Title:    "A Million Pieces" 
Author/pseudonym:  Candy Apple 
Rating:  MAO
Pairings: J/B

Status: NEW
Date: 12-97
Series/Sequel:   NO


Disclaimers:   This is a work of fiction produced solely for the
entertainment of fans.  All characters having appeared in the UPN
Series, "The Sentinel", belong to UPN and/or Pet Fly Productions.  The
original characters belong to the author.

Notes: Due to cybergremlins and crabby internet browsers, this has not
been beta read.  It's been proof-read by yours truly. :-)

Summary: Blair is the only survivor of a violent attack on Jim's family,
and both men must support each other through physical and emotional
recovery, and the exploration of their relationship.

Warnings:  This may be considered a SPOILER, but I feel it is
important that anyone who might be upset or offended in any way with
the content of this story, read this.  The story includes the violent death
of a baby, as well as the death and injury of others.  Obviously, this can
also serve as a general "violence" warning.  I am not fond of lingering
detail or gratuitous blood in my writing of scenes like these, so I will
do my best to present it in as tasteful a manner as possible.
**********************************************************

A MILLION PIECES

by Candy Apple

     Blair Sandburg smiled down at the sleeping baby in his arms. 
Amanda Blair Ellison had put her bedraggled parents through the paces
the last few nights, crying almost non-stop as most colicky babies do. 
Her mother was finally taking a much-deserved nap in the master
bedroom, having been delighted to see Blair show up and offer to take
over coddling his favorite baby while she caught a few minutes of
sleep.

     It was a good thing Jim had caved in and taken that desk job. 
At first, Blair had resented Lindsay's insistence that Jim try for the
promotion that would take him off the streets.  Jim loved what he did,
and Blair had watched a lot of the old Ellison fire and enthusiasm
dwindle as he spent his days in meetings, filling out forms and
supervising other people doing what he wanted to be doing himself. 
But in a situation like this, Jim would have been no good on the streets. 
Amanda's crying kept him awake most nights, and if she didn't cry, Jim
tended to stay awake with his hearing on full alert to figure out why she
was quiet, to monitor her breathing, or just to listen to her heartbeat. 
No matter how bored he was at the job, or how tired he got, just
mention his "Mandy", and he lit up like Christmas.

     Blair was on the merry-go-round now.  He laughed at the
memory of telling Jim that leaving police work to go back to academia
would be like getting off the roller coaster to ride the merry-go-round. 
He had essentially done just that, because Jim didn't need constant
guiding to get from the copy machine to his desk, or from the coffee
machine to his next meeting.  The two men still saw each other nearly
every day, either for a quick lunch or breakfast, depending on Jim's
shift and Blair's schedule.   Blair had a standing invitation for dinner,
but only accepted it a couple times per week.  He didn't want to be the
bane of Lindsay's existence, intruding on her every private moment
with Jim.   Today, however, the exhausted mother had been thrilled to
hand her wailing daughter over to Blair when he arrived near four
o'clock.  She'd have at least a couple of hours to catch a nap before Jim
got home.

     Amanda grimaced and wriggled in his arms, and Blair started
singing to her again in a hushed voice. //She looks like a little tiny Jim//
Blair thought fondly, seeing the beginnings of his best friend's strong
features, coloring and penetrating blue eyes in his daughter.  Amanda
was only four months old, but she had a personality all her own. //An
Ellison all the way.//

     The snow was falling again outside the window, and since
Amanda was still restless, Blair carefully stood up from the rocker
where he'd been sitting and moved to the window of the one-floor
contemporary house Jim shared with his wife and daughter.  Situated
on a large, partially wooded lot, the snow made the trees look like a
frosted fairyland.  As the baby let out her first whimpers, and the blue
eyes opened, Blair held her where she could see the snow falling
through the window of the room that was nearly dark.  

     "Winter's coming, Mandy," he whispered, smiling.  "Wanna
know a secret?"  He turned back from the window to look into those
piercing blue eyes.  He always had the uncanny feeling she somehow
understood what he was saying.  Even in her current fussy state, the
two little eyes riveted on Blair as he spoke.  "Your daddy's already
Christmas shopping for you.  Yes he is," Blair added, smiling at his
little charge.  

     There was a noise, somewhere in the house.  For some reason,
all of Blair's instincts screamed that it wasn't Jim coming home, and his
heart rate picked up pace.  At that precise moment, Amanda began
crying again, letting out the full-bodied wails that blotted out any other
sound in the environment.  In the split second Blair had to think about
it, he realized that she was almost as attuned to him as her father was. 
She began crying at the precise moment Blair had become afraid.

     The next sound was unmistakable: a gunshot shattered the
silence, followed rapidly by another.  Trapped at the end of the hall
with a crying baby, Blair panicked, the horrible realization sweeping
over him in a wave that those shots were probably for Lindsay.  He
didn't care what they did with him at that moment, if he could only
figure a way to protect Jim's little girl.  If only she hadn't begun to cry...

     Time seemed to move in slow motion. There were footsteps in
the hall, taking what seemed like an eternity and yet only moments to
become a dark form in the doorway...
     
********

     Lieutenant Ellison packed the last of the papers in his briefcase
and straightened up the disarray on his desk.  Lindsay was making
homemade pizza tonight, and Blair would be there for dinner.  That
was worth hurrying to be home by seven.  Since he'd won the
promotion to Lieutenant and transferred back to Vice, it seemed like
his days were longer and longer.  

     //No, it just feels that way, because you're working in one of the
grittiest, most dangerous divisions and all you can do is stand back and
watch.// Jim tried to swallow the little wave of resentment he felt about
that, locking up his office and heading out the door. //Just like a
goddamn executive, not a cop.// More bitterly than he missed street
action, he missed having Blair bouncing along at his side all day.  He
was proud of Dr. Sandburg and the strong reputation he was building at
Rainier, but it was a matter of time before one of the more prestigious
universities snapped him up and he'd be gone permanently.

     Jim hated the lump that always seemed to find its way to his
throat when that thought crossed his mind.  Their little moments over a
fast-food breakfast or lunch were all Jim had left of his past life.  That,
and the loft.  Blair had remained there, renting it from Jim, after Jim's
marriage.  Once he received his doctorate and Rainier took him on as
faculty, he was able to afford a decent rent, covering the expenses of
maintaining the loft.

     Lindsay was a wonderful woman.  She was kind, sensitive, and
had finally accepted Blair's role  in their lives. //Why shouldn't she? 
Whenever we get together, he takes over with Mandy.  It's the only
break Lindsay gets, being home all day with the baby.// 

     Jim smiled as he rode down in the elevator, thinking about Blair
with his daughter.  The younger man adored Jim's little girl, and he was
wonderful with children.  His patience knew no limits, even with a
baby as perpetually fussy as Mandy.  Not that Jim didn't treasure every
sound that came out of that beautiful little girl.  It had taken him awhile
to accept life as a sleep-starved zombie, but a couple other guys in the
department who had survived colicky babies had assured him he would
live, as long as he stayed off the streets.

     //So what's my problem?// Jim asked himself as he tossed his
briefcase in the truck and got in to start it. //I've got a beautiful blonde
wife who still turns heads everywhere we go, an angelic daughter who
has my heart wrapped around her tiny little finger--even if she does
scream her head off all night, a good friend who's always there for me,
a successful career...//   

     Driving through the November snow, Jim looked forward to the
evening.  He couldn't wait to talk to Blair about all the details of the
bust that had gone wrong that day.  Thankfully, none of the cops
involved had been killed, but one was hospitalized, still in serious
condition.  Blair could put it all in perspective again.  He'd sit there,
holding Mandy, and listen intently--no, *hang*, on Jim's every word,
and then he'd say something that would make it all right.  Just like
always. 

     //Blair again.//  Jim smiled a little. //It always comes back to
Blair.//  No matter how far he ran, or how many women he bedded, or
even when he finally married one.  It all came back to Blair, and the
feelings that were between them.  Feelings that went in all the wrong
directions.  Feelings that had propelled Jim to actively seek out an
appropriate marriage partner and take his life in this different direction. 
He wasn't gay and neither was Sandburg.  That being the case, he was
just too damned dependent on the quirky little anthropologist who
could be a thorn in his side and the light of his life at the same time. 
So when he'd met Lindsay Stanton, the daughter of a protected witness
in a major investigation of a local crime boss, he pursued her.  She took
the bait, and after a six month courtship, they married.

     Blair had been best man at his wedding, a fact that hadn't set
well with Stephen.  Still, Jim couldn't picture anyone else standing up
for him but his right hand...his other half. //Getting married solved a lot
for you, didn't it Ellison? *Lindsay* is your other half, dammit.  Not
Sandburg.//

     Jim noticed with some annoyance that the streetlight near their
house was out again.  The Ellison house was situated on a large, semi-wooded lot at the end of a
cul-de-sac, and it was important to Jim that
their home have the light in working order to keep the house from
being a B&E target because of its slight seclusion in the middle of
suburbia.

     Blair's car was in the driveway, pulled into the drive-off at the
side.  Jim immediately knew something wasn't right.  There was only
one dim light in the living room.  It was seven o'clock sharp.  Lindsay
would have dinner in the oven, and Blair would usually be in the living
room by now, holding Amanda while her mother prepared the meal.

     Jim got out of the truck and drew his gun.  He tuned his hearing
to the house, but picked up no sounds of the baby crying...and no
heartbeats.  That relieved him a little, actually.  Maybe they had all
gone out for some reason, using Lindsay's car.  

     He unlocked the side door into the garage.  Lindsay's Honda
Accord was still parked there.  Now, with some effort, Jim could pick
up on one sound...familiar, but...wrong somehow.  It was Blair's
heartbeat, but very slow and very labored.

     Losing no more time on evaluating the situation, not even
knowing how to process the fear he felt for his wife and daughter, let
alone his best friend, he made his way stealthily into the house.  One
thing was sure: no one healthy and mobile was inside.  He flipped on
the hall light and hurried to the master bedroom, calling to Lindsay. 
When he stopped in the doorway, the shock of what he saw made his
legs feel too weak to move.

     Lindsay was lying on the bedspread, dressed in her jeans and
her favorite blue sweater...and there was a horrible mass of blood that
fanned out under her head and matted one side of her blonde hair.  It
spattered the wall behind the headboard in a horribly explosive pattern. 
Her heart was not beating.

     "Blair!"  he screamed at the top of his lungs.  It was the only
heartbeat he could hear, and if he ever needed his guide, it was at this
moment.  He couldn't make his legs move, couldn't take his eyes off the
horror in front of him.  There was no response from Blair.  

     He tore his stunned eyes away from Lindsay's lifeless form and
dragged himself down the hall to the nursery, hearing the heartbeat
grow louder.  He refused to think of the possibility that Blair hadn't
somehow protected Mandy.  That his little girl wouldn't be safe in her
crib.  That her heartbeat was just being drowned out somehow by
Blair's in his confused mind. 

     The first thing Jim saw was Blair's still form, face down on the
pale pink carpeting, a spreading red patch under the upper portion of
his torso.  One bloody hand gripped the cell phone that Blair had
somehow managed to pull out of the backpack on the floor by the
white wicker rocker.  

     Dazed, Jim pulled the phone out of Blair's weakened grip and
called for back-up and an ambulance.  He was functioning purely on
autopilot in that moment, the shock so great that his emotions couldn't
begin to deal with it.

     And then he saw the small bundle on the floor a few feet behind
where Blair lay.  Before he could think to check Blair's pulse or the
seriousness of his injuries, all his senses focused on that little bundle,
and the blood that stained the small, soft white blanket wrapped around
the pink sleepers.  Dropping to his knees next to his wounded friend,
staring at the lifeless form of his daughter, Jim didn't understand where
the horrible, agonized screams he heard were coming from.  He didn't
realize they were being torn from the pit of his own soul as he
collapsed next to Blair, incoherently grabbing at the only warm, living
thing in the cold, dark house.

********

     Simon paced the hospital corridor anxiously.  Sandburg had
been in surgery for hours, having suffered multiple bullet wounds in his
left shoulder, chest and abdomen.  The bullet that had pierced his chest
had ironically been slowed by the body of the baby girl he had been
holding, trying so hard to protect.  As it was, it had collapsed his lung
and barely missed his heart.  The doctor had hastily explained
something about autotransfusion, or somehow adding coagulant to the
blood gushing out of Blair's chest as it was caught in collection bottles
and giving it back to him.  Whatever it was all about, he knew Blair
was not in good shape, and doctor wasn't holding out much hope.

     Lindsay Ellison was dead at the scene, two bullet wounds to the
head having taken her life instantly.  She had most likely been sleeping,
and probably didn't even know what happened.

     Amanda Ellison was also dead at the scene, a single bullet
having passed through her tiny body on its way to entering Blair's chest.

     The forensics team had determined that the shooter had caught
Blair holding the baby, and had shot him in the shoulder as he tried to
turn away to shield her.  Having weakened and unbalanced him with
this first non-critical shot, the shooter played for keeps, aiming for both
the baby and Sandburg, drilling two bullets into them.

     Blair had obviously had a few conscious moments at some
point, as he had laid the baby aside and dragged himself to his
backpack and pulled the cell phone out before losing consciousness
again.  

     That's where they had found Jim, silent, catatonic, holding onto
Blair's bloody hand, slumped on the floor next to his friend.  Simon
assessed that the reality of Amanda's death had been the final straw that
shocked him into the state he had not yet escaped.  While Blair hovered
between life and death, Jim was in a hospital bed down the hall, staring
blankly at the wall.  The hospital's staff psychiatrist was with him at the
moment, so all Simon could do was pace.

     Various cops from the precinct arrived and joined the vigil in
the waiting room.  Blair had become a fixture around the PD, even if
he wasn't there as often as he used to be.  Jim was well-liked and
respected by most of his colleagues, so many came to show their
support, even if he couldn't receive visitors at the moment.

     "Captain Banks?"  The doctor, a short man in his late fifties
with receding hair and a pleasant expression, approached the area
where Simon was wearing a path in the floor tile.

     "How's Sandburg?"

     "He survived surgery.  We were able to re-inflate his lung, once
we stopped the bleeding and repaired the damage.  The abdominal
wound, fortunately, missed the vital organs and only caused some
tissue damage.  His shoulder is going to be out of commission for a
while, and he'll probably need considerable physical therapy to get full
motion back, but I think in time, the muscle and tendon damage can be
overcome."

     "What's the prognosis?"

     "I would say his chance for survival is slightly above 50-50. 
He's lost a lot of blood, and we lost him once in the emergency room. 
He isn't out of the woods yet.  He's not breathing on his own--we have
him on a ventilator, but he's strong, healthy...at this point, I'm
optimistic."

     "That's great news, doctor."  Simon exhaled and smiled for the
first time that night.  "How long before he can have visitors?"
     
     "He'll be in recovery for a few hours, and then moved to ICU.
Then--"

     "I know the drill.  One visitor, five minutes every hour?"

     "We could probably stretch it to ten for family, but essentially,
yes," the doctor responded, smiling.  

     "Thanks, Doc."  Simon watched the man retreat back down the
hall, and went to share the news with his men in the waiting room.

********

     Jim had listened to the woman in the white lab coat babble
incessantly at him, talking about trauma and repression and the
importance of him responding. //Fine, I'll fucking respond.//

     "I want to see Blair," he said simply, startling her out of her
monologue.  

     "Mr. Ellison, do you know where you are?"  she asked, smiling
slightly, obviously pleased with herself for convincing him to speak.

     "I'm in the hospital.  My family is...my wife is dead...my daugh-daughter is d-dead," he forced
past the constriction of his throat.  This
woman needed a recitation of reality from him before she'd help him
find Blair.  "I-I have to see Sandburg.  Now."  Jim felt he was at a
crossroads, on the edge of insanity at the non-stop barrage of bloody
images that filled his memory.  There was one light, one way out, one
*guide* to lead him through this.  He needed Blair.

     "I'll check on Mr. Sandburg's condition."

     "I *have* to see him," Jim blurted, hating the agitation in his
voice. //Calm down, Ellison.  Get hysterical and you'll be sedated.  And
add drugs to what you're feeling now, and the fun'll really begin.//

     "Please try to relax."  She laid a gentle hand on his arm as she
rose from the chair next to his hospital bed.  

