"So what'd you think of Ellison?"  Starsky called in to his
partner, who was still completing his evening ablutions in the
bathroom.  The dark-haired man was occupying his time reading in
bed, going over the case history on Slater from the mental hospital
where he'd been residing for the last three years.

     "He's good.  I honestly couldn't find anything in that house he
hadn't already spotted or investigated.  He seems to know his stuff."

     "Blair's a good kid.  I'm glad he made it out of Slater's hands in
one piece."

     "I think you were giving Ellison a few tense moments hanging
around his boyfriend so much today."

     "I'm sure he'll be up nights worrying about it," Starsky retorted,
setting the report aside and massaging the ache between his eyes.  He
tossed his glasses on top of the folder and slid down in the bed.  "You
gonna be all night in there, Blondie?"  Starsky had no sooner finished
the statement when his partner came out of the bathroom in his white
terry cloth robe, smelling like soap and a little trace of the aftershave
he knew Starsky liked best.  Even after all those years of being
together, Hutch could still get Starsky's heart beating double time just
by walking into a room with the right look in his cool blue eyes.

     "Sleepy?"  he asked, climbing up on the bed and stretching out
on his side to face Starsky, propping himself up on one elbow.  One
long finger traced the line down the center of Starsky's chest until it ran
into the waistband of his briefs.  It hooked in the waistband and ran a
teasing tip along the soft skin beneath.

     "Early call tomorrow, babe."  Starsky reached over and ran his
fingers into the fine gold hair.  That was always his mistake, and this
night was no different. 

     "Okay, Starsk, if you're not in the mood," Hutch said coolly,
reaching over to turn out the light.  As soon as the room was in
shadows, Starsky pounced.  Lying on top of his partner, supporting his
weight on his elbows while he slid both hands into Hutch's hair, he
dove down to capture that full, perfectly shaped mouth.  When he drew
back, he rested his forehead against Hutch's. 

     "I don't think I told you today that I loved you."

     "There's a black mark in my day planner, you thoughtless
bastard," Hutch quipped, winding his arms around Starsky's firm
middle.  The blond laughed then, and Starsky grinned, still
occasionally caught off guard by his partner's straight-faced jokes.

     "Guess I have a lotta work t'do makin' it up to you, huh, blintz?"
Swooping down to Hutch's smooth throat, he began work on a large
passion mark.

     "Do you mind not doing your Nadasy routine, babe?  I don't
want to walk all over the Cascade PD with a giant hickey on my neck."

     "It's a *passion mark*.  You get hickeys in the back seat with
your girlfriend when you're sixteen."  Starsky licked at the pinkish
mark that he'd abandoned before it became a flaming beacon on
Hutch's fair skin.  He started kissing his way down the smooth chest,
then paused.  "You're not going to be leaving these hanging out
tomorrow are you?"  he teased, pulling Hutch's robe aside to expose a
nipple.

     "Smart ass."  Hutch smiled and ran his fingers through Starsky's
curls, twining them in the springy hair and holding his lover's dark head
right where he wanted it as the other man tortured the little protrusion
with lips and tongue.

     "Wanted you all day," Starsky admitted, a little breathless as he
moved to the other nipple, pushing the pesky bathrobe out of the way.

     "You're overdressed, babe," Hutch objected, reaching up to
push the robe off Starsky's shoulders.  The other man dispensed with
the garment and his briefs, straddling Hutch again in all his naked
glory.  Starsky was his other half in every sense.  They were even
perfect physical opposites, Hutch being blond, his chest smooth and
hairless. Starsky was all dark curls--both on his head, dusted across his
chest and belly, and gathering densely at the base of an impressive cock
that was already at half mast.  It's counterpart, nested among golden
curls, nudged at Starsky's thigh.  "Want to be inside you," Hutch
whispered, running his hands up downy thighs.

     "Oh yeah."  Starsky found his discarded robe on the empty side
of the bed and retrieved the lube from the pocket.  

     "Do yourself," Hutch instructed.  Starsky smiled wickedly.  He
knew the only thing that got to Hutch faster than feeling all that tight
pressure around his cock was watching Starsky get himself ready. 
Demon that he was, Starsky always took his time preparing himself as
if he were tight as a virgin.  By the time he spread a film of the gel over
Hutch's length, the other man was breathing heavily, little drops
leaking from his straining shaft.  

     And then Hutch was engulfed in that hot tunnel in one smooth
slide.  Starsky's rounded cheeks were pressed to his lover's groin, and
he was almost immediately in motion atop Hutch, rocking his hips in
rhythm with the other man's thrusts.

     "Oh, God..."  Hutch groaned, grabbing Starsky's offered hands
and lacing their fingers together as his lover rode him hard, driving his
cock in deep.  Starsky's head was thrown back, his face a mask of
straining passion, little grunts coming out in time with their sex.

     "Ugh, come on, babe, give it to me," Starsky ground out,
moving faster still.  Hutch answered him with wild thrusts that raised
the blond's hips off the mattress and sent vibrations through his lover's
entire body.  "Yeah...  Ooooh, yeah, I'm comin', babe," Starsky panted,
writhing impossibly faster as Hutch yanked one of his hands free to
start pumping Starsky's weeping shaft.  "Hard...come on!"  he goaded
Hutch again, letting out his final howl of pleasure as Hutch obliged the
request, nailing Starsky's prostate with a series of rapid-fire strokes.

