to them..."  Blair struggled with a
few sharp intakes of breath.  "They messed me...up so...I'm all...fucked
up...and it's not...fair to you...and it...was just...*games* to them."

     "Something like this could never be fair, sweetheart.  But if
you're worried about me feeling shortchanged or unhappy with you, put
that out of your head."

     "We can't even...be normal...in bed."

     "No, we're better than normal.  In bed, on the couch, on the
floor...I seem to remember something about a kitchen chair..."  Jim
smiled when Blair actually chortled a little through his tears.  "It's a
damn tiny price to pay for me to have to avoid one or two things that
upset you when we have sex in return for what we've got together."

     "But after...tonight..."

     "Tonight..."  Jim took a deep breath and swallowed tears of his
own, squeezing Blair a little tighter.  "Tonight, you were sexually
assaulted.  It's a whole new ordeal to get over, and it doesn't negate all
the progress you've made handling the memories of the whole mess with
Watson.  And the stuff Borden told you--that's all new...*shit* to
handle.  Don't be so hard on yourself."

     "Should we go back to bed?"  Blair asked, his voice strained.

     "That would be good.  As much as I love holding you, I don't
love linoleum this much."
     
     "Sorry," Blair pulled back and looked up at Jim through
impossibly swollen eyes.

     "No apologies."  Jim leaned forward and planted a kiss right
between Blair's eyes.  "Let's go get comfortable.  We can still talk if you
want to."

     "I think I'm all talked out.  It's like I want to cry but I'm too
tired."

     "I think your whole body's drained, Chief.  You need some solid
sleep.  Come on."  Jim stood up and Blair followed, the two of them
making their way wearily back to the bed and climbing into it, snuggling
together again.  "Let go and let yourself sleep, baby.  You're safe now."

     "Always feel safe with you," Blair whispered, his words slurring
a bit.  "So tired."

     "I know.  I love you," Jim whispered back, kissing the top of
Blair's head.

     "Love you," Blair muttered, shifting and hooking a leg over Jim's
before falling asleep.

********