     "I'm not staying here," he stated firmly, taking command of the
situation. //You've still got a shred or two of your sanity, Ellison.  Hold
onto it, go with it.  Blair was hurt.  He probably needs you as much as
you need him.  Just like always...//

     "You've suffered a very bad shock--"

     "Yes, I have.  And I'm still suffering it, but I'm not injured and
I'm not crazy, at least not yet.  Now please tell me where my clothing
is."

     "I can't agree--"

     "Look, I'll sign anything you want.  Just go find out how
Sandburg is and tell me where they put my clothes."

     "Very well.  Your clothes are in the bureau drawer," she nodded
toward some built in drawers across the room.  "I'll bring in the release
forms, and inquire about Mr. Sandburg's condition."

     "Thank you."

     "Jim?"  Simon passed the psychiatrist as she was leaving the
room, and was more than a little relieved to see Jim pulling his clothes
hastily out of the drawer and tossing them on the bed.

     "How's Blair?"  Jim blurted, not even bothering to acknowledge
Simon.

     "He survived surgery, but he's still on a ventilator.  The doctor
sounded pretty hopeful that he'll make it."  Simon tried to smile, but
Jim just searched his face a moment, and the captain knew the sentinel
was giving him an on-the-spot lie detector test.  Obviously satisfied
Simon was being straight with him, Jim nodded.

     "Good," he said tightly, dispensing with the hospital gown and
pulling on his pants.  "Where is he?"

     "He's in recovery, Jim.  It'll be a few hours before you can see
him."

     "Yeah, okay."  Jim hastily pulled on his t-shirt and sweater, then
sat on the bed to put on his shoes and socks.  "What did forensics say?"

     "Jim, you've just been through a--"

     "God dammit, Simon, don't tell me what I've been through!!" 
Jim leapt to his feet and turned to face Simon.  "Everybody keeps
telling me what I've been through!  Don't they think I know?!  They're
dead!  Lindsay's head was half blown off!!  Don't they think I saw that? 
Who in the fucking hell do they think found her?!"  he shouted at
Simon, hating the tears that were burning his eyes, and the constriction
of his throat.  "They killed my little girl, Simon."  It was a breathless
statement, choked by the threat of tears and the sudden impact of grief
on a mind that was beginning to function again.  Yet, in a manner
typical of the stoic cop, Jim swallowed his emotions again.  Running a
hand over his face, he moved to stare out the window into the darkness
of the night, his back to Simon.

     Simon was at a loss for any words of comfort to offer Jim, and
for a moment, felt as desperate as Jim himself to have Blair there, and
conscious.  Blair would say something now, something soothing or
wise or well-thought-out.  Even with a hole in his chest and tubes up
his nose--if Sandburg were conscious, he'd do something for Jim. 
Anything.  He'd know how to put the shattered wreck before him back
together.

     "We're all here for you, man.  You've got a lot of friends to pull
you though this, buddy.  But you've got to hang in there.  For Sandburg. 
He's alive, but he's got a long recovery ahead of him.  He needs you." 
Bolstering Jim with the thought of taking care of Blair was the only
strategy that presented itself in Simon's mind. 

     "Tell me what happened, Simon.  I need to know."  Jim sat on
the foot of the bed, and Simon pulled the chair up so he was sitting
across from Jim.

     "It looks as though one shooter entered through the patio door
off the deck.  It was unlocked, and there's no sign of forced entry."

     "That goddamned rabbit."

     "What?"  Simon looked at Jim, puzzled.

     "Lindsay puts--Lindsay *put* food out for a jack rabbit that
used to come up on the deck.  Half the time, she forgot to lock the door
afterwards.  We were always bickering about that..."  Jim's thoughts
trailed off to Lindsay's wavy blonde hair, and the way she used to push
it back into place after the wind had toyed with it while she placed the
little bits of food outside for the rabbit...  

     "Lindsay was shot first, Jim.  Given the layout of the house,
there was nowhere for Sandburg to go with Amanda."

     "And she was probably crying.  She cries most of the
night...does anybody really know why nobody can cure colic for
babies?  Seems like they should have figured that out by now, I mean
they figured out everything else--"

     "Jim?"  Simon interrupted.

     "Yeah, right.  Go ahead."  Jim pulled his other shoe on and tied
it while Simon continued.  

     //Concentrate on routine, Ellison.  Put on the shoes, tie them. 
Crazy men can't concentrate on anything.  Keep a hold of your mind.//

     "The shooter probably moved fast, and found Blair in the
nursery with Amanda.  He was still holding her when he was shot. 
Judging by the angle of the wound in his shoulder, he most likely tried
to turn away and shield her, and was shot."

     "How did the shooter...how did...how did he kill Mandy?"  Jim
forced out.

     "The bullet that hit Sandburg in the chest is the one that killed
Amanda.  The kid was probably operating on instinct, holding her,
trying to use himself as a shield.  And when he was shot in the
shoulder, he probably couldn't even manage that as well.  It just didn't
work," Simon concluded quietly.

     "They didn't stand a chance."  Jim stared straight ahead a
moment, worrying Simon that he had slipped back into his catatonic
state.  As soon as the doctor came back in with the release forms, he
snapped back to reality and scrawled his signature on the papers,
listened as politely as he could manage to her objections to his release,
and then dismissed her with a curt "Thank you."

     "Jim, let's go downstairs to the cafeteria.  It's getting late, and
you should have something to eat--"

     "Oh, God, no, Simon.  I wouldn't hold it right now," Jim replied,
making a face and covering his stomach briefly with his hand.

     "Coffee, at least?"

     "Okay, yeah, some coffee."  Jim walked with Simon down the
hall and then rode down in the elevator in silence, letting the captain
fill in the void with various reassuring phrases about Blair's survival
and his general good health and his fighting spirit.  He held onto the
voice like a lifeline, the only thing keeping him dangling over the abyss
of blood-spattered nightmares swirling through his mind.

********

     As Blair surfaced from the darkness, he felt a steady pressure
on his hand.  For some reason, the warm pressure was foremost in his
mind, even over the pain that was assailing him from all sides.  His
mind went immediately to the baby he'd been holding, and the terror
washed over him again.

     "Hey, it's okay, Chief.  I'm right here," a soft voice cut through
the nightmare image that was flashing into Blair's foggy brain.  He felt
a warm hand on his cheek, a thumb brushing at wetness that must have
been coming from his eyes.

     "Mandy..."  was all he could manage.  "I couldn't...I...tried..."

     "I know, Blair.  It's not your fault, Chief.  Try to relax.  You
don't have to talk."  Jim squeezed Blair's hand carefully.

     "Lin...Lindsay?"  Blair managed in a quiet, strained voice.  He
had only recently been taken off the ventilator, and was breathing on
his own.

     "She's gone, Chief," Jim responded softly.

     "How long...what is today?"  Blair asked, still a bit groggy.

     "It happened last night.  It's four in the afternoon on Thursday."

     "I have...to be...with you...the funeral..."

     "You have to get better, buddy.  That's your job right now."  Jim
looked at the pale face framed by the fan of soft curls on the pillow. 
"God, Blair, you're all I've got left.  You've got to get better.  I can't...I
can't make it without you," Jim concluded, his voice breaking painfully
on the last word as he dropped his head to the mattress at Blair's side,
feeling the grief tearing through him again, and this time, not fighting
it.  He felt a gentle hand in his hair, stroking his head slowly.

     "Just let it out, Jim.  I'm not going to leave you," Blair stated,
forcing a strength into his voice that his damaged body didn't really
feel.  "Everything'll be...okay," Blair managed, feeling exhausted even
from this brief conversation.  "Mandy's...always been...a little angel. 
Now, she...she's with God...and your mom...finally gets to...meet her...
namesake," Blair continued in as soothing a tone as he could muster. 
Little Amanda Blair had been named for Jim's deceased mother and
Blair himself.  "Lindsay...was sleeping, Jim.  She...probably...didn't feel
a thing."

     Jim continued to sob into the side of the bed, and Blair finally
fell silent, just stroking his hair, then resting his hand on the back of
Jim's neck when the motion became to tiring.

     "You...you come back and live...with me," Blair continued. 
"You're not ever...gonna be alone, okay?"

     "You should rest," Jim choked out, making the first attempts to
pull himself together.

     "You too.  Where're you...sleeping?"

     "The waiting room," Jim answered honestly, finally
straightening up and pulling out a handkerchief to mop off his face.

     "No...go home with...Simon.  Go to bed.  Sleep."

     "Blair, I...I can't do that.  I can't...I can't close my eyes without
seeing her...Lindsay...there on our bed.  Oh, God, Chief, she deserved
so much better than what I ever gave her," Jim said sadly, shaking his
head.  He knew that his heart had never fully belonged to the beautiful
woman who had lived with him as his wife and had borne his child. 
"And...and Mandy...how could anybody...kill a baby?  I don't...I know I
should know because I'm a cop...but how does anybody do that?"

     "Some people are truly evil.  They're sociopaths in the
textbooks, but I think it's something more.  It's a void where their souls
should be."  Blair swallowed and worked at maintaining his strength to
talk.  Jim needed him, badly.  The devastated man by his bedside was
frighteningly dependent on him emotionally, and Blair knew only too
well the feeling that only Jim could make what was wrong, better. 
"You were good to Lindsay and Mandy.  They...loved you."

     "I don't want to leave here, Chief.  I can sleep on the couch in
the waiting room.  I just can't...go in and turn out the lights and get into
bed and not...see her...and Mandy on that floor."

     "I know.  I see...the guy in the room...every time I close my
eyes."

     "Did you see him?"  Jim's head snapped up, but Blair shook his
head slowly.

     "It got dark while I was rocking Mandy, and I...she was asleep a
while, and I didn't want the light...to wake her," Blair continued, a tear
sliding out of his eye again.  "I was showing her the snow out the
window, and I heard something, and she started crying, and then I
heard the shots.  I didn't know where to go, Jim.  I couldn't get out of
the house without running into whoever it was."  Blair was out of
breath and crying himself now, faster than Jim could catch the tears.  "I
wish he'd just killed me instead, left Mandy alone..."

     "Shhh," Jim soothed his agitated friend, drying his tears.  "You
did the best you could, buddy.  It was a no-win situation.  I'm just so
damned glad that you survived."

     "Detective Ellison?"  The nurse's soft voice startled Jim as he
tended to Blair's tears.  "He needs to get some rest now.  You can come
back in next hour," she added, smiling slightly.  The nursing staff were
aware of the tragedy surrounding Blair's injuries, and they had been
very sensitive in their treatment of both the patient and the grief-ravaged man who spent every
possible moment at his side.

     "I'll be back soon, Chief.  Get some rest.  If you're asleep next
time, I'll just sit with you a while."  He stroked Blair's forehead, and
then leaned forward and planted a little kiss there. 

     "Jim--" Blair caught the larger man's hand with surprising
firmness.  "We'll...be okay, somehow.  We'll...tackle it together, huh?"

     "Like always, partner."  Jim squeezed his hand, and Blair saw
the first trace of what could have been interpreted as a smile as Jim
gently laid the tired hand back on the bed, then patted it and walked
away slowly.

********

     Jim had always prided himself on being able to function
surprisingly well under pressure.  He did so now, keeping his
composure and trying to provide support for Lindsay's grief-stricken
mother as arrangements were made and family notified.  The witness
who had brought Jim and Lindsay together in the first place, Lindsay's
father, had died of a heart attack six months earlier, just a couple
months before the birth of his granddaughter.  He pitied his mother-in-law, who had lost her
husband, daughter and granddaughter within the
span of six months' time, yet he had the uncanny feeling she held him
accountable for all her losses.

     The double funeral for Lindsay and Amanda Ellison were well-attended to say the least.  The
35-year-old Lindsay had held a top
position in a local graphic design firm before quitting to have and care
for her daughter.  She was popular with her co-workers, as well as a
considerable circle of friends.  The pretty blonde with the quiet but
pleasant personality had made her mark in her short life, leaving
behind a number of close friends and grieving family members.

     Jim listened numbly as the minister eulogized his late wife.  His
thoughts were back to the time when he first met Lindsay, and again,
he was trying to overcome the feelings of guilt he had.  Just before he
met her, Jim had acknowledged to himself that his feelings for Blair
had changed direction.  It was a direction he wasn't prepared to follow,
and given Blair's track record with women, it certainly wasn't one he'd
care to pursue either.  Jim had decided he needed to "get a life."  Then
along came Lindsay.

     He couldn't remember meeting a girl before who had blonde
hair and brown eyes.  But you could lose yourself in the warm depths
of those dark amber eyes of Lindsay's.  She was creative, sensitive, and
her quiet personality meshed well with Jim's.  An independent thinker
who liked time to herself and the chance to paint undisturbed when she
was working on one of the many canvasses that ended up decorating
their home, she was the ideal mate for a cop with an erratic schedule. 
All she'd asked of Jim was that he pursue a promotion that would take
him out of the line of fire.  Lindsay had said she didn't want to be a
widow raising an orphan.

     So Jim changed jobs.  Jim bought a house.  Jim ate Sunday
dinner with his in-laws.  Jim mowed the lawn and helped the neighbor
put up his fence and joined the neighborhood watch, because Lindsay
wanted to be involved in their community.  In short, Jim tried to
fashion himself into the perfect husband.  And now that his wife was
dead, he felt immense guilt at the irritation and displeasure each of
those activities had brought with them.  He hated his new job, he
bought a house Lindsay loved that he personally didn't care for, and
dinner at the in-laws only bored him slightly less than talking to the
neighbors about how many kids were toilet-papering trees and had to
be stopped.  All in all, Jim Ellison had loved Lindsay and Amanda, but
truly loathed every minute of his married life.  

     Lindsay seemed to know she didn't have first place in Jim's
heart, which would result in the little outbursts she would occasionally
have in which she suggested that perhaps Jim should have married
Blair instead of her.  It had been on the tip of his tongue to retort that if
they had been living in Hawaii, he probably would have, but he'd held
it back each time.  And each time the wall between himself and his
wife grew a little stronger.  The wall named Blair Sandburg.

     Blair was innocent in all of it.  He tried to keep his nose out of
Jim's married life.  After he'd overheard Lindsay make a sharp remark
to Jim one time when he dropped in shortly after Amanda was born, it
had taken Jim weeks to talk Blair into ever coming over again.  The
younger man hadn't gone away angry, but he had gone away
determined not to screw up his friend's marriage.

     But the more Lindsay railed against Blair's importance to her
husband, the farther apart the couple grew, until she seemed to realize
this pattern, and did an about-face.  Furthermore, she had come to
appreciate having someone who loved Amanda like his own to call on
when she needed someone to watch the baby.  Blair had volunteered to
babysit any time he possibly could, and when Lindsay gave in and
accepted his help on a few occasions, she began to like Blair and
consider him a friend in her own right.  Ironically, in the weeks just
before the murders, Lindsay and Blair had finally made their peace
with their roles in Jim's life, and were becoming good friends.

     Mandy had been a joy from the first moment she was born.  She
was a fussy baby from the start, but she was Jim's little angel no matter
how many times he had to drag himself out of bed to respond to her
nearly incessant crying at night.  He often got up to take care of the
baby since Lindsay occasionally slept through the start of the crying. 
Jim was awake most of the time whether Amanda was crying or just
sleeping.  He monitored that child like a human nursery monitor, only
tolerating the presence of that device to soothe Lindsay's mind.  He
heard every sigh, intake of breath, burp and gurgle with his own
sentinel hearing.

     //It was as if I thought something was going to happen right
from the start// Jim thought to himself.

     Jerking himself back to the present, Jim noticed that even
Simon was sliding a handkerchief under his glasses. //The minister
must be doing his job,// Jim concluded, feeling that he had cheated
Lindsay once again by letting his attention drift during her eulogy.

     The segment of the sermon about Amanda was a lot of talk of
the innocence of children and angels and eternal paradise.  Jim
swallowed hard on not only his grief, but the inclination to stand up
and shout: "She was shot in her own nursery!  This isn't a fucking fairy
tale!  It's a homicide!"  But he refrained from any outbursts, turning
eyes that filled easily with tears to the little white casket at the front of
the church.