     As Starsky was coming down from his climax, he rode out the
sharp strokes from below, until Hutch stiffened and filled his lover,
calling out Starsky's name.  The impaled man fell forward on his
partner's chest, their hearts thundering together as they soothed each
other through the after shocks.  

     "Love you," Hutch managed, rubbing Starsky's back and finding
enough energy for a fiery kiss.

     "Love you, too, Blondie," Starsky responded, smiling with pure
adoration down at his life partner.  "You're so beautiful," he said,
pushing a few sweaty strands of hair off Hutch's forehead.

     "Not as beautiful as you, babe."

     "Close though," Starsky replied, grinning a little as he lay atop
Hutch, feeling the other man's arms close tightly around him.  

     "Call it a tie?"  Hutch said sleepily as Starsky shifted to let
Hutch's spent cock slip free of his well-loved passage.

     "Works for me."  Both men fumbled around with the corner of
one of the robes to clean themselves off haphazardly before pulling up
the covers and snuggling together for a decent night's sleep.  The next
day would probably be a long one.

     //So why can't I shut down my brain and sleep?// Starsky asked
himself.  He hadn't given "Sunflower" much thought in the last twenty
years.  Losing her as quickly and effortlessly as he'd found her had hurt
at the time.  For those two days--and one glorious night--they were
together, he'd foolishly thought it was something meaningful.  Maybe
his mother had been right when she'd warned him to stay away from
those drugged up hippie girls.  He found himself almost snorting a
laugh, but refrained.  Hutch was as light a sleeper as Starsky was a
heavy one.

     //I never even asked Blair for her right name.  But what
difference does it really make now?  Our lives aren't connected in any
way.  She's off doing her thing, and I'm in a lifetime partnership.  One I
wouldn't trade for all the women on earth.// Starsky sighed, and Hutch
started stirring.  By unconscious mutual agreement and years of
coordination, Hutch rolled over on his side and Starsky spooned up
behind him, draping an arm over Hutch's body, keeping them close. 
His languid cock was nestled between Hutch's cheeks, and Starsky
grinned evilly as he thought of just the right way to wake his partner in
the morning.

********

     Blair looked at the clock for what felt like the millionth time.  It
had only moved ahead thirty minutes.  The large body that was
spooned around him shifted a little.  Jim was sleeping, but even in that
state, he sensed Blair's restlessness.  Blair knew he'd hate himself in the
morning, when the alarm went off and he'd had all of two hours' sleep. 
Still, every time he closed his eyes, he imagined how easily Slater
could slip in downstairs, make his way stealthily up to the loft
bedroom, and carry out his threats.  Jim was a sentinel but he was tired,
and sleeping soundly.  To assume the man could hear everything at all
times was nothing short of ridiculous.  They could both end up dead in
their bed.

     "What's wrong, baby?"  Jim tightened his hold on the smaller
body.

     "Can't sleep."

     "You feel okay?"

     "Yeah."

     "Back hurting?"

     "A little, but it's not that."

     "How about a back rub with some of that lotion and you tell me
what it is, huh?"

     "You need your sleep, love.  I'm okay."

     "I'm not going to roll over and go back to sleep while you're
staring at the clock."  Jim kissed Blair's shoulder and got up, moving
stealthily down the steps to get the lotion.  

     "Jim?"

     "What, Chief?"  he called up from the foot of the stairs.

     "Um, everything look okay down there?"

     "Yeah..."  Jim sounded completely puzzled for a moment, then
realization seemed to dawn.  "I'll double check and make sure we've
got everything locked.  Be right up."

     Blair slumped back down on the bed and curled up around a
pillow.  He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing his mind would close down
for a little while.  Talking about Slater's depravity so extensively just
drove the point home to him how much danger he'd been in, and how
close he'd come to dying an unspeakable death.  As it was, dying of
starvation an dehydration was a gruesome way out too.  

     "Stretch out on your belly, Chief," Jim instructed, reaching
down to gently pat the flat stomach as he moved past Blair.

     "You should get some sleep.  I'm serious, man.  I'll go
downstairs."

     "You're not going anywhere, sweetheart.  Just relax.  Probably
be a good idea to take the t-shirt off too."  Blair obliged and shifted
onto his stomach.  "The bruises and the marks have faded quite a bit," 
Jim commented, warming the lotion in his hands before working it into
Blair's skin.

     "I keep forgetting you don't need the lights to see that."  There
was a trace of a smile in Blair's voice.

     "Got a case of the night jitters, Chief?"  Jim asked gently.  He
didn't wait for an answer.  "It's pretty understandable after we spent so
much time today analyzing Slater's crimes."

     "I know I shouldn't be, but I'm still scared.  I keep thinking he's
going to come after me."

     "That would be a fatal mistake on his part," Jim responded
calmly, leaning forward to kiss Blair's cheek.  Then he whispered in the
nearby ear, "Anybody looking for you has to go through me first."

     "I know.  I just...  I guess it's knowing he was right there,
waving that knife around...that he really wanted to do the things he said
he'd do."

     "We'll get him, sweetheart.  It's just going to take a little time."

     "That feels *so* good," Blair muttered through a yawn.