     Soon, he could go back to Blair, and soak up some of the solace
that would heal him.  Blair was still very weak, and Jim knew the
emotional strain wasn't good for his friend.  Still, there was nothing
that soothed Jim now but the sound of that familiar, soft voice, or the
gentle touch of Blair's hand, and the feeling of being loved and cared
for, even if the caregiver was flat on his back and weak as a kitten. 

********

     "What time is it?"  Blair asked the nurse as she came in to
check his IV.

     "It's about three o'clock.  Would you like to watch some TV?" 
she offered.  Blair was getting adjusted to his new private room, no
longer in the ICU unit.  He hadn't told Jim he was being moved,
because he wanted to surprise his friend with one upbeat event in the
middle of all this misery.

     "No, thanks."  He forced a little smile.  "The funeral was today."

     "Must be hard to not go in person, huh?"  she asked gently,
adjusting his pillows a bit.  Sally had been Blair's nurse during a
previous hospital stay, and it was good to see a familiar face.  She had
been more than sympathetic when he'd told her how he ended up there.

     "I just...I wanna get out of here so I can be there for Jim, you
know?  Laid up like this, I'm not good for much."

     "If the number of hours he spends here are any indicator, you
must be good for something, even laid up.  Why don't you relax and
take a nap?  I've poked you for the last time for a while."  She smiled
knowingly and pulled the drapes to obscure the sunlight that was
pouring into the room.  "The move this morning must have tired you
out."

     "Oh, yeah.  Being wheeled down the hall was *real* strenuous."

     "Don't knock the service.  Word is you're going to be up and on
your feet tomorrow."

     "At least it's progress."  Blair sighed, thinking of what an effort
pulling his battered body up on its feet would actually be.

     "So enjoy the star treatment while you're still getting it.  Ring if
you need anything," she concluded, heading out the door.

     "Thanks, Sally."  

     Blair closed his eyes, much better able to sleep peacefully
without the help of sedatives when it was still daylight.  When the
darkness of night came, it was only the heavy sedation and Jim's
constant presence that allowed him to slip off into sleep.  Visions of
the dimly lit hall in the Ellison house, the dark silhouette in the door of
Mandy's nursery, the realization that the worst thing he feared
happening was really going to happen...

     His eyes snapped open again to the shadowy hospital room. 
Maybe he was beyond the point of being gravely ill enough to drop into
a dead sleep unassisted at any time.  

     He recalled coming to, lying on his back on the floor of the
nursery, and seeing the mobile over the crib moving lazily.  Not
knowing if the man who'd shot him was still in the house, Blair had
utilized his last moments of consciousness to think about getting help. 
He couldn't remember acknowledging then that Mandy was dead.  She
was hurt, he knew that, so he'd carefully rolled to his good side and
released her a little less gracefully than he wanted to onto the soft
carpeting. //It's *my* blood on her blanket// Blair remembered telling
himself. //She's asleep, because I've been unconscious a long time and
she's done crying...//

     Then he'd made a determination that the pain was not going to
stop him from getting to his cell phone.  Lindsay had to be at least
gravely injured from the two shots he'd heard before.  Someone had to
get help.  So he'd made the excruciating and agonizingly slow crawl to
his back pack, and the last thing he remembered was getting a hold of
the phone.

     //Mandy was already dead in my arms.//

     The thought tore through Blair's heart like a razor.  In the horror
of Jim's grief, and the first stages of his own struggle to cling to life, let
alone recover, Blair hadn't given any real vent to his own feelings of
loss about Jim's family.  Lindsay was a good person, and he was
starting to get to know her, and to appreciate her creativity, her
kindness, her humor...and she had somehow decided that if she couldn't
beat Blair, she might as well join him, and they were becoming friends. 
Friends who had Jim in common, and beautiful, perfect little Amanda
in common.

     But Mandy had been pure, undistilled joy from the moment of
her birth.  Blair had been moved beyond words that she had his name
as her middle name, and he treasured her as a precious little piece of
Jim.  Somehow, with Jim as her father and Blair sharing her middle
name, he felt the three of them were all linked somehow...it was like
the best version of an old fantasy that had died when Jim came home
that night and announced he had asked Lindsay to marry him.  Up until
then, Blair had entertained thoughts of the two of them someday
discovering each other...or rather, Jim discovering him.  He had
discovered Jim shortly after they met, and he knew how he felt about
his male roommate.  But Jim was hopelessly straight, and when he'd
finally become engaged to Lindsay, Blair had felt his heart would
break.  He knew it would end that way eventually, but he hadn't wanted
it to happen so soon.

     When he'd sit in the nursery and rock Mandy, or sing to her, he
could fantasize silly, impossible things.  That somehow she was his and
Jim's.  She was a miracle that could never happen.  

     Even in her own right, without any embellishments of romantic
fantasy, Blair deeply loved that little girl.  He'd have happily died to
protect her, and in the end, he'd failed miserably when called upon to
do that.

     Lying alone in the dim hospital room, Blair finally let go of the
grief he didn't want to add to Jim's.  Wrenching sobs jarred his pained
body as he finally let out the anguish he felt over the loss of Jim's
family and the trauma of his own ordeal.

********

     Having dispensed with his suitcoat and tie in the truck, Jim
slipped into his topcoat and headed into the hospital to see Blair.  The
funeral dinner had been a long, drawn out, draining experience. 
Lindsay's family were all in town, and blessedly, staying with her
mother and not him.  Of course, the nature of what happened prevented
him from hosting too many house guests.  He hadn't been back to the
house himself, and it was still sealed as a crime scene.  

     Blair hadn't been much help to the investigation.  What little
light had been in the hall was behind the shooter, and Blair had done
his utmost to turn away to shield Amanda.  He hadn't seen the perp's
face at all.  He did say the silhouette was fairly large, about Simon's
height and build.   Blair recalled him being left-handed, after Jim spent
considerable time calmly walking him through his first glimpse of the
man in the hall he knew was going to shoot him and Amanda.  Blair
had some serious gaps in his memory, which Jim had to sadly accept
and work with what they *did* have.

     There was no need for Jim to crusade to make the murder of his
family top priority.  Community outrage at the brutal slaying of a
family in a relatively "safe" suburban neighborhood at dinner time had
been sufficient to make the mayor snap at Simon's heels.  That was also
unnecessary as the entire Major Crimes Unit was lining up to help with
the case, both on-duty and on their own time.

     Needless to say, Jim would not be a direct member of the
investigation.  He was personally involved in the most intimate way. 
Simon had overridden his objections by reminding him that they had
one living witness that not only needed protection but also needed care. 
Blair would not be able to be left on his own once he was released
from the hospital, and the logical person to take care of him was Jim.

     Simon's orders that Jim "look after Sandburg" were
unnecessary, but Simon had turned it into an order to make Jim feel as
if he were acting in some official capacity in the investigation.

     As he rode the elevator to the ICU, Jim leaned against the wall
and tried to pull the pieces of his mind together sufficiently to even
form a theory about why anyone would want to kill his family.  In his
line of work, there were countless seedy characters who could come
back for revenge, and that was phase one of the investigation: sorting
his old arrests and run-ins to find any tall, well-built, left-handed men.

     He made his way wearily down the corridor to Blair's room, and
froze in the doorway when he encountered only a freshly made bed. 
Backing out of the room with shaky steps, he fell into a chair in the
hallway and just sat there, staring into space. //Oh, God, no, don't do
this to me!!  He's all I have left.  God forgive me, he's always been the
one that mattered the most...  You've got everything else I had...why
him too?//

     "Jim?"  A woman's voice startled him.  He realized as he
brushed at his eyes that the agony he'd felt had manifested itself as
tears already.

     "When?"  was all he could manage.

     "Blair was moved to a private room on the fourth floor about
three hours ago," Sally responded.  "I came up to make sure the nurse
at the desk sent you downstairs.  He wanted to surprise you."

     "Oh, God."  Jim's head dropped back against the wall with a
dull thud.  "Thank God," he murmured.

     "You thought he was-- Oh, Jim, I'm sorry.  He thought it would
be a nice surprise for you that he was off the critical list and out of
ICU."

     "It is," Jim responded, finally finding a slight smile for the
distressed young woman standing in front of him.  Sally had been a
wonderful bright spot during Blair's hospital stay a year earlier
following a car accident he'd been in with Jim during a high speed
chase.  Fortunately, Blair's injuries had been more annoying that life-threatening, and the
friendly brunette had kept his spirits up during his
stay.

     "Come on, I'll show you were he is," she offered, sensing that
Jim was about at the end of his rope after the funeral and the shock of
thinking he'd lost Blair too.

     Jim eased the door open and looked in on Blair as Sally left him
to his visit.  Slipping inside the room and moving stealthily toward the
bed, Jim didn't want to wake his sleeping friend.  He noticed the
moisture of drying tears on Blair's face as he drew closer, realizing that
his sentinel sight hadn't picked up on it until he was close enough that
anyone could have seen it.  That didn't surprise him, given his present
state of exhaustion and emotional turmoil.

     Blair had gone through a pretty good cry from the looks of his
pillow case and the wetness on his face. //Poor little guy,// Jim thought
protectively, sitting in a chair close to the bed. //Spent four days on the
critical list, and as soon as he opened his eyes the first time, he had to
pull me back together.  Gather up a million pieces and try to put them
back into a reasonable facsimile of Jim Ellison.//

     The unnerving thing was, even barely able to speak, Blair had
done just that.  His soft words and the gentle hand caressing Jim's hair
as he let out his pain and his grief more than once on Blair's bedside
had pulled him back from the edge of insanity.  He lived for the time
he spent with Blair, and as he always had, Blair turned all his attentions
to Jim's well-being.

     Jim eyed the overstuffed chair in the corner of the room and
hoped he could use his status as a cop, claiming to be "protecting"
Blair, to sleep there until his friend was released.

     "Jim?"  Blair's sleepy voice jarred him back to reality.

     "Hey, there, Chief.  How're you doin'?"

     "I got upgraded," Blair responded, still groggy.

     "Man, that's the best news I've had all day."  Jim pulled his chair
closer and took Blair's hand.  "You've got a little more color today. 
You're looking healthier by the minute, buddy."

     "Wish I could've been with you today."  Blair returned the light
pressure on his hand.  "Damn it, they should've buried me today, not
Mandy," Blair blurted out as fresh tears came.  "I'm so sorry, man.  I
fucked everything up.  I tried so hard not to let you down...to take care
of her, but I couldn't do it!"  Blair lost what little control he'd had and
cried openly as he held onto Jim's hand.  

     "You listen to me, Chief."  Jim lowered the side rail on the bed
and sat on the edge of it, next to Blair's uninjured side.  He laced their
fingers together and pulled Blair's hand and forearm into the embrace
he wanted to give Blair himself, had his injuries permitted.  "There was
no one in that house that night that was dispensable to me.  I loved
Lindsay and Amanda, and I love you.  Losing my wife is one kind of
pain, and losing Mandy...God, there just aren't words...but, Blair, losing
you would have been a different pain, not a lesser one.  You were stuck
in a no-win situation, buddy.  I know the layout of that house.  You
didn't have any choices, or anywhere to go, and with a crying baby, you
couldn't even *try* hiding.  The son of a bitch was going to shoot both
of you no matter what you did. *You* didn't fail, do you hear me?"

     "She was...your...daugh-daughter...and Lindsay...t-trusted
me...with her...and I...I let her...die!"  Blair choked out, still sobbing as
he clutched Jim's hand.

     "Dammit, Blair, you didn't *let* anything happen!  Maybe you
think then I should blame Lindsay because she forgot to lock the patio
door again, or I could blame Mandy because she cried, and I could
blame you because you had the bad luck to be in the wrong place at the
wrong time.  The only bastard to blame for this is the one who did the
shooting.  Oh, come on, Chief, listen to what I'm trying to tell you
here," Jim pleaded with his inconsolable friend, who still hadn't quieted
despite his reassurances.  He reached up and stroked the side of Blair's
head, threading his fingers through the soft hair there.  "You know how
much I loved Mandy.  If I can look at this situation and tell you that
you're not to blame, why can't you believe me?"

     "She...was...just a...baby.  I should've...done something!"

     "Like what?  You held her, you tried to use your body as a
shield.  What more could you do?"  Jim was crying himself now, not
certain if it was talking about the circumstances of Amanda's death or
Blair's heart-wrenching grief and feelings of guilt that were causing it. 
Or maybe it was just fatigue.  

     "I loved her, Jim," Blair managed, trying to stop the flow of
tears that seemed to know no end.  "I don't have...any right...to lay
this...on you...but...I loved her...too," Blair concluded before tears took
over again and stole his voice.

     "I know, Chief.  I know you did.  You have a right to your grief. 
And you have a right to your nightmares and your fear and your pain. 
You were that bastard's victim too."  

     "I'm...sorry...I'm the one...who made it, Jim.  I wish it...had been
Mandy...or Lindsay."

     "You haven't listened to a word I said, have you?  Huh?"  Jim
let go of Blair's hand and arm, though Blair was quick to fasten his
hand to the lapel of Jim's coat to keep the contact.  Both of Jim's hands
went to either side of Blair's tear-dampened face.  "You are *not* a
consolation prize of some sort here, buddy.  You're a gift, Blair.  Out of
all this horror, your life is the one miracle that was given to me to get
me through this.  I'm so damned glad you're going to be okay," Jim
stated, giving in to his own tears a moment.  "I need you, partner.  I
always did, I always will."  He leaned forward and rested his forehead
against Blair's.  

     "I'm sorry...to do this...today," Blair said, getting his composure
back slowly.  Jim straightened up and grabbed a couple of tissues from
the box near the bed and set about the task of blotting the tears off
Blair's face.

     "This is the day for it, Chief.  Just because you couldn't be there
doesn't mean you aren't allowed to cry or grieve."

     "Was everything nice?"

     "Yeah.  Lindsay's aunts did a great job with the arrangements. 
Her sister sang...she has a really beautiful voice.  Lindsay did too, when
she used to sing to Mandy all the time."  Jim paused.  "It was a nice
service, I guess.  All I know is it hurt," Jim said honestly, still holding
onto Blair's hand.

     "Any leads?"  Blair asked.  Jim smiled at him, knowing that
Blair realized Jim had had as much as he could take of talking about
the deaths and the funeral.

     "Nothing concrete.  I've busted a few lefties in my time, and
only about three of them fit the profile that might come back to take
revenge.  I hope it isn't the beginning of a pattern."

     "A serial killer you mean?"

     "Right.  Mandy and Lindsay are gone.  I can't change that.  I just
hope that they weren't the first of many families."

     "That would be horrible."

     "I don't want to think they died because of me.  That you almost
died because of me.  Again."

     "Now who's taking blame they don't have coming?"

     "Touche."  Jim squeezed Blair's hand and held it in both of his. 
"How do you feel, really?"

     "Everything hurts, but they tell me I can get up tomorrow."

     "That's great!  Hey, pretty soon, you can get out of here."

     "I feel so useless in here.  I want to do something...help you
somehow."

     "You did that just by surviving this, Chief."

     "I mean with the case, and with...you know...you'll have to
eventually...well, take care of stuff."

     "You mean the house."  Jim watched as Blair nodded.  "It's still
sealed as a crime scene for now.  Simon got in and grabbed me some
clothes and shoes and my shaving gear.  Plus stuff for Lindsay and
Mandy to wear."  He sighed and then continued.  "As soon as we get
the all-clear, a cleaning crew that...know how to deal with situations
like these...are going to clean up the place, and then it's going up for
sale."  Jim rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. 
"Lindsay's mother and sister and her aunts said they'd take care of her
things, but I want to do some of that myself.  Get that hen party going
and they kind of forget that I'm still here."

     "You look exhausted, buddy.  Are you sleeping at all?"

     "I told you--"

     "Yeah, you sleep on the couches.  I heard.  Bet your neck and
back are killin' you right about now."

     "I've felt better.  I just can't...every time I try to sleep...I see
them."

     "So do I, Jim.  It's going to take a long time for that to go away,
I think.  Now that they're taking me off some of the pain meds, sleep is
harder and harder.  I keep remembering..."

     "I'm going to ask to stay in here.  I'll tell them I'm guarding
you."

     "Are you?"

     "Simon's had a 24-hour guard on you from the beginning until
we figure out what this is about.  But I'd rather do it myself, officially,
and I'd probably get some real sleep in that chair.  I could pull it up
next to the bed here in case you needed me...oh, hell, who am I
kidding?  In case we needed each other."

     "Yeah," Blair responded, smiling slightly.  "I'd like that."

********
     
     Jim did doze off fairly quickly in his new sleeping spot next to
Blair's bed.  It seemed surreal to slide into sleep without listening for
Amanda's breathing and heartbeat, knowing he wouldn't hear her cry or
get up to go hold her sometime during the night.

     He was startled out of sleep by Blair's voice.  The younger man
was talking agitatedly in his sleep, whining and getting more and more
vocal.  Jim leaned over the bed and started stroking Blair's hair,
murmuring reassurances to him.  The other man soon woke with a
start, staring at Jim in wide-eyed fear until he processed where he was
and who he was seeing.

     "It's just me, buddy.  Bad dream?"  Blair just nodded.  "I've been
pretty fitful too."

     "I know it's not real comfortable or easy, but would you...do you
think you could...if I moved over...could you hold me a while?"

     "I'll give it a shot, Chief.  Be careful now," Jim admonished as
Blair eased himself over in the bed to clear a narrow strip, where Jim
carefully stretched out beside him.  Since the other side of Blair's body
was marred with the shoulder and chest injury, and his midsection had
been ravaged by yet another bullet, the most contact Jim could risk was
just the closeness of his body to his friend.  Blair grasped his hand and
laced their fingers, pulling Jim's arm up to rest on the unmarred side of
his chest.  Jim found his face resting against a few soft, stray curls.

     "Are you as uncomfortable as you look?"  Blair finally asked,
drawing a little chuckle out of Jim.

     "Actually, buddy, it feels pretty good to be here.  Go back to
sleep.  I'm right here."

     "So'm I--I mean, if you want to talk or can't sleep or anything," 
Blair added.

     "Gotcha.  Now sleep, Chief.  You need the rest."

     Blair settled down easily and slept, and within moments, Jim
was right behind him.  When morning dawned and the nurses were
making their early rounds, Blair had to rouse Jim from the only truly
deep sleep the man had gotten since the death of his family.

********

     Blair was to be released from the hospital on a cold but sunny
day in late November.  The two men had passed Thanksgiving
together, purposely dining on pizza and other non-traditional foods,
hoping to ignore the holiday altogether.  Now, with the festivity of the
Christmas season approaching, Jim was relieved that he would at least
have Blair out of the sterile confines of the hospital.

     It seemed a bit surreal letting himself into the loft as if he'd
never left.  He had been surprised when Blair never moved out of  the
little bedroom downstairs to utilize the larger upstairs room.  In this
case, it was just as well, since Blair really wasn't supposed to be taking
on steps just yet.

     Blair hadn't changed anything in the time since Jim had left. 
What items Jim had chosen for the loft's decor were still in place, and
the big bedroom upstairs was essentially untouched, looking as neat
and sterile as it did when he'd packed up the last of his things to move
into the new house.

     Jim felt that wave of guilt again when he realized that he felt as
if he were "coming home" at last.  His home was with his wife and
daughter, in their new house.  But yet, whenever he walked in the door
of the loft, whether to visit Blair or now, standing in his friend's room,
gathering up his clothes, it was like coming home again.  

     He headed back for the hospital and found a very anxious Blair
sitting in the chair, looking out the window of his room.

     "Watching the parking lot for me, Chief?"  Jim quipped, tossing
the duffle bag of clothes on the bed.

     "I am just *so* ready to get out of this place, man.  I *hate*
hospitals."

     "Okay, pal, let's get you ready to make your big exit then."

     Jim carefully helped Blair out of his pajamas and into regular
street clothes for the first time in two weeks.  The damaged shoulder
still meant his arm was to be kept in a sling, but it could be carefully
slipped out of its protection long enough for Jim to ease a sweater
sleeve over it.  

     A short time later, Blair was dressed in his jeans, a bulky
sweater and one of Jim's leather coats.  The larger coat allowed them to
cover the immobilized arm in its sling and still give some decent
coverage in front.  Over his objections, Blair was made to take the
obligatory wheelchair ride out to the truck.  Since his right side was
essentially undamaged, he flopped his good arm around Jim's shoulders
while the larger man lifted him up into the passenger seat. 

     "How's it feel to be sprung?"  Jim almost sounded cheerful as he
put the truck in gear and pulled out into the mid-day traffic.

     "Great.  I was really starting to bounce off the walls in that
place."  Blair was silent a moment, watching the familiar sights of
Cascade pass his window.  "Simon came by yesterday while you were
at the station.  He said there were no new leads--nothing panned out
from your old arrests."

     "Not so far."  Jim sighed.  "I don't want you to worry about the
case.   You've got your plate full getting well."

     "How's Lindsay's mom doing?"  

     "I'm supposed to have lunch with her tomorrow.  The house is
all...cleaned up now, and she wants to start going through Lindsay's
things."

     "How do you feel about that?"

     "Not ready," Jim shot back, immediately.  

     "Then she should back off, man.  Lindsay was *your* wife."

     "I never did get along with Marge," Jim said, referring to his
mother-in-law.  "She figures this is my fault somehow--that someone
was trying to get at me, or that I didn't protect Lindsay and Mandy."  He
shook his head.  "Plus every time we had a fight, Lin went to her and
told her what an SOB I was."

     "Isn't that par for the course with mothers and daughters?  I
mean, they were real close, and you know, when you fight with
somebody and get mad enough, you can really hate them for a little
while, anyway."  

     "She thinks I'm not grieving enough."

     "What?"  Blair's head snapped around to look at Jim.  Anyone
with eyes could see the pallor of his complexion, the fatigue in his
eyes, and the overall slump of his posture.

     "I haven't been to the cemetery since the funeral."

     "That's what she said?"

     "No, that's what I'm saying.  Dammit, Blair, maybe she's right."

     "Man, you were overloaded--barraged.  You had not one, but
two, huge losses, me laid up on the critical list, not to mention the fact
it was a violent crime--which is another whole trauma by itself that's
different from an accident or natural causes.  As for going to the
cemetery, when would you have time?  You've been with me just about
24 hours a day since I was taken to the hospital.  Besides, we all grieve
in our own ways.  For some people, it's visiting a grave every day.  For
others, that doesn't hold any lure or consolation."

     "I can't stand to see Mandy's headstone."  Jim's hands tightened
on the wheel.  "I don't know if I can handle this, Chief.  I can't accept it. 
I can't face the fact she's gone.  And when I go there, and see that stone,
with the little lamb carved on it, and her name...Dammit!"  Jim slapped
the steering wheel and leaned his forehead on his hand, as his elbow
rested on the driver's door.  The tears were back.  "I don't want to do
this anymore!"

     "Do what, buddy?"  Blair asked softly.

     "I don't want to...I want her to be okay.  I want my daughter
back.  It isn't fair, dammit."

     "No, it's not fair, man.  It sucks."

     "And I want to be able to feel what Marge wants me to feel. 
But I can't.  I loved Lindsay, but things weren't right between us.  I
could feel that almost from the start.  God dammit, Blair, I feel so
fucking guilty," Jim shouted out through tears that were falling now,
blurring his vision as he tried to drive.  "She was a good wife, she was
the mother of my child--and God help me, I wasn't happy with her!"

     "Jim, come on, man, pull over up here."  Blair pointed at the
parking lot of a vacant appliance store.  Jim followed the instructions
like a robot, stopping the truck in one of the many empty spaces.

     "I didn't give her what she deserved.  I feel so fucking guilty
because she's dead and her mother's right...when I cry at night it's for
my little girl...dammit to hell, Blair, I tried so hard to feel what I was
supposed to feel, but I hated my life!  I hated that goddamn house, and
I hate my job...and I--I--I--"

     "Jim, come on, buddy.  It's okay.  You don't have to explain it. 
Just let it go."  Blair unfastened his seatbelt and slid carefully over to
Jim, pulling the other man's head down against his chest.

     "I'll hurt you," Jim objected weakly.

     "I'm not made out of china.  Come here."  Blair ignored the
twinges of pain in his shoulder and incision as he found a safe spot for
Jim's head to rest on his chest.  With his good hand, he stroked Jim's
hair back while the other man poured out his grief.

     "I feel...like I'm...losing it..."

     "You are, buddy.  You're losing the pain.  You're letting it out
right now.  You need to do that."  Blair kept up his gentle caresses of
Jim's head.  "It's so natural to go back and think about all the things you
did or didn't do that you want to change when someone dies suddenly. 
And you think of all the nasty thoughts you had about them and it tears
you up.  But, Jim, everybody has those thoughts.  How many times did
you get pissed off at me for putting you through some inane test and
just wanted me to get out of your face?"

     "But I never wanted--"

     "Shhhh.  I know.  I know, buddy.  You didn't want me gone, or
dead.  You were angry.  Like any normal human being.  I got pissed at
your house rules and you ordering me around sometimes, and there
were times I stormed off, mad as hell, thinking nasty thoughts.  But I
never, ever wanted to lose you.  I never stopped loving you because I
was mad at you.  But I have been angry at you.  Just like you were
angry at Lindsay for pressuring you into changing so many things about
your life in ways you didn't like."  Blair rested his cheek against Jim's
hair.  "If all this had been reversed, and you had died, she'd be sobbing
now and beating herself up for making you do so many things you
weren't happy about."

     "I didn't...love her...enough.  God, she deserved...more..."

     "Shhhh.  It's okay, buddy.  You gave her a beautiful home, you
did everything she asked you to do, you were a wonderful father to
Mandy--what else were you supposed to do?"

     "I was supposed to love her more!!"  Jim shouted through his
tears.

     "More than what?  More than enough to give up the job you
loved to make her happy?  More than enough to move into a house you
didn't like?  More than enough to join that retarded neighborhood
watch?"  Blair was relieved to feel a watery chuckle against his chest. 
"Shit, Jim, you jumped through every hoop she held up and a few she
didn't even think of.  You treated her like a princess.  How many men
do you know who take care of almost all the nighttime baby duties,
huh?"

     "But...deep inside...I didn't...she wasn't...I didn't love her
enough, Blair."

     "Because you're grieving harder for Mandy?  Is that it?  Jim, she
was your little girl--actually a physical part of you.  The loss of a child
is one of the most horrible, difficult things to go through.  Many people
take that harder than the loss of a spouse."

     "Because...I was...glad...you were...the one...who lived.  God
help me, Blair, if I could have chosen I'd have wanted *you* to live!" 
Jim blurted out, followed by another wave of tears.  Blair was
temporarily dumbfounded by that statement.  All along, he'd felt guilty
for being the survivor.  He had felt that if fate had just shifted events
slightly, Jim could have at least maybe had his wife instead of his
friend.  He frantically searched the dark recesses of his mind for
something to console the sobbing man huddled against him.

     "Jim, our relationship is different from a normal friendship. 
Because of the whole Sentinel thing, you depend on me more than you
normally would.  It's natural that you would feel kind of frantic if you
couldn't talk to me or turn to me at all.  Our friendship and connection
would be hard to fit in with any marriage, and that's why you're feeling
like you've somehow 'cheated' Lindsay.  I know I was a source of
conflict between you two.  I know she felt like your attention was
divided, even though she knew why.  It's not your fault that you have
heightened senses or that you need help with them."

     "But it's my fault...that I...that I was more...worried about
you...when I got...to the house...than I was...about Lin," he choked out
in little gasps.

     "You're my Blessed Protector.  It's in the Sentinel contract,
remember?  Instinct, man."  Blair tried to lighten the mood a little, but
Jim was having none of it.

     "Marge is right.  I'm not...grieving enough for...Lindsay."

     "Marge is way out of line, Jim.  She's hurting and upset and
she's lashing out.  But she's still way out of line.  She can't judge your
grief."  Blair ignored the ache in his injured shoulder.  He knew he was
the only person Jim would let down with this way, and there was no
way he was going to staunch the flow now.  "Listen to me.  You gave
Lindsay everything she asked you for, and you were a great dad.  You
don't have anything to apologize for.  Not to her, not to Mandy--and
sure as fucking hell not to her overbearing mother.  And that house is
your business.  If she wants to help you on your terms in your good
time to sort Lindsay's things, fine.  If not, you have a right to say no. 
It's your house, man, and she was your wife.  Don't let her mother push
you around."  Blair took a deep breath, immediately regretting it, but
worked hard at swallowing the pain.  Jim was more important.  "I won't
be laid up that much longer.  I'll help you with anything you have to do,
you know that.  I'm right here."

     "I know that."  Jim had quieted considerably, and finally moved
away from Blair.  "Is your shoulder okay?"

     "Fine," Blair lied, smiling at his friend.

     "Liar."

     "Okay, so it hurts.   So what?  No harm done.  It hurts anyway."

     "I'm sorry."

     "For what?  Hurting?  Grieving?  My God, Jim, you've handled
this...I don't know how you've gotten through it all so well."

     "I'm not doing so great right now, Chief," Jim retorted, sniffling
and blinking, trying to get his composure back.

     "Jim, do you think I'm weak because my arm's in a sling and
you had to lift me into the truck?"

     "Hell no.  You're recovering from multiple gunshot wounds--"

     "Exactly.  I'm recovering.  And while I'm doing that, I'm weak. 
I'm vulnerable.  You had two really big wounds of your own, only they
weren't physical.  You're recovering, man.  So you're a little weak
sometimes.  You have the physical strength to haul me around and take
care of me, and even though I feel pretty torn up over all this too, if I
have a little emotional strength you can draw on, take it.  Do it. 
Holding back, not letting your grief out with somebody you trust, who
loves you, is just silly.  It'd be as dumb as me refusing your help while
I'm recuperating.  We're both pretty fucked up right now.  Maybe
between the two of us, we can patch each other up."

     "If you had died, I--"

     "I didn't.  Don't even go back over that in your mind anymore,
buddy.  I'm here, I'm going to be fine.  Yeah, I could have died, but I
didn't.  You're not alone."

     "Guess I'm pretty lucky."  Jim smiled slightly and took a hold of
Blair's good hand.

     "You're not to blame for any of this, man.  And you were a
damn good husband and father.  Don't forget that."
     
     "If you say so."  Jim slumped back in the seat.

     "I say so."

     "Let's go home, huh?"  Jim started up the truck again and
managed a little smile for Blair, who returned it.

********

     Jim felt the first little improvement in his spirits as he moved
around the familiar kitchen of the loft and made dinner for himself and
Blair.  The younger man was stretched out on the couch, flipping from
channel to channel in search of something to entertain him.  With his
classes taken over for the remainder of the semester by other
professors, all Blair had to concentrate on now was getting the rest he
needed to heal.  
     
     By the time dinner was ready, Blair was sleeping soundly on the
couch.  Jim stood at the back of the couch and took in the sight of his
sleeping friend with a fond smile.  In these rare few moments, the pain
and trauma of Blair's own ordeal was smoothed out of his perfect
features.  This was his Blair, not "Professor Sandburg" with his hair
pulled back and glasses in place.  

     "Jim?"  The sleepy voice startled him out of his thoughts.

     "Dinner's just about ready, Chief."  Jim smiled slightly and
moved back toward the kitchen.

     "Are you okay?  You looked almost zoned there for a minute." 
Blair made his way out to the table as Jim put the plates of lasagna at
their places.  "Cool, one-handed food!"  Blair enthused, wielding his
fork in his functional right hand.

     "I wasn't zoned, just thinking," Jim replied, grinning at Blair's
enthusiasm over his meal.  Blair had tolerated having Jim cut his meat
in the hospital, and had wrestled a few hard-to-eat meals on his own,
but the prospect of something that tasted good that he could manage
with one hand and just his fork brought out the best in his mood.

     "This is great," Blair mumbled around a mouthful of food. 
"God, I *hate* hospital food."

     "It's all the same color, that's what always bothers me," Jim
added, pouring what looked like red wine into two wine glasses. 
"Sparkling grape juice, buddy.  Won't give you a bad trip with your
pain meds."

     "I didn't realize," Blair paused to chew and swallow, "how
much I missed your Italian food."

     "You did, huh?"  Jim asked, grinning.

     "*Nobody* does sauce like you do.  Just the right amount of
oregano," Blair added, bringing up an old joke from years earlier.

     "I'm kind of rusty at it.  Lin usually cooks--I mean, she used to
do most of the cooking," Jim concluded quietly.

     "You okay?"  Blair dispensed with his fork to lay his hand on
Jim's arm.