     "Good.  Close your eyes, baby.  Go on.  I'm right here."

     "Jim?  If you were sleeping, and somebody tried to--"

     "If Slater or anyone else tries to break in here or comes within a
ten mile radius of you with any malicious intent, I'll know it.  It's safe
to go to sleep."

     "I was afraid to close my eyes when he was around.  I was
scared he'd do something to me while I was asleep...or that I'd make
noise and he'd..."  Blair shivered, and Jim could see how hard the
younger man was working at keeping his composure.

     "It's okay to be afraid, sweetheart.  He's a psycho, Blair.  It's not
strange you'd be shaken up after being around him so long."

     "I was so damn scared, man," Blair forced out past the
constriction in his throat.  He felt Jim carefully finish up with the
lotion, and turned to sit up and pull his t-shirt back on again.  When it
was in place, Jim set the lotion aside and pulled Blair into his arms,
settling them both back under the covers.  "I didn't want to die like
that," he said softly.  

     "I know, baby.  I know."  Jim caressed the curls pressed against
his shoulder and kissed the top of Blair's head.  

     "I was afraid to sleep.  I can't make myself relax and close my
eyes because I keep expecting to open them and he'll just...be there.  He
did that to me.  I'd doze off and when I'd wake up, sometimes he'd just
be...sitting there, watching me, smiling.  The ski mask made it
distorted, but it was still scary.  He had the worst eyes, Jim.  Cold, dead
eyes."  Blair moved impossibly closer, trying to crawl inside Jim's skin
where he'd feel protected.  The large arms tightened around him.

     "Trust me, Blair.  You're safe now.  I won't let anything happen
to you.  I might go to sleep, but I'll still hear anything out of place.  You
want a light on?"

     "That's dumb."

     "Not if it makes you feel better.  The dark's still a little scary,
isn't it?"

     "Yeah," Blair admitted quietly.

     "Okay.  I'll turn on the lamp on the dresser."  Jim got up again,
turned on the small lamp, then pulled one of his t-shirts out of the
drawer and draped it over the shade, leaving the room with just enough
dim light to dispel the shadows.  "Better?"

     "I'm sorry, Jim."

     "Don't apologize, Chief.  Just tell me if this is going to help,"
Jim said gently.

     "A lot."

     "Okay."  Jim smiled as he headed back to bed and gathered
Blair back into a tight embrace.  

     "I'm sorry...earlier...nothing happened."  Blair felt his face flush
at the thought of their aborted attempt at making love.  It wasn't the
right night for Blair, who wanted nothing more than to be held and
comforted, and it hadn't been much better for Jim, who was about as
preoccupied with the current case as he had ever been with any in his
career before.  A psychotic killer was loose somewhere, probably still
in the area.  It wouldn't be long before someone paid the price for the
Cascade PD's inability to find him.

     "It'll happen when it's time, baby.  We were pushing it a little."

     "Sometimes...I love you so much it hurts," Blair whispered,
feeling his eyes finally drift shut in the warmth and safety of Jim's
embrace.

     "I know the feeling, Chief.  I love you too.  Now go to sleep.  I
won't let anything happen to you.  I'm keeping watch."

     "You need sleep too."

     "I'll sleep.  Don't worry about it.  You know what'll put me to
sleep?  Hearing that steady even heartbeat of yours when *you're*
asleep."

     "You really know how to push the right buttons, doncha?"  Blair
slurred as he felt himself drifting and finally letting go.

     "I try, baby," Jim replied quietly, letting his own eyes close as
Blair shifted a little, snuggled tightly against him, and fell into a sound
sleep.

********

     The jangling of the phone was a shrill and unwelcome intrusion
on a short night of sleep.  Jim found it impossible to disengage the
hairy octopus that had fastened onto his body, and his lover was
sleeping so deeply now that even the phone wasn't disturbing him.  Jim
finally, somehow, slid both of them over toward the night stand until
Blair rallied and let go in time for Jim to catch the phone.

     "Ellison."

     "Jim, it's Simon."  A long pause.  "There's been a murder."  The
way Simon said it froze the blood in Jim's veins.  He hadn't simply said
"we've got a body" like he usually did.  This was *the* murder.  The
one they'd all lived in fear of since identifying one of Blair's captors as
Slater.

     "Where?"  Jim was leaning up on one elbow now, rubbing the
sleep out of his eyes and noting with an inward flinch that it was only
five in the morning.  They'd gotten all of two and a half hours of real
rest.

     "You're not going to believe this."

     "What?"

     "The body was found in Sandburg's office at the U.  Sitting at
his desk.  A janitor saw the light on in the office and went in to check. 
I'm at the campus right now, so I need you to get down here.  I think
you should leave Sandburg home."

     "I think so too, but I know he'll never go for it."

     "I've called Starsky and Hutchinson.  They're on their way."

     "We'll be there ASAP, sir."  Jim hung up the phone and looked
over at Blair, wondering how in hell he was going to explain this one to
him.   

********

     Starsky shook his head as he surveyed the scene in front of him. 
The corpse was sitting up in the desk chair, head lolling off to one side,
vacant eyes staring.  The hands hand been placed, palms down, on the
surface of the desk, on top of a neat pile of graded term papers.  The
young man was probably about Blair's age, give or take a few years,
with a shaggy mane of brown hair.  He didn't really look like Blair
upon close inspection, but the imagery was very effective nonetheless.

     Pinned to the corpse's denim jacket was a note that read "Just
Practicing".

     "Well, I guess if we had any doubts he was after Sandburg, we
can dismiss them now," Hutch said, running his hand over his face,
letting it come to rest on his chin.  "Judging from the amount of blood
on and under the chair, I'd say we're probably dealing with considerable
mutilation again.  Whaddya wanna bet this matches the 'Carnage in
Hillside Park' M.O.?"  

     "Killed somewhere else and brought here.  Which means we
have a good chance of finding some kind of blood trail."

     Simon met Jim and Blair at the top of the stairs at the far end of
the hall from Blair's office.  

     "I want you to wait here, Sandburg," he greeted Blair.

     "It's *my* office, Simon."

     "Blair, this isn't about trying to shut you out of things.  I mean I
really don't want you to go in there.  It's not an image you want
imprinted on your mind.  Just trust me this time, huh?"  There was
something very gentle, almost paternal in Simon's tone.  

     "Okay," Blair agreed hesitantly.  "I'll wait right over there in the
student lounge.

     "Thanks, Chief," Jim said, infinitely relieved Blair wasn't
fighting them on this.  If Simon noticed the little caress to Blair's hair
that was just a bit too tender for a gesture among buddies, he didn't
comment on it.  He was already leading the way down the hall

     "What I don't understand is how the son of a bitch moved a
bleeding corpse in here without anybody noticing, and without leaving
a single fucking drop of blood!"  Hutch stated angrily, gesturing at the
floor as Banks and Ellison entered the office.

     Having heard the two detectives debating the "no trail of blood"
issue as he walked down the hall, Jim started scanning the floor for any
traces of any substance that was out of place.  

     "What'd the janitor have to say?"  Jim asked, dispensing with
the amenities of greetings as he fought the chill that seeing the corpse
in Blair's chair sent up and down his spine.

     "He cleans the buildings during a third shift schedule.  He was
going to empty the wastebaskets and mop the floors in these offices
tonight."  Starsky inclined his head toward the body.  "When he got to
this one, the door was opened, and our friend here was sitting in the
chair.  He thought at first that Sandburg had fallen asleep working at
his desk, and wasn't surprised, since he said it wouldn't be the first
time."

     "Where was he prior to discovering the body?"  Simon asked. 
     
     "On the floor above.  He was up there for a good hour, hour and
a half."  Hutch sighed.  "The killer had the ideal opening to slip in here
and leave the body.  What I can't understand is how you lug a bleeding
corpse around, bring it into a building, presumably up the stairs
because you need a key to work the elevator after hours, drag it down a
hall and plunk it in a desk chair without attracting any attention or
making and mess."

     Jim moved closer to the body, wondering why this should upset
him so much.  The intended imagery was obvious, but there was
something so bizarre about Slater's killing...or maybe it was knowing
what kind of mutilations most of the victims had suffered...  It took
every bit of his training to force him to examine it with his enhanced
vision.  Something shiny on the sleeve of the dead man's jacket caught
his eye.

     "I need tweezers."  He waited while Starsky called to one of the
lab technicians, and procured a set of tweezers and a plastic bag, which
he took to Jim.   

     "What is it?"

     "Plastic," Jim opined, holding the tiny fragment up to the light. 
Starsky was squinting now, seeing little more than a thread of
something in Ellison's tweezers.  "From the looks of it, I'd say our killer
wrapped the corpse in plastic, and effectively so--no leakage.  As for
not being noticed...well, it was the middle of the night, the janitor was
upstairs.  If he's strong, he could have lugged the body up three flights. 
This guy isn't huge," Jim commented, indicating the victim.

     "Are we clear to move him?"  One of the coroner's people
entered the room, while two attendants with a gurney waited just
outside the door.

     "Not yet," Starsky held them off with a wave of his hand and
went to look over the dead man's shoulder.  "Didn't you tell me that
someone else was grading Sandburg's students' papers while he was
out?"

     "Yes.  I'm not sure who, but I guess another grad student. 
Why?"  Jim frowned, joining Starsky where he stood by the desk.

     "The date on these papers--they were turned in yesterday.  So he
had to get them from the student that was grading them."

     "Where's the janitor?"  Jim asked, frowning and looking around.

     "In the student lounge, I imagine.  We questioned him and told
him to sit tight."  Hutch paused.  "Why?"

     "I...I'm not sure," Jim replied, moving toward the door.

********

     Blair shifted again in his seat, too tired to read and too nervous
to sit still.  The middle-aged man sitting on the couch several feet away
wasn't the regular janitor, and the icy stares he was leveling at Blair
were making the younger man uneasy.  The man had greasy brown hair
and a full beard, and eyes that made Blair's blood run cold.  Eyes that
looked horribly familiar...

     "Are you filling in for Eddie?"  Blair asked, hoping a little small
talk might dispel the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

     "Yeah."

     "Is he sick?"

     "No," came the hushed, clipped reply.

     "On vacation?"  Blair was beginning to detect something...
something he had to tune into more carefully.  He just needed more
words from the other man.

     "Yeah."