     "Oh yeah.  I'm okay," Jim said, smiling.  "Blair...I..."  Jim
reached over and covered the hand on his arm.  "I'm really glad you're
here."

     "Always will be, man.  Long as you want me around."

********

     Blair was sleepy, feeling the pain medication taking effect.  Jim
had gotten him settled very comfortably in his own bed, which was a
big improvement over the hospital bed.  Still, he was restless.  Jim had
paced around upstairs for a long time before settling into bed.  Blair
hoped the familiar surroundings would help his friend get a little much
needed sleep in a comfortable bed.

     He had just begun to doze when the sound of Jim's voice shook
him back to reality again.  It must have begun as quiet, agitated
mumblings, but now Jim was yelling as if someone were murdering
him.

     Blair pulled himself out of bed and made his way stealthily out
into the living room, wanting to be sure that there was no one else in
the loft.  His own experience had left him jumpy and a little spooked,
wondering if the man who did the shooting that night would think to
come back and eliminate the only living witness.

     The stairs looked ten miles high as he slowly made his way to
the top.  Technically, the steps were still off limits, but from the sounds
of the shouts and moans coming from above, Jim needed more than
just a yell from the first floor to bring him around and get him calm
again.

     Finally reaching the side of the big bed, Blair opted to stand
there and try to reach Jim with his voice first.  He couldn't really
wrestle Jim physically, and he didn't want to risk getting an incision
opened by an accidental blow from flailing arms.

     "Jim, Jim!"  He had to raise his voice over Jim's.  "Come on,
man, it's me, it's Blair.  Listen to my voice.  Concentrate on my voice." 
Blair paused as Jim's face lost a little of its agonized expression and his
shouts turned more to confused, pained mutterings.  "Jim, you're having
a nightmare.  Follow my voice, buddy.  Wake up."  Blair ventured to sit
on the edge of the bed and reached his mobile hand out to take a hold
of Jim's where it rested on the larger man's stomach.  "Jim, I'm right
here.  It's safe to open your eyes.  Come on, follow my voice.  I know
its scary but you can get away from it.  Just wake up and look at me."

     Blair wasn't sure if it was the firm pressure on Jim's hand or the
constant sound of his voice, but the other man soon calmed and opened
his eyes, staring a little blankly at Blair for a moment before speaking.

     "How'd you get up here, Chief?"

     "I took the elevator," Blair quipped, squeezing Jim's hand a
little.

     "Sorry about that.  I...I had a nightmare," Jim said, brushing his
free hand over his eyes to dispel the moisture there.

     "Sounded like a nasty one.  You wanna talk about it?"

     "Not really," Jim responded in a hoarse voice.

     "Want me to stay?"  Blair offered.  He knew if he waited for
Jim to ask, they'd both die of old age.

     "Probably better not.  I might jostle you."

     "Is that a proposition, man?"  Blair was relieved to hear a little
snort of a laugh from Jim.

     "Still a one-track mind.  I'm worried about your stitches,
dummy."  Jim was still smiling a little, and still holding Blair's hand.

     "Let's give it a shot.  Move over.  I should have my good side
toward you."  Blair waited while Jim obeyed the instructions, and then
carefully lowered himself into the vacated spot.   "Come here, huh?" 
He motioned for Jim to scoot over.  "Nothing's screwed up on this side. 
Come on, I won't bite you, buddy."  

     Jim wasn't sure what surprised him more--that Blair was
settling into his bed and encouraging him to sleep with his head on the
smaller man's uninjured shoulder, or that he was going along with it. 
But the closeness felt so good against the coldness and pain of the
nightmare, he couldn't help it.

     "Are you okay like this?"  Jim asked his partner.

     "I'm fine.  Tell you the truth--I wasn't sleeping very well
downstairs either."

     "I keep thinking it should get better.  I can't be like this for the
rest of my life," Jim concluded, the discouragement plain in his voice.

     "We've both been through hell, Jim.  It's going to be a long time
before we feel okay again.  I jump at every little noise and shadow, I
don't sleep very well except for when you're with me, and I've had some
nightmares...oh, man, worse than any I've ever had in my life."

     "It just doesn't get any better.  The pain doesn't go away.  I keep
looking for an...emotional pain dial, I guess.  I feel like I have to turn it
down before I go insane, but it just keeps pounding at me...  This isn't
making a hell of a lot of sense is it?"

     "Sure it is," Blair responded reassuringly, stroking Jim's hair
and leaning his cheek against it.  "You know what might help?  We've
got to think about something pleasant.  You know, sort of a joint
meditation.  We can visualize something nice."  Blair was quiet a few
minutes.  "I've got it.  Remember when we went to Stephen's place at
Lake Tahoe a couple years ago?  The house had such a beautiful view
of the lake.  You could lie in bed at night with the windows open and
listen to the water.  I used to get up sometimes and look out at those
waves...all dark and shiny, just kissed by the moonlight.  Picture
yourself walking along the shore--"

     "Us."

     "Huh?"

     "Picture *us* walking along the shore."  Jim's voice was already
calmer, and Blair smiled at his correction.

     "Okay.  Picture us walking along the edge of the water.  It's late,
and we're just strolling along, not needing to talk...just kind of enjoying
the peace and the solitude.  You can hear the waves lapping at the
shore, and the moon is turning everything a sort of beautiful white...
almost ethereal."

     "What are we doing there?  Are we on vacation or something?"

     "You're breaking the mood here, man," Blair admonished,
chortling a little.  "Okay, *Detective Ellison*," Blair began, "Stephen
rented us the place for a week."

     "Cheap-ass.  He could have let us stay free," Jim quipped,
yawning against Blair's shoulder.  

     "Who's telling this damn meditation story anyway?"  Blair
asked, with completely feigned anger.  Jim just laughed.

     "You are, Darwin.  I'll be quiet."

     "Okay.  Where was I?  Oh, yeah, the moon.  The moon is
turning everything this beautiful silvery white color, and it's a mild
night so--"

     "The breeze isn't cold, but it's blowing all those curls over your
eyes, and you keep tucking them behind your ears, but they won't stay."

     "You mean I didn't pull my hair back?"  Blair asked, grinning,
wondering why his hair was foremost in Jim's mind.

     "No," Jim responded, with a distinct smile in his voice.  "You're
not Dr. Sandburg on this trip.  You're Blair.  And Blair is definitely a
loose curls in the wind kind of person."

     "Yeah, well, don't tell anybody, but Dr. Sandburg is only around
long enough to keep the day job."

     "I already know that, Blair."  Jim's voice sounded groggier now,
and as he was relaxing, Blair was becoming more puzzled by the
conversation.  "You're wearing something white...it's a loose white
shirt, open halfway down the front..."  Jim's voice was slurring now,
and his arm was wrapping around Blair's body, safely beneath his
abdominal incision.  "So beau'ful..."  he murmured, sliding off into
sleep.

     Blair looked down at him, relieved he had calmed enough to
sleep.  He was completely puzzled at why Jim suddenly turned a
solitary walk on the shore to a soliloquy on Blair Sandburg, Moon God. 
Maybe as Jim dozed off to sleep, his thoughts of his friend and his late
wife were somehow blending together.  After all, Lindsay was the last
person Jim slept with.  In the truest sense of the phrase, when it isn't
being used as a euphemism for an activity that has little to do with
sleeping, he and Jim were "sleeping together", and had been since Blair
had been moved out of ICU.  

     Safe and cozy, nestled in the side of the bed Jim had warmed up
for him, feeling secure under the protection of a very large sleeping
sentinel, Blair finally fell asleep.  Neither man was plagued with
nightmares the rest of the night.

********

     Marge Stanton was seated at a table near the window of the
rather expensive restaurant she had chosen as the place to meet her
son-in-law.  Dressed in a simple grey tailored jacket and skirt, her
white hair was artfully styled in a dramatic sweep. When Jim spotted
her there waiting, he went through his usual internal dialogue, giving
himself a pep talk to bolster him for meeting with this woman he didn't
really like and who definitely didn't like him.

     "Marge, how are you?"  Jim tried his best concerned tone as he
delivered the obligatory peck on the cheek, then took his seat across
from her. 

     "Certainly not very well," she replied, pulling out a day planner
and a pen.  "I thought we could decide on a time to go through
Lindsay's things--"
     
     "Marge, I'm not really ready to do that yet."

     "I realize that you're busy with your police work--"

     "That isn't what I meant.  I'm on leave from the department
indefinitely.  With everything that's happened...and Blair's still
recovering, and--"

     "You're living with him now?"  she asked, an odd tone to her
voice, as if she found that arrangement either distasteful or suspicious.

     "Blair invited me to stay at the loft.  I don't really want to be at
the house, and he needs someone there while he's recuperating.  He's
doing much better, by the way," Jim added pointedly, annoyed at
Marge's coldness in never inquiring.

     "Was he able to identify the man...that night?"  she asked, her
voice shaking slightly.  Jim was marginally softened by this small show
of human weakness.

     "Not really," Jim responded, keeping up the department's
official story that Blair could tell them almost nothing.  He couldn't
identify the man's face, but he'd supplied the height, build and
dominant hand characteristic.  "It was dark in the room, and it
happened very quickly.  He was shot three times."

     "I'm aware of that.  I didn't come here to talk about Mr.
Sandburg."

     "Dr. Sandburg, actually," Jim persisted.  She was pushing his
buttons, and with his own grief wearing on his stamina and patience, he
decided to punch a few of hers in return.  "He got his Ph.D. last year."

     "Lindsay used to say you were obsessed with this man.  I never
took her too seriously...until now.  You've talked about him non-stop
since you arrived.  In case you hadn't noticed, your wife was the one
who was murdered," she stated coldly.

     "That does it."  Jim stood up and tossed a couple of bills on the
table to cover the carafe of wine Marge had ordered.  "I'm very sorry
that you lost your daughter.  But I lost my daughter too, as well as my
wife.  You don't need to remind me of what happened.  I'm the one who
found them, remember?  And yes, I probably am a little obsessed with
Blair because he took three bullets just for being in my house, holding
my daughter.  Because he's the only family I have left."  Jim snatched
his jacket off the back of the chair.  "Oh, and about the house?  I'll be
taking care of that myself.  I'll be happy to send you some of Lindsay's
things."

     "You never really loved her, did you?"  Marge pinned him with
a cold glare.

     "I don't have to justify myself to you.  My relationship with
Lindsay was between her and me."

     "And Dr. Sandburg," Marge added pointedly.

     "Good-bye, Marge."  Jim strode out of the restaurant and got
back in the truck, starting up the engine.

     //The old battle axe is right.  That's why you're so pissed off at
her that you can't cut her any slack.  You never did love Lindsay the
way you love Blair.  Making love to her never made you feel as
complete as just *sleeping in the same bed* as Blair.  Burying your
nose in her hair only made you wish for it to be that mass of soft brown
curls.  How can I blame Marge for hating my guts--and Blair's? 
Lindsay had to know there was something seriously wrong between us,
and she had to talk to someone about it, and that someone was
probably her mother.//

     Jim put the truck in gear and headed back for the loft.

********

     Taggert was engrossed in a real-life court room TV show when
Jim let himself in the apartment.  Joel was always one of the first in
line to volunteer to fill in for Jim guarding Blair.

     "Where's Sandburg?"  Jim asked, heading into the living room
to sink into the other couch.

     "Man, that was a fast lunch.  Things not go well with the
mother-in-law?"  Taggert gave him a knowing smile, and Jim chuckled
a little.

     "You could say that."

     "The kid's taking a nap.  The painkiller really knocks him out."

     "Tell me about it."  Jim smiled fondly.  "He almost never takes
anything, so when you give him something strong, it really knocks him
on his butt."

     "Well, if you're back on duty, I guess I'll head back to the office. 
I've got a mountain of reports to catch up on."  Taggert hauled himself
up out of the couch with a sigh.  "Thanks for ruining my good excuse
not to do anything but watch Court TV all afternoon."  He pulled on his
raincoat and headed for the door.

     "Anytime, pal," Jim responded, laughing a little.  "Thanks for
coming over."  Jim watched as Taggert waved briefly on his way out
the door.

     Jim ventured stealthily to Blair's room, carefully pushing open
one of the French doors to check on his sleeping partner.  The younger
man was on his back, fully dressed, lying on top of the bedspread. 
There was an extra pillow under his injured arm, and his free hand lay
palm up on the pillow next to his head.

     Slipping silently into the room, Jim carefully turned Blair's desk
chair so he could sit and watch the other man sleep.  He thought back
over his ill-fated encounter with Marge, realizing that not only was she
rude and out of line, but he was edgy when he arrived.  It might not
have mattered what she said.  He would have been uneasy.  Uneasy
because her grief over Lindsay was so honest and profound.  Her grief
for Lindsay was what Jim's grief for Mandy was--gut-wrenching,
painful, achy...complete.  But Jim knew that deep in his heart, his pain
over Lindsay's passing was more that of the loss of a good friend, and
the overwhelming guilt of having married her to purge Blair from his
system.  That plan had failed and Lindsay had known that somehow,
for some reason, she didn't have Jim's heart.

     //I bought roses by the dozens for her, took her to expensive
restaurants, bought her the best gifts I could afford for every occasion...
and there was a sadness in her every time.  Something maybe only a
sentinel could detect.  Because I couldn't give her myself, I gave her
everything else.  I made the career moves she wanted me to make,
bought the house she wanted...I let her pull my strings like a puppet
because I felt so damned guilty...//

     //What did I ever give Blair?  A lot of lip, and a considerable
portion of my bad days and bad moods...I sure as hell didn't go out of
my way to shower him with gifts.  I was lucky to remember his
birthday.  But he always had my heart, my love...secrets I've never
shared with anyone else.  Blair had everything that mattered, and
everything Lindsay wanted.  No wonder her mother is resentful, and no
wonder Blair's name does all but bring forth fangs and claws.//

     //Oh, Lin, I'm sorry.  You were right.  You couldn't compete
with Blair.  I'm so sorry I ruined your life and made you try.  You said
once you could fight and win if it were another woman I wanted.  You
could be prettier, sexier, more understanding.  But you always said that
Blair was a force larger than life that there was no use fighting.  You
were so smart, Lin.  You knew me pretty well, considering I never
really shared any of myself with you.  When I was hurt, angry,
confused, scared--I still went to Blair and laid it all at his feet.   When I
was involved in that bad bust last year and saw two good friends killed
only feet away from me, I didn't come to you.  I came straight to Blair,
cried on his shoulder, looked to him to reason through it with me, to
gather up the pieces and put me back together.  And he did.  He always
could.  You were sitting home, several months pregnant, and I was over
here--the place that was home to me, in my heart--letting Blair tend the
wounds and heal me.//

     //Is that why you wanted me off the streets?  Because when I
left active field duty, I didn't need Blair anymore?  Smooth move, Lin. 
I never would've guessed if I wasn't sitting around home thinking too
much with way too much time on my hands.  Were you really afraid of
my being killed in the line of duty--or were you striking out at Blair the
only way you knew how?  To cut him out of my life?//

     //There I go again.  I get angry at my wife for coming between
Blair and me.  Same old song.  I love him so much, and I guess I
always will.  I can marry as many women as I can find, and still, I'll be
loving Blair when it's all over.  I almost lost him, and never told him
how much he means to me.  How much I love him.  All the sweet little
things he's always done for me, and I took it all for granted until I said
those vows and dashed out of that church with a wife and a new life.  It
was a real reality check to find out the world didn't revolve around me. 
Blair's world always did.  He spoiled me for anyone else, and we never
even kissed.  I could never feel anything that deep for another person,
and so my marriage was a shallow imitation of what a lifetime love
should be...could be...with Blair...//

     "Jim?"  Blair's voice startled Jim out of his thoughts.

     "Hey there, Chief.  Have a good nap?"  He smiled at the two
sleepy blue eyes that gradually focused on him.

     "What time is it?"

     "About one."

     "I slept about a half hour, I guess...  What're you doing here?" 
Blair asked through a jaw stretching yawn.

     "Marge and I didn't see eye to eye.  No big surprise there.  I just
decided to leave before it got...uglier than it already was."

     "Was she pressuring you about the house again?"

     "Yeah, among other things."

     "Such as?"

     "Why don't you try to go back to sleep, Chief?   I can find
something to do--"

     "Come on, Jim.  What aren't you saying?"

     "You want me to massage your arm?"

     "If you'll talk to me."

     "Deal."  Jim moved over to sit on the bed and carefully
unfastened the sling to free Blair's arm.  "Couple more days and you
can toss that thing."  He smiled as he slid the sleeve of Blair's
sweatshirt up and began rubbing his hand and wrist gently.  Blair's eyes
drifted shut at the contact, and Jim could detect a relaxation of the
entire body on the bed.

     "Feels good.  My arm gets so stiff stuck in that stupid thing."  

     "How's your shoulder feeling?"

     "Still hurts, but not as bad as before.  Doesn't feel so much like
someone has a knife in it all day."

     "That's an improvement," Jim responded, chuckling a little.

     "Okay, enough stalling.  Tell me what happened at lunch."

     "She pulled out her day planner to set a time to clean out
Lindsay's things...I guess something just snapped in me."  Jim carefully
worked his way up above the wrist.

     "There's more to it than that.  Come on, Jim, spill it."

     "Yeah, there is."  Jim slowed his massage mid-way up Blair's
forearm, turning it almost into a caress.  "She made some remarks..."

     "Don't tell me, let me guess.  Somehow *I* entered the
conversation."

     "It sure as hell wasn't from Marge having the common decency
to ask how your recovery was going."

     "Why would she care, Jim?  Seriously?  I only met her once or
twice.  And to her, there *was* a dispensable person in the house that
night, and she's probably pissed off at the world because that's the
person who survived while her daughter and granddaughter are dead."

     "Don't ever say that.  There's nothing even remotely dispensable
about you, Chief."

     "I didn't mean that I thought I was dispensable.  I meant that out
of the three people attacked that night, she loved two of them and
probably didn't really like the third.  It's natural for her to feel bitter that
it couldn't have been Lindsay or Mandy who lived."

     "Anyway, I told her how you were doing," Jim continued,
picking up with his massage.

     "Stirring the pot, were you?"  Blair probed with a slight grin.

     "Okay, yeah, a little," Jim replied, surprised to find himself
smiling.  Gently rubbing the soft, warm flesh beneath his hands,
looking into those big blue eyes, how could he not?

     "So you were shoving me down her throat, and she just got
nastier."

     "Essentially.  She insinuated that you were coming between
Lindsay and me, and that I was obsessed with you."  Jim shook his
head.  "Truth is, I get so goddamn mad at her because...she's right."

     "I'm the only family you have left.  Why wouldn't you be a little
obsessive?"

     "That's what I told her," Jim said, chuckling a little at hearing
his words come out of Blair's mouth.  He paused his massage near
Blair's elbow and looked deeply into the other man's eyes.  "But there's
a lot more to it than that.  I...I love you, Blair.  I always have."

     "I know that.  I love you too.  But it's real nice to hear, man." 
Blair smiled fondly and squeezed Jim's arm with his good hand.

     "You don't understand what I'm saying, Chief.  I'm saying I love
you...the way I...the way I *should* have loved Lindsay."  Jim held up
his hand to forestall Blair's reply as the younger man opened his mouth. 
"Hear me out.  I did the most...*wrong* thing I ever did in my life
when I married Lindsay.  I was...having feelings for you.  Feelings that
went way beyond friendship."

     "Jim, we've always been...soulmates.  Despite the wildly
divergent packaging, we've always been extremely simpatico--"

     "God, Sandburg, could you just shut up for once and let me say
what I have to say?"  Jim shot back sharply, taking his hands off Blair's
arm.  He closed his eyes against the wounded look on Blair's face. 
"Aw, buddy, I'm sorry.  You're the last person I want to yell at."  He
took a hold of the hand on Blair's injured side and just caressed the
forearm with his free hand.  He wasn't even pretending to do anything
therapeutic anymore.  "This is so hard to say.  You have to just let me
say it."

     "Okay."   Blair nodded solemnly, squeezing Jim's hand a little.

     "Hey, do that again," Jim smiled at the increased strength in the
hand.  

     "Remember that little stress ball thing Ryf brought me in the
hospital?"

     "Yeah?"

     "It helps a lot.  Now, go ahead.  I won't interrupt again.  I
promise."

     "When I knew that there was something...different between us,
it made me nervous.  I know that isn't the way you want to go...I mean,
with all the women you went out with...  So I realized I had to 'get a
life'.  Get over being so damned dependent on you.  Lindsay just came
along at the right time--wrong time for her, right time for me.  She was
smart, interesting, pretty, and I liked her.  Very much.  Next to you, I
enjoyed being with her more than anyone else.  But that was what I
should have realized--that it would always be second place for her.  I
*did* realize it, but I went ahead anyway.  I thought it was probably my
best chance to make a new life, to split up what was becoming a
painful situation for me."

     "Jim, I--"

     "Let me finish, Chief.  I tried, very hard, to make a go of that
marriage.  I did everything I could for Lin, but she knew she wasn't
getting what she really wanted, which was my love--my devotion...and
all the ugly parts of myself that it's debatable she would have wanted if
she'd had them.  My bad moods, my fears, my...hang-ups.  With her, I
was always polite.  Always at my best.  But never natural.  With you, I
was always good old, undistilled...*me*.   She saw us together enough
to know the difference.  If I was edgy, I'd manage to keep it together
with her, but when you'd come over, I'd snap at you for something, then
apologize and spill my guts and we'd start working through it and she'd
excuse herself to go start dinner or check on the baby or something. 
Everything that was real, that came from my heart...Blair, it's always
been for you."

     "Jim, please, let me--"

     "No, you don't have to say anything.  I completely understand
that this is my problem.  God, I fucked up her life so badly.  She was
such a wonderful wife and mother, a good friend--she would have
made someone so happy.  Someone who would have treasured her the
way she deserved to be treasured.  And Amanda.  My little Mandy,"
Jim paused, having almost whispered his daughter's name as tears
threatened again.  "I adored her, Blair...but she should have
never...*been*.  She was conceived in a lie, not in love.  When I made
love to Lindsay, I told her she was everything, that I loved her...I said
all the things you're supposed to say to a woman in bed--complimented
her body, told her how hot she made me...  Physically, that was all true. 
She was beautiful, and she was loving and energetic and innovative... 
But it was so...empty.  And we brought Mandy into this world just long
enough to...to suffer and die like this."

     "Jim, dammit, you're going to let me talk this time."  Blair
struggled to pull himself into a sitting position, and finally gave up and
let Jim help him, ending up with the pillow on his lap to support his
arm, which was still free of the sling.  "Why didn't you ever say
anything to me when you first had these feelings?"

     "You're kidding, right?  For God's sake, Blair, do I look like I
enjoy this?  Who in the hell wants to be humiliated this way?  I just
now realized that you should know how I felt about you.  When you
nearly died, it just about killed me to think I had never let you in on
that."

     "If you had just said something...  Jim, I felt the same way you
did.  Hell, probably *before* you did.  Almost from the first moment
you really let me in--you know when that was?"  Blair asked, smiling a
little at Jim's stupefied expression.  "When you forgave me for Larry
trashing the loft the second time.  You didn't throw me out."  Both men
chuckled a little at the recollection of the Barbary ape and its
depredations in Jim's rather pristine loft.  "When you saw the place,
you were pissed off, but we cleaned it up together and then after I
apologized about the ten *thousandth* time, you told me it was okay. 
And when I said I'd pack and get out, you told me not to worry about it,
that I could stay until I found the right place."

     "And five years later..."  Jim gestured at their surroundings.

     "The point is, I really started falling in love with you then.  And
every time you went out with a woman, I wanted to say something.  I
wanted to stop you before you walked out the door...  But I always
wimped out.  I didn't say anything."  Blair felt the horrible stab of guilt
shoot through him as he thought of how things might have been
different if he'd just said something.  He lowered his own eyes, unable
to hold Jim's gaze.

     "What about all the women you were involved with?  I never
saw you go out with a guy."

     "I wasn't 'involved' with all that many women, Jim.  There were
a few, a couple who were special.  Chris...Maya...they meant
something to me.  But neither one worked out.  Like you, I didn't
dislike being with a woman.  Hell, it's all I ever did before I met you. 
So why would I go celibate all of a sudden?"  Blair paused.  "When you
came home and said you were going to marry Lindsay, I felt like
someone had ripped all my insides out.  I wanted to scream at you, tell
you that you couldn't do that...that *I* was the one who loved you..."

     "I wish you had.  I wish one of us had said *something*..."  Jim
shook his head sadly.  

     "You seemed so happy.  And Lindsay was a wonderful woman. 
I couldn't ruin everything for you by hanging that on you, making you
feel like you were somehow betraying me by marrying her.  I knew it
would tear you up inside to know you were really destroying me, and
that you probably would call things off, even if you didn't feel like I
felt."  Blair finally looked up again a little hesitantly.

     "You give me credit for a lot of nobility, Chief."

     "Yeah, well, we both know we've made sacrifices to stay
together, to be friends.  I know about that offer you had from the CIA
three years ago."

     "Wait--how did you hear about that?"

     "It was an off-handed remark Simon made.  He assumed I
knew.  I never told you because I didn't want you getting all pissed off
at Simon for slipping and saying something.  But the point is, I know
what a major opportunity that was for you."

     "Like Borneo was for you."

     "But all along, we've both walked away from things that would
have been good career moves, or that we would have done had we been
alone.  I didn't want you to walk away from Lindsay because you were
afraid of hurting me."

     "I don't believe this," Jim stated, his voice weak.  "All this with
Lindsay...it was all for nothing.  My God, Blair, she and Mandy are
dead for no good reason."

     "Jim, listen to me.  Lindsay and Mandy aren't dead because of
anything you did.  It's not your fault.  Even if they died because
someone wanted to get to you through them, it's still not your fault."

     "But it's my fault that my whole marriage was a big fucking lie. 
That I lied to Lindsay every minute we were together.  That Mandy was
brought into this world because of a lie."

     "It's both our faults.  If you're intent on taking responsibility for
a tragedy you didn't create, then put the blame where it belongs.  On
both of us.  I didn't say anything.  I never stopped you from getting
married.  I never even let on that all I wanted was for you to one day
discover you had it bad for me and just kiss me 'til I suffocated.  We
both played the game, and so we both have to live with how it ended."

     "So what happens now?"  Jim looked at Blair, realizing he was
putting the full burden on his friend to guide the course of their
relationship, but at that moment, he felt too stunned and emotionally
drained to do it himself.

     "I still love you, Jim.  Nothing about that ever changed.  But I
think it's a little too soon for either one of us to handle doing anything
about it.  I mean, you've got a lot to work through about Lindsay and
Mandy, and Lindsay's memory deserves some respect.  I've got some
healing to do before I'm good for much anyway."

     "Blair, I...would kissing be too much?"  Jim asked hesitantly.

     "I still can't believe this is happening, man...  All this time,
we've been wanting the same thing...we could have been together, and
all this time we've been miserable and trying to steal little moments
together and neither one of us said *anything*."

     "Blair?"

     "What?"  The younger man looked at him again, seeming
almost confused, having been so deep in his own thoughts.

     "I want to kiss you.  Now."

     "Yeah, I want that too."  Blair smiled and reached out with his
good hand to caress Jim's cheek.  The other man leaned into the hand
and covered it with his own, finally turning to kiss the palm.  He slid
carefully forward on the bed and reached his hand out to cup Blair's
cheek.  Jim took the lead, letting Blair stay relaxed against the pillows
behind him.

     The moment Jim's lips encountered Blair's, he felt his heart
expand and fill with a kind of completion he'd never felt in his life. 
The other mouth was soft, warm, wet and yielding, opening and
inviting him inside to explore.  Just like Blair--always warm, open to
him, loving, giving...

     It was a prolonged, gentle joining of mouths and dueling of
tongues.  Jim finally drew back, not wanting Blair to get too out of
breath, considering his injuries.  He let his forehead rest against Blair's,
as both of them seemed to be able to swap the same breath as long as
they stayed close.  Jim returned to the soft lips for one more short,
sweet, nearly chaste kiss before pulling all the way back.

     "Welcome home, love," Blair said in a quiet, husky voice.

     Jim responded by very carefully taking Blair into his arms for
the first time since the night of the shootings.  The younger man's
uninjured arm went around Jim's neck, while his still-just-marginally
mobile left arm went weakly around Jim's back, clutching at the fabric
of his shirt.  The large arms that went around Blair were remarkably
gentle, yet held him close against the body of the man he thought he'd
never have the chance to love.

     "I still feel so damned...guilty," Jim finally said, in a broken
voice.  "I have everything I ever wanted...that ever mattered...in my
arms right now.  I shouldn't be happy in the middle of all this...horror."

     "It's okay, Jim," Blair reassured softly, stroking Jim's hair.  "You
loved Mandy and Lindsay.  You were good to them.  You've cried for
them.  And when you feel a little more together, and I'm in better shape
and can help, we'll work on nailing the bastard that killed them.  You
don't owe it to anyone to be lonely for the rest of your life, or to walk
away from a relationship that's been here all along.  We aren't going to
do anything showy.  No big announcements.  And right now, the most
important thing to me is just being close to you, us loving each other,
being together...  I don't think now is even the right time for us to move
any farther...physically."

     "You always understand everything," Jim whispered into Blair's
hair.  "God, I always needed you so much.  You always know the right
thing to do for me."

     "Might be because I love you with all my heart, soul, mind and
body.  Because everything about you is precious to me.  There's no
better teacher than love.  So yeah, I'm an expert."  Blair smiled a little
against Jim's shoulder.

     "Feels so good to hold you.  I needed this so bad."

     "Me too, love, me too."

     "Am I hurting you?"  Jim asked quietly.

     "This is the best medicine I could get.  They oughtta bottle
you," Blair concluded, grinning.  Jim finally pulled back carefully,
solicitously placing Blair's arm back on the pillow that supported it.

     "Would you still...sleep upstairs?"

     "I want that too.  I just love being close to you."

     "For the first time, since...since it happened, I feel like I can
make it through this," Jim said, taking a hold of Blair's arm again,
resuming his massage.

     "We'll make it through together, Jim.  You and me.  We'll be
okay."

     "I know that now.  For the first time...I really believe that."

     "That feels *so* good," Blair sighed, relaxing against the
pillows and closing his eyes as Jim's strong, gentle hands worked their
way up his arm.  "Sometimes it just feels like a dead fish hanging
there."

     "It'll take some time to get the muscles back in action, but it'll
get better quickly."  Jim carefully moved to Blair's upper arm, coming
close to the injury site on his shoulder.  "Tell me if I get too close."

     "No danger'a that, man," Blair quipped.

     "You know what I meant, smart ass."  The affection in Jim's
voice softened any harshness of his words.

     "You should call Marge."

     "What?"  Jim's hands froze mid-rub.

     "If you really want to do something for Lindsay, try to put up
with her mother, even if she *is* a king-sized pain in the ass who's way
out of line.  Let her go through some of Lindsay's stuff.  You know how
you feel about Mandy.  When this is all over, you're going to feel some
real guilt if you don't give her another chance."

     "I know you're right.  I just don't like dealing with her again." 
Jim pulled the sleeve of Blair's sweatshirt back down to his wrist,
having massaged up the arm as close to the incision as he dared.

     "I know.  Believe me, love, I wouldn't suggest it if I didn't think
it was going to bother you later."

     "Okay.  I'll go give her a call.  Feel like you could sleep a
while?"

     "I *am* pretty sleepy.  Those damn pain pills really floor me."

     "Let's get you comfortable, then I'll go call the old crocodile."  

     "Jim," Blair chided as the other man carefully replaced the sling
on his friend's arm and helped him slide back down to a prone position
to nap.  All Blair got in return was a devilish Ellison grin.

     "Get some rest, baby.  I love you."  He leaned down and planted
a little kiss on Blair's forehead.

     "I love you too--so much."  Blair smiled up at the larger man as
he moved away toward the doors.  "Now go make peace with the
croco--I mean, Marge," Blair concluded, grinning.  Jim returned it, and
slipped quietly out the door.

********

     Jim reached for the telephone, and was a bit startled when it
rang before he picked it up.  

     "Ellison."

     "Jim, this is Marge.  I have to talk to you.  It's urgent."