     "Must have been pretty awful, finding that guy," Blair said,
trying the sympathy approach.  The other man turned and smiled what
Blair could only call a malevolent leer.

     "He looked just like you...sitting there dead in your chair..all cut
up and bleeding," he hissed.  Blair's heart jump started and raced, his
throat constricted so he couldn't speak, and he felt the strength drain
out of his limbs.  He'd know that voice anywhere...that voice, and those
eyes.  The other man rose, and moved closer to Blair, who slid down in
his chair, angry at himself for not attacking the man, or at least
running.  But shock was dictating his actions now, and they were
clumsy at best.  "He didn't die until the very last minute.  He felt every
cut.  Just like you will."

     "Freeze!  Don't move," Jim ordered, the deadly intent in his
heart coming through clearly in his voice.

     "Ellison," Slater chuckled, turning away from Blair to face the
angry cop leveling the gun at him.  "I have a message for you."

     "Yeah, and I got one for you.  On the floor!  Now!  Face down,
hands behind your head!  MOVE!"

     With a maniacal leer, Slater pulled a knife from his pocket and
lunged toward Blair.  Angry at the way Slater was forcing him to do
this and terrified for Blair at the same time, Jim opened fire.  Six
bullets tore into the madman's back, and his lifeless, bleeding body fell
across Blair, where he still sat, frozen to the chair.  

     "Goddamn stupid fucking move, Ellison!!"  Starsky bellowed
from behind as he strode into the student lounge.  Jim spun on his heel,
about to reply, but gave it up to go get the lifeless perp off Blair.  He
moved the body aside easily, checking to be sure there were no vital
signs, even though he already knew Slater was dead.

     "Blair?"  He squatted in front of his white-faced, shaking,
blood-spattered partner.  Slater's death had left its stain on Blair's
clothes, in his hair and on his face.  And Slater, the filthy, sick son of a
bitch, had orchestrated it that way.  Blair was silent, not responding to
Jim's presence at all.  He stared straight ahead, as if none of the other
men were even in the room.  The commotion of other cops and back up
units arriving didn't stir him.  

     "Did it ever occur to you that you just fucked up what was
probably our only chance to ever figure out Slater's connection to
Blair?"  Starsky demanded.  Jim ignored the admonition and took
Blair's face in his hands.  

     "Chief?  Come on, buddy, look at me. *See* me."  Jim patted at
the clammy face.  No response.

     "He's in shock," Starsky assessed, taking in Blair's condition. 
"He needs to get to the hospital."

     "Give us a minute.  Just back off," Jim snapped angrily, pulling
off his coat and putting it around Blair's shoulders.  "Sandburg.  Look
at me.  Slater's dead.  It's over."

     "It's over all right," Starsky rose from checking the dead man's
pulse and carried the knife with his handkerchief over to a plastic bag
Hutch held open for it.

     "What was I supposed to do?!  Stand here and let him kill
Blair?!"  Jim rose and turned away from his catatonic partner,
advancing toward Starsky.  "Tell me how I was supposed to do
anything different here since you're the fucking expert!"

     "You could have played it a little cooler with him instead of
using guerilla tactics to push a madman over the edge!  Holy shit,
Ellison, is this the way you *always* handle delicate situations?!" 
Starsky demanded, standing toe to toe with Jim, undaunted by any
difference in their ages or sizes.  

     "What's going on here?"  Simon demanded as he entered the
room, followed by the coroner's people.

     "Let me share one little piece of advice with you, Ellison--"

     "Save it!  In case you haven't checked your ID lately, you're out
of your jurisdiction, so don't try to pull some kind of seniority shit with
me!  This is my case and I handled it the way I saw fit!"

     "And you're doing a goddamned great job!  Your partner's a
blood-spattered zombie, the suspect is dead and you antagonized him
before he could give you any answers about Sandburg's kidnapping!  If
this is you on a good day, I'd fucking hate to be around when you screw
up!"

     "If you're as good as you think you are, you'd have known you
were *questioning* Slater, for God's sake!  Talk about having your
head up your ass!"

     "The last time I saw Slater, the son of a bitch had blond hair
and was clean-shaven!  How the fuck was I supposed to know it was
him with a fucking wig on?!  And while we're at it, how'd you know it
was him?"

     "Instincts."

     "Bullshit!  What was it?  Last time I looked, this was supposed
to be a joint venture between our departments.  What are you holding
back?"

     "I told you--it was a hunch!  You can quit giving me the third
degree because I don't owe you any explanations!"

     Convinced the two volatile cops were going to chew each other
to shreds, and Banks was going to try intervene, Hutch walked over to
where Blair sat, still in his glassy-eyed state.

     "Come on, kiddo.  We're going to get you cleaned up." 
Something in Hutch's calm approach seemed to at least move Blair to
cooperate with standing up and walking.  He steered Blair into the
nearby men's room and flipped on the lights, then led him to the sink. 
"Jim was right.  You don't have anything to worry about.  Slater's
history."  The soft, gentle voice kept Blair calm as Hutch pulled the
younger man's hands under the stream of water and washed off the
streaks of Slater's blood that were caking there.  

     Meanwhile, back in the student lounge, the battle of words was
reaching a conclusion.