     "I was just about to call you.  I'm sorry things didn't go well
earlier--"

     "This is more important.  Oh, God, something horrible...please,
come over, would you?"  Her normally clear voice was shaking
terribly.

     "What is it?"

     "Please, just come.  I--I can't...you have to see it."

     "I can't leave right now, Marge.  I'm alone here with Blair.  I
have to get someone to come over--"

     "Dear God in heaven, I don't believe this!!  Even after she's
murdered in her own bed, you can't give my daughter your undivided
attention!"
     
     "Marge, aside from the fact that Blair's recovering from
multiple gunshot wounds and really shouldn't be left alone just yet, I'm
guarding him.  He's the only surviving witness."

     "I thought you said he couldn't tell you anything."

     "The killer doesn't know that.  Please, try to calm down a
moment.  Are you in any immediate danger?"

     "No, it's nothing like that--"

     "Okay.  I'm going to call headquarters and have a couple good
friends of mine, Detectives Ryf and Brown, get over to your house right
away.  Then, if I can find someone to stay with Blair, I'll join them as
soon as I can."

     "Lindsay always has to take a backseat to that little hippie,
doesn't she?"  Marge snapped into the phone.

     "I'll send Ryf and Brown to your address immediately.  Good-bye, Marge."  Jim broke his
connection with Marge and called Ryf and
Brown as promised.  He also found out that Taggert was still in his
office pushing papers, and was more than happy to duck out to the loft
with his briefcase and catch up on some paperwork at the kitchen table.

     When Jim stuck his head back into Blair's room, he smiled at
the sight of a very peaceful, sleeping Blair.  Resisting the urge to kiss
him goodbye, Jim pulled the door shut quietly, hoping instead not to
disturb the much-needed rest.

     Arriving at the condominium complex where his mother-in-law
lived, Jim spotted Ryf and Brown's car parked near her unit.  He
hurried up to the door and knocked.  Brown let him in.

     "Jim, you might not want to see this."

     "What is it?"

     "Someone sent Marge crime scene photos in the mail."

     "Oh my God," Jim replied, running a hand the full length of his
face.  "Of...?"

     "One was of Lindsay, and the other one was of the nursery.  On
the back, printed in black marker, was the message: 'Loose lips sink
ships'.  The sick bastard must have snapped photos at the scene."

     "Is she all right?"

     "Her doctor just got here before you did.  He's sedating her."

     "Get the photos down to the lab for prints.  What did they come
in?  How were they delivered?"

     "This is the mailer," Ryf held up a white cardboard photo
mailer sealed in a plastic evidence bag.  It was in her usual mail when
she got home this afternoon.  It looks like it was mailed, judging by the
stamping and postmarks."

     "This means the murders were related to Lindsay's father's
testimony in the Brenner case.  Shit.  We've been going at this from the
wrong damned angle from the outset."  Jim paced a moment. "I'm just
going to say a few words to Marge.  Then I'll follow you back to
headquarters so we can get that stuff tested."

********

     "Joel?"  Blair was surprised to find the captain perched at the
table, poring over a rather lengthy report.  Just having come to from a
two-hour nap, Blair was a bit groggy, and has selfishly looked forward
to migrating to the couch and snuggling against Jim.

     "He lives!"  Taggert quipped, smiling.  "Jim had to go out a
while, so he asked me to stick around and keep an eye on you."

     "Thanks for coming back, man."  Blair finally slumped on the
couch, tugging the throw off the back of it, snuggling into it's folds.

     "Your mail's on the coffee table," Joel advised, going back to
his paperwork.

     "Oh, great, thanks."  Blair picked up the stack and curled up in
the corner of the couch to sort through them.  A large white photo
mailer caught his attention.  There was no return address, but is was
post-marked from Tacoma.  Curiosity piqued, he started to struggle
with the seal on it.  Opening mail with one hand was nothing short of a
nightmare.

     "Here, let me get that," Joel finally spoke up, having noticed the
younger man wrestling with and cursing out the stubborn mailer.

     "Thanks," Blair responded, smiling as he slid the contents out to
have a look at them.  His audible gasp brought Joel back to stand
behind Blair, looking over his shoulder.  

     There were two photos: one of Lindsay on the bed as she was
found, and another of the nursery, with little Mandy still on the floor,
next to Blair's own sprawled, bleeding body.  On the back of the second
photo was a simple, neatly-printed message in black ink: "I always
finish what I start.  See you soon."

     Blair's hand shook as Joel carefully grasped the mailer and
photos by the corner and pulled them away from him.  Blair had never
seen Lindsay's body--only heard the shots and imagined the worst.  Jim
had finally told him she was shot twice in the head.  The photo in its
gruesome reality was worse than any mental picture he had created.
//And that's what Jim's been carrying around...no wonder he's had
nightmares...//  

     Most of the blood in the nursery was Blair's, ironically.  There
had been a small, spreading area of red on the light pink carpeting
beneath little Mandy's body, but Blair had been bleeding profusely
from his shoulder, chest and abdomen as he dragged himself to his
backpack, trying to reach the phone before he lost consciousness again.

     "Jim?  Joel.  You done over at Marge's?"  Taggert's voice as he
spoke to Jim on the phone startled Blair out of his daze.  The one-sided
conversation continued.  "We've got the same thing over here.
Sandburg just opened a little care package from our friend."  There was
a pause.  "Yeah, I'll tell him."  Joel hung up the phone and returned to
sit on the other couch.  "Jim said to tell you he's on his way.  Ought to
be here in about ten minutes, tops."

     "Thanks," Blair replied blankly, realizing that his hand was still
lying in his lap in the same position it had been in when Joel pulled the
photos out of it.  He wondered if the shock he felt creeping through
him showed plainly on his face.  It apparently did, because now the
other man was babbling on about something, trying to reassure him and
explaining how Lindsay's mother had gotten the same thing, how it was
probably just a sick prank...

     "...twenty-four hour guard.  You've got nothing to worry about," 
Joel was concluding, while Blair realized he was simply staring straight
ahead, as if catatonic.  "Blair, you still with me?"

     "Huh?  Yeah, sort of," he replied honestly, pushing his hair back
with his hand.  "How could anybody...and to send them to her mother? 
Man, it doesn't get any sicker than that."

     "This does change the face of the case.  First off, it's pretty
obvious that the hit was directed at Lindsay's family because of her
father's testimony in the Brennan case.  I was always surprised that
family didn't get into the witness protection program.  But her old man
was determined that he wasn't going to let Brennan ruin his life," Joel
referred to the white collar criminal whose fraudulent investment firm
was responsible for millions in extorted funds.  Brennan was thought to
have ties to organized crime, but that element of the case had yet to be
proven.

     "So it wasn't about Jim..."

     "If Jim had been in the house that night, he'd have most likely
been killed too.  It was a message to anyone else who might come
forward and testify to the mob connections."

     "This pretty much firms up that there *were* mob connections," 
 Blair responded, getting a little of his rational thought back.

     "It does in terms of firming up our *theory*.  But while this was
done with the cold proficiency of a hired hitman, there's still nothing
that ties it to the mob specifically.  So they get the message out, and we
still don't have any more concrete evidence.  We've been searching the
profiles of mob hitmen right along, but the problem is that a simple
walk in and shoot scenario fits so many that it doesn't narrow things
down much."  

     "It was so fast..."  Blair shivered, pulling the throw around his
shoulders.  "One minute, I thought I heard something...then Mandy
started crying, and then the shots..."  He bit his lower lip almost
painfully to hold back the tears that threatened again.  Seeing the photo
of Lindsay, and of himself wounded next to Jim's dead child was
almost more than he could take.

     As if on cue, the front door opened and Jim burst through it,
letting it slam behind him.  Still wearing his leather gloves, he picked
up the photos and shook his head.  

     "Same set Marge got."  He handed them to Joel.

     "I'll get these down to the lab," Joel responded, heading for the
kitchen table, where he quickly gathered his things, tossing his papers
and the photos in his briefcase.

     "Thanks, Joel.  Give me a call when the results come in, huh?"

     "You know it."  With that, Joel grabbed his coat off the hook by
the door and left.

     "I'm sorry you had to see that, Chief," Jim said gently, sitting on
the edge of the couch next to Blair's legs.  
     
     "It must have been awful...finding that," Blair managed as a tear
slid down his cheek.  Jim leaned forward and kissed it away.

     "You know what kept me sane?  I could hear your heartbeat."

     "When he...came in the room?  I...I asked him to...please not
hurt Mandy...to let me put her down..."  Blair choked on the last words
and more tears flowed.  Jim slid forward and carefully enclosed the
shaking body in his arms.

     "Did you just remember that, baby?"  he asked gently, stroking
Blair's hair, then pressing the other man's head more firmly against his
shoulder.

     "I...I couldn't remember...saying anything...but I did ask...I-I
said...p-please don't hu-hurt her...I wanted...to put...her down in...her
crib.  God, Jim, she wasn't...going to be...a witness...or anything..." 
Blair worked hard to maintain his voice.  "He had...something
funny...in his walk...sort of a...l-limp."  Blair shuddered again and
huddled closer against Jim.

     "Shhhh.  I know.  I know it hurts to remember, Chief."  He
kissed the top of Blair's head and rubbed his back gently, starting a
slight rocking motion as Blair sobbed in his arms.  "Those
details...they'll help us.  "What about his voice, huh?  Anything
unusual?"

     "He didn't say anything...he just...  Oh, God, Jim, he just...
brought the...gun up and...and..."  Blair trailed off again into tears, and
Jim patted his back lightly.

     "I'm right here, baby.  Shhhh.  They're just memories.  It's all
over."

     "H-How...you f-found...us...  That was...worse for
you...because--"

     "Listen to me," Jim said in a firm but gentle tone, "you went
through a terrible trauma that night, too.  Yeah, it was terrible for me,
and something I'm never going to live long enough to completely
forget.  But that doesn't make what happened to you any less terrible. 
It's okay to react to this, Chief.  You have a right to your own pain."

     "I was so...scared," Blair choked out.

     "I know.  I can't even picture what you felt when you saw that
bastard coming into the room."

     "I tried...to protect her, Jim.  I tried so...damned hard."

     "You couldn't stop what happened.  It's okay.  It's not your fault. 
If this was a hit put out because of Lindsay's father's testimony, he
would have killed Mandy no matter where she was in the house or who
she was with.  You didn't cause that...or fail her or me somehow by not
stopping it.  Just let it all out, it's okay.  I'm right here, baby."  Jim
planted another kiss on top of Blair's head.  "I love you so much."

     Jim sat there a long time, the only sound in the silent loft being
the occasional whistle of the wind, and Blair's soft sobbing against his
chest.  He knew how hard Blair had tried to be strong for him, since the
first moment of regaining consciousness in the ICU.  He'd grieved for
Amanda and Lindsay, but he hadn't allowed himself to react to his own
fear and pain and shock at his ordeal.  When he felt the sobbing lessen,
and Blair had calmed to no more than an occasional hiccup, Jim spoke
again.

     "How about I get a washcloth and wash your face, huh?  Would
that feel good?"  There was a little nod and sniffle from his armload. 
"Okay.  Sit tight."  Jim carefully released him, and with a little caress
to his hair, hurried into the bathroom to soak a washcloth with slightly
cool water and returned with that, a towel and some tissues.

     "I'm sorry," Blair said quietly as Jim resumed his seat close to
his friend and handed him the tissues.  When Blair was finished, Jim
gently bathed his face with the cool washcloth, then toweled it dry.

     "Don't apologize," he responded, leaning forward to kiss Blair's
forehead.

     "I should be taking care of you," Blair said, finally meeting
Jim's eyes.

     "You did that from a bed in ICU, Chief.  The minute you woke
up, you were taking care of me.  You were there for me every step of
the way, even when you weren't really strong enough.  I wouldn't have
made it through without you."

     "Yeah, but you lost your family, and I'm sitting here crying
about this--"

     "Because you damn near got killed and someone you love was
murdered right in your arms.  Cut yourself a little slack."

     "Do you think this was serious?  The threat I mean?"

     "I could tell you a lot of reassuring lies, but honestly, I think it
is.  This guy's probably a professional, and to have someone survive his
attack makes him look bad, even if you can't ID him."

     "Why do you think he didn't shoot me in the head?  Just to be
sure?"  Blair was surprised to see Jim shudder visibly.

     "I don't know.  Maybe he assumed three bullets, all hitting you
in the torso, would be sufficient.  Maybe he was nervous because it was
taking too long...hell, maybe he was a little unnerved by murdering a
baby...  I'm just grateful he didn't."

********

     As expected, there were no prints on the photos except those of
the recipients, and the mailers were peppered with prints, most likely
from the recipients, the mail carriers and any postal workers who
happened to handle them.  Marge was put under police protection, on
the chance that the killer would seek to wipe out the last of her
husband's family.

     Blair continued to improve, finally being freed of the sling and
beginning the long, miserable process of physical therapy to regain full
use of his left arm and a full range of motion in his shoulder.  Both
goals would take a great deal of hard work to reach.

     At Blair's urging, Jim made an uneasy peace with his mother-in-law, and invited her to stop
by the house one brisk December
afternoon, as that was the day he was planning to begin the project of
sorting Lindsay's and Amanda's things.  Blair was convinced it was a
bad idea for him to go along, but he didn't have the heart to refuse Jim's
very genuine plea for him to do just that.  

     The two men pulled up in front of the house early that morning,
planning to pack up Jim's things and make some decisions about the
general household items before tackling the really emotional issues.

     "Are you okay with this?"  Jim asked Blair, who had fallen very
silent once the car had made the turn into the quiet, partially wooded
subdivision.

     "As okay as you are, probably," Blair answered honestly. 

     "I can take you home.  I had no right to pressure you into
coming."

     "I was more worried about Marge being upset than I was about
coming back here.  You know I'd've done that for you without a
moment's hesitation."

     "I know.  Well, I guess we might as well get going.  It won't get
easier."  Jim turned off the engine and hurried around the car to hover
over Blair as he got out and made his way up the snowy driveway.  The
younger man was perfectly mobile now, but a slip and fall wouldn't do
his healing shoulder or incisions a lot of good.

     Jim approached the front door and turned the key in the lock, as
he had done dozens of times before.  They stepped into the foyer, hit by
the iciness of a house that has been closed and vacant.  

     "I'll crank up the heat."  Jim ignored the internal chill that had
nothing to do with the temperature and left Blair standing in the entry
way while he walked into the living room with its fireplace, beamed
ceilings...and Lindsay's paintings adorning the walls.  Ignoring the
barrage of memories and emotions being in the room brought back to
him, Jim went directly to the thermostat and turned up the heat.  The
furnace roared on with a comforting hum.

     "Seems weird to be here, doesn't it?"  Blair asked, joining Jim
near the fireplace, where photos of the ill-fated Ellison family were
lined up on the mantel.

     "It seems...real again.  You know, the last few weeks, being at
the loft, like before...it was almost as if...like I could pretend none of
this happened."

     "Where do you want to start?"  Blair slipped his hand into Jim's
as they stood there, not quite sure what to do first.  

     "I love feeling that left hand of yours, Chief.  Getting stronger
every day."  Jim squeezed it gently and waited while Blair made the
effort of squeezing back.  "I guess...the kitchen.  Something neutral."

     "Okay.  Um, do you have any cartons left from the move?"

     "In the garage.  Come on."  Jim led Blair to the kitchen where
he left him sitting at the table while he went out the door to the garage
and retrieved some nested empty boxes, still left neatly stacked from
when they moved into the house.

     "You want to pack everything, or leave some stuff?"

     "Leave most of it.  There are a few things that were wedding
presents, stuff that was special to Lin.  Some of that can go to her
mother, too, but I want some of it.  Like the punchbowl and the gold-edged glasses."

     "Simon got you those, didn't he?"

     "Yup.  For our first anniversary."  Jim opened an overhead
cupboard in the deceptively cheerful green and white kitchen and
removed the eight tumblers from the shelf.  

     "I can wrap stuff if you get it down," Blair volunteered, rescuing
some newspapers from the recycling bin near the back door.

     "Great."  Jim continued to scan the various shelves, leaving
most things, but selecting a few glasses and cups here and there.  Blair
quietly stood at the kitchen table, wrapping Jim's selections and placing
them in a carton.  The process went smoothly until Blair noticed an
unnatural stillness about his friend.

     "Jim?"  Blair laid the glass he was wrapping in the box and
moved over to Jim's side.  

     "This was...Lin's favorite mug," he managed through a painful
catch in his voice.  "Every morning..."  Jim bit his lower lip and stood
there holding the blue mug with the hand painted pink flowers on it, his
body starting to tremble slightly with repressed tears.

     "It's okay, Jim.  This is going to be really hard today."  Blair
wrapped his arms around Jim from behind and laid his head against the
broad back.

     "I wish...I could just...talk to her one more time.  I need to tell
her that even though...it wasn't perfect, and there was someone else..." 
Jim trailed off and set the mug down so he could cover Blair's hands
where they joined over his stomach.  "I loved her, Blair.  I should have
told her more often."

     "I'm sure she knew, love," Blair said gently.

     "I spent...so damn much time being...pissed off about the
things...she wanted me to do..."  Jim gave up trying to explain himself
and turned to pull Blair into his arms.

     "The point is, you did 'em.  And you didn't bitch at her about
them."

     "Bitched at you instead," Jim managed, trying to control tears
that were insistent on escaping anyway.  "I hate...being like this," he
mumbled brokenly.

     "Being like what, buddy?  Grieving?  There's nothing about
crying that makes you weak, man.  Nothing at all."

     "I can't stop it," Jim moaned into Blair's hair, where he'd buried
his face.

     "Then don't try.  I don't care what your father used to say, or the
army, or whoever it was that told you that you shouldn't cry.  It was a
load of shit.  You're grieving and it needs to come out.  Just let it rip,
love.  I'm right here."

     It was a few minutes before Jim calmed completely and pulled
back from Blair, averting his eyes immediately until Blair took a hold
of his chin and turned his face back so they were eye to eye.

     "You don't have to hide from me, Jim."   Blair pulled his
favorite face down toward him and worked at kissing away the
moisture there.  "I love you, remember?"

     "I remember," Jim said in a strained voice little above a
whisper.

     "Come on, try splashing a little water on your face.  You might
feel like a human being again."  Blair encouraged him toward the sink
as the larger man chuckled at his comment.  After following Blair's
directions, Jim smiled as his face was gently blotted dry with paper
towel.

     "I'm sorry about that," he finally said self-consciously.

     "Jim, you can hold up for the rest of the world if you want to,
but don't every apologize for crying with me, okay?  Whatever you feel,
just let it out, love.  I don't care if it's grief or anger, or whatever.  You
don't have to keep up any big image with me.  Because I couldn't love
you any more or respect you any more than I already do.  And that love
is for Jim Ellison, the man--the human being.  Not the supercop or the
sentinel or the army ranger or whatever."

     "I think that's the most beautiful thing anyone ever said to me," 
Jim replied softly.

     "Just remember it.  Think you're ready to pack up some more
stuff?"

     "I think I could probably do just about anything right now."  Jim
gave Blair a quick hug and then returned to selecting items out of the
cupboard for the other man to wrap and pack.

     The kitchen didn't take very long.  Jim only saved a few
wedding gift items, Lindsay's mug, Amanda's favorite cup and bib, and
a small painting of a basket of apples Lindsay had done when they
moved into the new house.  Everything else could either be sold with
the house or go to other members of Lindsay's family.

     The living room took a bit longer, but again, Jim only saved
sentimental items like photographs and a couple of his favorites of
Lindsay's art.  She had a very traditional style, and a real eye for
painting landscapes that made you feel as if you could walk right into
them.  His personal favorites were a winter scene of the forest, with a
solitary gray wolf standing among the barren trees and an ocean sunset.

     Jim hauled the three cartons out to the truck and the paintings
to Lindsay's car.  He didn't want to risk exposing the artwork to the
elements in the open bed of the pick-up.   When he returned to the
house, he found Blair standing at the beginning of the hallway, looking
as if he were gathering the strength to move to the first room--the 
master bedroom.

     "Let's at least make a walk through the house before Marge gets
here.  I want to be positive everything's been taken care of."  Jim took a
hold of Blair's hand and started toward the master bedroom.  "You can
wait in the living room if you want, Chief."

     "No, I want to be with you."

     "Okay.  Let's do it."  Jim walked assertively down the hall and
into the bedroom.

     The walls had been cleaned and freshly painted, the bed had
been removed altogether.  The carpeting had not been affected by the
tragedy in this room.  

     "You okay?"  Blair asked, trying to fight his own memories,
though he suspected his were much less vivid than Jim's, as he'd only
seen Lindsay's body in the photo, and not in person. 

     "Everything looks okay in here," Jim said tightly, moving into
the room and scanning it for any items he wanted to remove before
Marge arrived.  "There are a few things I want that I don't want to fight
her for.  Think you could grab me one of the empty boxes in the
kitchen?"

     "Sure."  Blair returned to the kitchen and located a couple of
empty cartons and took them back down the hall.  When he reached the
master bedroom, Jim was going through the drawers of the large
armoire, piling his clothes up on the floor next to it.  "I can pack while
you dig."  Blair knelt on the floor with a carton and started packing the
clothing Jim was dispatching to the floor.  The first box filled quickly,
and Jim was soon on to the next project, which was removing all his
clothes from the closet.

     "Should have brought suitbags, I guess," he observed as he hung
his two suits and a few sport coats on the closet door.

     "We can lay them in the trunk of Lindsay's car.  You put the
paintings in the back seat, right?"

     "Yeah.  Good idea.  I can put them in on top of some other
stuff.  I might as well pack her car too.  Then I can come back and get
it tomorrow."

     "I could drive it--"

     "Not until that arm's a lot more flexible than it is, and the doctor
tells you it's okay."

     "Aye, Aye, Sir," Blair retorted, ducking just in time to miss a
flying ball of wadded up underwear.  "I s'pose you expect me to refold
that."

     "That's your job, Chief," Jim countered, smirking as he started
filling a carton with his shoes, belts, ties, and other accessories.  "Will
you be okay in here if I take some more stuff out to the truck?"

     "Yeah, I'll be fine, man.  I've still gotta fold sweater mountain
over here," Blair responded, smiling.

     "Okay.  Hey, you'd look cute in that blue one."  And with that,
Jim headed out for the car with a precarious stack of two cartons,
leaving Blair to sit there holding the medium blue sweater, grinning.

     Jim didn't come back in as soon as Blair had expected, so he got
up and went to the window.  Jim was standing in the driveway, talking
to the neighbor across the street.  Gabe and Angela Rojas had kept an
eye on the Ellison house while it had been vacant, and it looked as if
the two men were deep in conversation.  Blair returned to his folding
project, then began loading the last of Jim's clothes into the carton.

     "Hello, Blair."  A woman's voice startled him from his task. 
Marge stood in the doorway of the room. Dressed in a tan belted
raincoat and dark pumps, she looked down her considerably sharp nose
at the man sitting Indian-style on the floor next to a box of clothing.

     "Marge.  Hi.  How are you?"  Blair made what was a slow effort
to get up, since he still was wary of his incisions and his left arm
provided almost no assistance.

     "As well as can be expected.  I see you're recovering well," she
added, leaving Blair uncertain if she considered that a blessing or a
curse.

     "It's slow going, but I'm doing better.  My arm's still pretty
weak."

     "All things being considered, I suppose that's a small price to
pay."

     "Marge, no one wishes more than I do that either Lindsay or
Mandy had been the one to survive that night.  I'm so sorry for your
loss, really I am."

     "It certainly didn't take you long to take over."  She walked over
to the dresser and began looking over Lindsay's things on the top of it.

     "I beg your pardon?"  Blair was genuinely thrown by the
remark, coming on the heels of his expression of sympathy.

     "This all worked out rather well for you, didn't it?  Not only was
Jim suddenly free of his wife, but he didn't have the burden of his
daughter, either."  

     "I know this is difficult for you, Marge, but saying things like
that to me isn't going to bring them back.  God knows if I could think
of a way to do that, I would.  I would have died willingly to save
Mandy.  I tried.  This is just the way things panned out."

     "I find it curious that anyone survived that night.  A gunman
who shot my daughter twice in the head somehow didn't finish the job
on you."

     "Maybe when they catch him, you can get him to apologize for
being a bad shot," Blair spat back angrily, throwing the sweater he'd
been holding into the box at his feet with no small amount of rancor. 
He was at the end of his rope with this woman, and he sincerely hoped
she'd back off before he said something truly unpleasant.

     "Haven't the police found it curious that you were the only
survivor?"

     "If you have something to say, why don't you just say it?"

     "You used my granddaughter as a shield, you bastard!"  she
shouted. "If she hadn't been in front of your chest you would have died! 
You might have sold everyone else on the idea that you tried to save
her, but anyone who isn't biased in your favor can see the truth."  

     Marge's bitter words hit Blair harder than he'd expected.  He'd
never used Amanda in any way to protect himself, and he had spent
many hours wrestling with the guilt he felt over the fact that her body
somewhat slowed the bullet that ended up in his chest.

     "Marge, that's enough!"  Jim's voice made the woman spin
around to face her son-in-law.  "I've tried to make allowances for your
grief, but this is over the line.  You have no right to make a bunch of
hysterical, groundless accusations against Blair.  There isn't one person
involved in this investigation that would even consider the bizarre
scenario you're outlining as a remote possibility."

     "Of course not!  They're all your friends!  And his!"  She
gestured toward Blair.  "This is nothing new, Jim.  Lindsay has always
been the very last of your priorities!"

     "This has nothing to do with Lindsay!  This has to do with you
barging into my house and making a bunch of sick accusations against
someone who stood ready to give his life for your granddaughter."

     "But that isn't the way it turned out, is it?"  Marge persisted.  "A
gunman enters this house, fatally wounds two people, and somehow,
doesn't know enough to finish the job on the third?"
          
     "So what is it you think I did?  Hire somebody to shoot Jim's
family?  God, you can't possibly be serious!"  Blair objected.

     "Don't even dignify this whole situation," Jim barked back at
Blair.  "This ends now, Marge.  I've tried to meet you halfway.  I
haven't wanted to hurt Lindsay's mother.  But no more.  I want you to
leave, and I don't want you harassing Blair any further.  I'll pack a few
of Lindsay's and Mandy's things and ship them to you.  But don't call
the loft, don't call the house, and don't make the mistake of harassing
me at work or I'll get a restraining order on you.  Is that clear?"

     "Oh, crystal clear.  I didn't expect anything better from you." 
She spun on her heel and strode through the house angrily, with Jim hot
on her heels.

     "Well, you know, that's really funny, Marge, because I expected
a hell of a lot better from Lindsay's mother!"  Jim bellowed.  Blair
followed them into the living room, wondering if it was possible that
they would actually come to blows.  Marge had just pushed the final
one or two of Jim's buttons, and that was never a wise thing to do.

     "You expected me to give you the latitude my daughter did. 
She was in love with you, the poor, foolish girl!  I'm not!  I can see
what you are, and most importantly, I can see that little...boy toy you
keep on the side for just exactly what he is!"  Marge swung the front
door open and hurried down the two steps to the sidewalk, then to her
Lexus, which was parked behind Jim's truck.

     "Jim, let her go.  Come on, man.  You're better than that."  Blair
grabbed a hold of Jim's arm but the other man wrenched it away angrily
and started out the door.  Blair's grunt of pain stopped him.

     "Blair?  What's--oh, shit, did I do that?"  Jim hurried over to
where Blair stood in the doorway, holding onto his shoulder, wearing a
pain-filled expression.

     "I don't think it did any damage," Blair said, his voice a bit
strained.  "It just hurts.  Feels like the muscles got pulled."

     "I'm *so* sorry, Chief.  I was acting like an idiot.  Come on. 
Let's sit down for a minute."  He steered Blair to the couch and they sat
close, side by side.   "Can you move it?  Should we go to the hospital?"

     "Jim, it's okay.  I haven't been moving it much, and it was just a
faster move that I was ready for.  It hurts like hell right now, but I'm
sure it'll be okay."

     "Damn her!"  Jim shot up off the couch and started pacing
again.

     "I can't believe she really could think I would do something like
that--using Mandy to protect myself.  God, I tried to do just the
opposite."

     "I know that.  So does everyone else.  She's looking for a
scapegoat.  An available one.  Since the shooter isn't here, she's picked
you."  Jim looked back at his friend sitting on the couch, still wincing
and rubbing his shoulder.  "You're sure we shouldn't go to the
hospital?"

     "I'd amputate it before I'd go back there again."  

     "Chief, if you've re-injured--"

     "I'll be okay, Jim.  Let it go."

     "I don't know what I was thinking, yanking my arm away like
that," Jim said, sitting sideways next to Blair so he could examine the
aching shoulder for himself.  "You're breathing like a tractor, buddy."

     "Well it hurt, dammit," Blair snapped back.  "I'm sorry," he
added immediately.  

     "I don't think anything's damaged," Jim opined as he ran gentle
fingers under Blair's shirt over the healing incision, his sense of touch
on full alert.  "If I had hurt you--"

     "It was a knee-jerk reaction, man.  You didn't do it on purpose." 
Blair relaxed a little as the fingers on his shoulder started carefully
massaging it.  "You're good at that," he said, grinning and tilting his
head back against Jim's arm and the back of the couch.

     The feeling of soft skin under his fingers, silky curls brushing
his arm, Blair's head tipped back with an expression of pleasure on his
perfect features...

     Before Jim realized what he was doing, he had claimed Blair's
mouth, his tongue demanding entry, his hand leaving Blair's injured
shoulder and sliding down the mat of soft hair on his chest.  He was
fumbling with the buttons on Blair's shirt when the other man's hand
came up and gripped his.

     "Not here, man.  I *so* don't want to remember doing anything
here.  Please?"  He watched as a shiver passed through the larger man.

     "You're right.  I'm sorry.  You just looked so...perfect there...I
kind of lost it."

     "Jim, I don't look perfect.  I'm in my old clothes, my hair looks
like a poodle that got caught in a hurricane and...I've got gross scars." 
The last words were barely audible.

     "Do you think for a second that your incision scars are going to
gross me out?"

     "They're really...disgusting-looking, man. *I* don't even want to
see me with my shirt off."

     "Blair, look at me," Jim said softly, taking a hold of Blair's chin
and turning his face slowly.  "First, those scars will fade.  It'll take a
little time, but they won't always be so noticeable."

     "I feel like Frankenstein," Blair grumbled, angry that a tear was
sliding out of his eye.  "Isn't that awful?  I survive, and I'm so damn
greedy that I want to be without scars--like before.  That's so...vain."

     "Do you trust me?"

     "With my life.  You know that."

     "Okay, then listen to what I'm going to tell you.  You're lucky in
that you've got some hair there to cover things up.  Any area they
shaved for surgery is already growing back.  When that's all back, you
won't notice it so much.  Then, you've got to remember that those scars
were made by very fine, small surgical blades.  Eventually, they'll heal
to being thin lines--not big jagged marks.  And the big thing is, I don't
care if you have a third arm growing out of the middle of your chest.  It
wouldn't change how much I love you.  Nothing could change that."

     "How do you know so much about what they'll look like?"

     "One thing you learn being in locker rooms with a bunch of
cops is what bullet and surgery scars look like in all their stages of
development.  Yours aren't going to be ghastly, Chief.  They'll get
better.  Now, about your hair and that poodle comment--"

     "I didn't put any conditioner in it.  I got too tired so I let it go. 
So that's why it looks like this," Blair explained, pulling at one of the
frizzy strands.

     "I'd love to fix your hair sometime," Jim said honestly, not
really having planned to make that statement.  Blair looked a little
surprised, but then he smiled.

     "Really?"

     "I always loved your hair."  Jim slid his hand up to cup the back
of Blair's head, getting his hand completely immersed in the curls.  "I
love the way it smells," he said, nuzzling with his nose, "and feels, and
the way it's going to fall across your face when I make love to you." 
Jim locked hot eyes with Blair's own startled orbs.   

     "This isn't the place...I don't want to--"

     "I know.  I don't want to do anything here either.  It doesn't feel
right.  But that doesn't change what I want.  I hope you want the same
thing."

     "You know I do," Blair responded, a little breathlessly.  "Look,
why don't we get this job over with so we can go home and put this
behind us, huh?"

     "Okay.  How's your shoulder?"

     "Still sore, but better.  I can still do some packing duty."

     Jim selected a few personal items from the myriad of jewelry,