     "Let me share a few words of wisdom with you, Ellison. 
There's one reason you reacted the way you did here tonight, and that's
because you wanted revenge against Slater for going after Sandburg. 
And that's understandable.  But you pushed the guy's buttons until you
*knew* you were going to force him into a situation that justified
deadly force.  If you're going to stay partnered with someone you love,
you're going to have to learn the fine art of distancing yourself.  Hutch
and I have been doing that for close to 30 years now."

     "I think you're out of line, Detective Starsky," Simon spoke up. 
"Jim's not a psychiatrist.  He can't be expected to psychoanalyze
maniacs in the middle of a situation where a civilian's life is in danger. 
He did nothing in violation of procedure, and his use of deadly force
was perfectly justified, and you know it."

     "No, Captain Banks, he didn't violate procedure, and I'm sure
the review board will give this whole mess their stamp of approval. 
And don't misunderstand me--Slater was a waste of oxygen anyway. 
But that's not the point.  We all know that it's possible to manipulate a
situation to turn out the way you want it to.  Slater held the key to
*why* Sandburg was ever kidnapped in the first place.  To finding the
other kidnappers, and hopefully, their boss.  This solves the Wesley
Slater dilemma, and frankly, that's fine with me because it means we
can board a plane in the morning and go home.  But I would think that
even Rambo here would be a little upset about fucking up the
kidnapping case."

     "So I should have let him cut Blair up a little while I waited for
information?"  Jim asked, smiling and shaking his head.

     "He had a message for you.  You should have fucking listened
to him before you started shouting at him to hit the floor!"

     "He was playing a game.  His message would have probably
been to spin around and slit Blair's throat."
     
     "He didn't even have the knife out when you barked out that
order."

     "Look, you two, you're not going to see eye to eye on this, so
let's just get the reports written up, clean up this mess and get on with
it," Simon said reasonably, resting his hands on his hips and giving
both men a look that clearly said that was not a suggestion, but an
order, politely phrased in deference to their guest.

     "Where's Sandburg?"  Jim spun around, noticing the chair
where he'd left Blair was empty.

     "Hutch took him out of here," Starsky replied, having caught
sight of the other two men leaving the room while he was fighting with
Ellison.

     "Shit."  Jim turned on his heel and left the room, focusing every
sense on finding his partner.  It didn't take him long to pick up Blair's
voice, strained and low, coming from the men's room.  Jim swung open
the door, and saw Hutch blotting water out of a small section of Blair's
hair in the front where Slater's blood had landed.

     "Jim."  Blair moved away from the sink and made a beeline for
Jim, who gathered him into a tight embrace.  

     "You gave me a real scare for a minute there, Chief."

     "What happened?"  The question was muffled against Jim's
chest, and Blair's confusion was plain in his voice.  Jim's eyes flicked
up to Hutch, who just shrugged.  Apparently, Blair didn't remember the
specifics of the events that had temporarily shocked him into silence. 
"We got Slater, pal.  He's dead."

     "Why is there blood on my shirt?"  Blair asked, his voice a little
high with panic.

     "You were kind of close to the action, partner.  You're not hurt."

     "I don't...remember...Jim?  What happened?"

     "It's okay, buddy.  You're a little bit shocky right now."

     "What did he do?"

     "He was pretending to be the janitor--"

     "So where's Eddie?"

     "Eddie?"  Hutch asked.

     "The regular guy!"  Blair was still a bit disoriented, but he
seemed to put together that if Slater were masquerading as the night
janitor, he had to dispose of said janitor somehow.

     "We've got a call in to the guy who's in charge of custodial
services on campus to check out Slater's story that he was a new hire. 
He hasn't called back yet.  I'll get a search going," Hutch volunteered,
moving past them.  
     
     "Thanks for helping out," Jim said, catching the other man by
the arm as he passed.  Hutch smiled.

     "Anytime."  He continued out the door.

     "Jim, I don't remember anything after you telling me to wait in
the student lounge!"

     "You've got a little dose of shock-induced amnesia, sweetheart. 
I had to shoot Slater.  He was threatening you."

     "So this is his blood?"  Blair moved back and looked down at
himself, his face showing his disgust.

     "Yes."

     "I think I'm gonna be sick."

     "Take a deep breath, baby.  You can do this.  You've been at a
lot of unpleasant crime scenes.  Come on.  Breathe."  Jim slid an arm
around Blair's shoulders and led him to the sink, helping him splash
some cold water on his face.  "Feeling better?"

     "I think so.  I can't believe I lost it again.  Those guys must think
I'm a total pansy."

     "Nobody thinks you're a pansy, Blair," Jim responded, unable to
stop smiling at the particular term Blair had chosen.

     "It's not funny."

     "No, it isn't," Jim said, chortling a little.  "We might both be
fairies, but by God, we are *not* pansies and that's final!"

     "Jim, dammit, I don't wanna laugh about this," Blair said, then
burst into laughter.

     "It's inappropriate and politically incorrect," Jim added, right
before he started laughing himself.  It wasn't the best possible time for
Simon to check on them, but having the perfect timing most bosses
posses, the captain walked into the restroom to find the two men red-faced 
and laid against the wall, Blair mopping tears off his face and
trying futilely to take a normal breath.  The younger man wanted
desperately to put together some sort of explanation for Simon about
the spring of tension letting loose and hysteria-induced mirth, but every
time he looked at the captain's stern face, he laughed harder.

     Sobered a bit by Simon's stony face, and the fact he was
supposed to be handling a murder investigation, Jim pulled himself
under control fairly well, fairly quickly.

     "Sorry, sir.  Blair and I are a little punchy, I guess.  I was trying
to shake him out of his stupor, and I got a little carried away."

     "Apparently.  Glad you're feeling better, Sandburg," Simon said
a bit pointedly.

     "I am.  Sorry, Simon.  I really didn't mean to lose it like this.  It
won't happen again."

     "You got a good shock, Blair.  I'm not blaming you for that. 
But we do have a rather pressing matter at hand in the student lounge."

     "Have they moved Slater?"

     "They bagged him and took him out to the wagon.  Dr. Horton
just arrived."

     "Oh, man," Blair commented, rolling his eyes.  

     "He's the hard ass, right?"  Jim asked Blair.  The younger man
nodded, smiling a little.  

     "Yeah.  President Horton to you, Detective," Blair replied in a
lofty tone.

     The three of them walked back out to the student lounge.  The
outline of Slater's body, as well as a good deal of blood, was still
visible.  A tall man with receding gray hair and silver framed glasses
was arguing with Hutch, who seemed to have all his dark-haired
partner lacked in diplomacy.

     "You seriously expect me to close down an entire building for
the day?  Do you have any idea how many offices are in this building? 
Not to mention classrooms?"

     "Dr. Horton, we've found one corpse and there's been a shooting
in this building.  We haven't even finished the complete search. 
There's no way you can open the doors at in an hour and a half for
business as usual."

     "Mr. Sandburg," Horton began, spotting Blair immediately.  "I
understand the dead man was found in your office."  There was almost
an accusatory note in his voice.  "What do you know about this?"

     "Not much, I'm afraid.  No more than Detective Hutchinson has
probably already told you."

     "Captain Banks!"  Rafe hurried up to join the group.  He had
been in charge of the building search.  "We've got two in the
basement."

     "Damn.  ID?"

     "One is Edward Milford, and the other is a young woman,
Jennifer Theisen," Rafe concluded, checking his notepad.  "I sent the
crime lab guys down there.  Looks like multiple stab wounds."

     "Oh God."  Blair's voice caught their attention as he dropped
into the corner seat of a nearby couch.  "Jenny and Eddie..."

     "I'll make the necessary arrangements to keep the building
closed for the day," Dr. Horton said, nodding.  "I would like to notify
their families personally."

     "We can arrange for that, sir," Simon responded, leading the
man away from the other police personnel and walking with him to a
nearby reception desk where there was a telephone that could be used
to handle their business.
     
     "I'm sorry about Jenny, Chief.  I know she's been your assistant
a while now."  Jim sat on the arm of the couch near Blair.

     "I can't believe he killed her.  Why?"  Blair looked up at Jim
with moist eyes.  "I don't want to think about what he did to her first."

     "He probably came in here after hours to do the deed, and she
was in the office for some reason," Starsky offered, handing a cup of
coffee to Blair and then handing the second one to Jim.  "I was fresh
out of olive branches," he said, taking a seat on the couch.

     "Coffee goes down easier," Jim responded, smiling slightly.

     "There was no forced entry, and there were papers on your desk
dated today--yesterday, I mean.  The M.E. estimated time of death for
the guy at the desk at about midnight, and he was probably placed in
the chair around one.  Seems pretty late for a student to be hanging
around this building."

     "Not really.  Jenny has...*had* a part-time job as a waitress at
the restaurant on Chandler Street...uhh...Pegasus."

     "Pegasus?"  Starsky frowned at the odd name.

     "They have massive chicken wings there--so they named it after
a winged horse," Jim explained.  Two corpses in the basement, and the
two cops were talking about chicken wings.  Blair had to smile as it
occurred to him that he was very glad Starsky was "married".  Jim and
the other detective seemed a gastric match made in heaven.

     "Clever," Starsky opined, laughing a little.  "So she worked late
there?"

     "They don't close until midnight, and occasionally she'd come
over here and catch up on stuff.  I should have told her not to do that."

     "This from the man with the nighthawk study group."

     "See, Jim, that's the thing.  This is supposed to be a safe place. 
A place for learning and teaching and...  I'm not making any sense."

     "It's a place that's supposed to be safe territory.  A peaceful
place.  That makes sense," Jim added.  "But no place is ever 100% safe. 
That's the sick reality we have to live with."   Jim reached over and laid
a hand on Blair's back.  "So Jenny could have been working in the
office when he showed up?"

     "Yeah, she probably was.  And he had to kill Eddie because he'd
be doing his cleaning about now.  I think that was one reason Jenny
didn't worry too much about coming in after hours.  Eddie was a great
guy, and she said he usually walked her out when she left, and checked
on her a couple times while she was there.  God, Jim, he had two
children--he was only forty years old.  His oldest kid is only nine,"
Blair said, his voice breaking.

     "You knew this guy pretty well, huh?"  Jim asked gently.

     "Yes," Blair answered quietly, closing his eyes briefly.  Tears
slid out from under both lids, which he swiped away quickly.

     "Look, Chief, I'm going to see if I can track Rafe down and
have him take you home.  Starsky and I have to go downstairs."

     "I should go with you."

     "No.  I don't want you involved in that phase of things this time
out, buddy.  Trust me on this one, huh?"  Jim took a hold of Blair's
hand and squeezed it.

     "Okay."

     "You go find Rafe.  I'll join you downstairs after he gets here," 
Starsky offered.

     "Great.  Thanks."  Jim headed for the stairs.

     "You don't have to babysit me.  I'll be okay."

     "It wouldn't be odd if you weren't.  You've had some pretty bad
shocks tonight."  Starsky looked at the younger man with great
compassion.  Blair was a scholar, not a cop.  It was at a time like this
that it was so painfully obvious that the violence and heartless
slaughter of innocent people that Blair was forced to deal with so
frequently took a very heavy toll on him emotionally.  "You're handling
all this very well, Blair."

     "Sure I am.  I either pass out or puke every time something
major happens."  Blair shook his head.  "Jenny was so young.  She was
my friend," he added, giving up and letting the tears flow at the thought
of the cheerful young girl who had organized his chaotic office and
often shared confidences over coffee when they both took a break from
one of Blair's many projects.  He put his head down in one hand and
cried.

     "Not fair, is it?"  Starsky asked, slipping his arm around Blair's
shoulders.

     "She was in here...doing m-my w-work."

     "Hey.  Don't start thinking that way.  You never asked her to
work here at midnight."

     "I saw Eddie...all the time.  I...was here...late a lot."  Blair tried
to regain his composure and wiped at his eyes again.

     "Slater's dead.  At least he can't put anyone else through this. 
Looks like my replacement's here.  You hang in there, huh?"  he said to
Blair, giving his shoulders a little squeeze and standing up as Rafe
entered the room.

********

     Jim opened the door to the loft and tossed his keys in the
basket.  Rafe, who had been sleeping on the couch, jerked back to
consciousness.  Since he'd been called back in to work after just
leaving following an all night stakeout, he had been grateful for the
opportunity to catch a nap.

     "Thanks for hanging around.  I didn't want to leave Sandburg on
his own."

     "No problem.  So how bad were things with the janitor and the
girl?"

     "No mutilation.  Slater wasn't taking any special pains with
them.  Our friend in the desk chair upstairs wasn't so lucky.  His
murder fit the M.O. of the slasher movie--just like we expected. 
Where's Blair?"

     "He went upstairs to lie down."  Rafe seemed a little puzzled by
that, but he didn't say anything.  "I better get going.  I've got a court
appearance in--shit!! In five minutes."  Rafe flew out the door of the
loft, barely sparing Jim a backward glance.  It was almost ten in the
morning, and Jim only had a few minutes to check on his partner
before he re-joined their visiting detectives and tied up the loose ends
of the Slater mess.  And what a God-awful mess it had been.

     He wondered how many times Jennifer's mother's anguished
screams from the morgue would reverberate in his head before fading
to a dull, painful memory like all the other screams of all the other
shattered mothers before her.  Wearily climbing the stairs, he had
similar thoughts about Eddie's more stoic wife, whose quiet agony was
every bit as wrenching as any scream of pain.

     "Jim?"  Blair's head shot up off the pillow as if he expected the
hounds of hell to be bounding up the stairs instead of one exhausted
cop.

     "Hey, sweetheart."  Jim tossed his jacket aside and stretched out
on the bed next to his fully clothed partner.  "You okay, baby?"  He
reached over and stroked Blair's cheek lightly with the backs of his
fingers.  He found moisture there.  "I'm so sorry about Jenny and Eddie,
pal.  I really am."

     "He killed them...like they were disposable.  They weren't even
important kills."

     "I know.  You're right."  Jim let out a long sigh.  

     "What's wrong?"  Blair scooted over and Jim pulled his lover
close against his side.

     "Starsky had a few opinions about my handling of Slater.  I just
wonder how right he was."

     "What really happened?  Please tell me.  I know it was bad, and
I know I ended up with Slater's blood on me, but I don't remember
how."

     "While you were waiting for me in the student lounge, Slater
was in there too, playing his janitor role, and he talked to you.  I could
hear your voice when I was down the hall, so I tuned in.  I heard your
heartbeat picking up, and I knew something was wrong.  You were
scared.  So I headed down there, and when I got there, he was--"

     "Standing over me," Blair finished.  "And you shot him."

     "He wouldn't cooperate with what I told him to do about getting
down on the floor, then he turned on you with the knife, and I had to
empty the gun into him to be damn sure he didn't have any chance to
get a swipe in at you before he dropped."

     "And he dropped on me."  Blair shuddered.

     "You remember?"

     "Yeah.  Too well."
     
     "I'm glad you're not blocking it anymore."

     "There were a jumble of pictures in my head before.  I sort of
knew what happened, but I couldn't make it fit together."

     "Are you going to be okay to come in with me for a few hours
to wrap things up?"

     "Yeah.  Think we could get a few hours later for some down
time?"

     "Sure."

     "So you and Starsky really went at each other."

     "Yeah.  Tooth and nail."

     "Who won?"

     "Simon called it a draw."

     "I vaguely remember you arguing, but I don't remember what it
was about."

     "He was pissed off that I shot Slater.  He thought I purposely
escalated the situation so I could do it with justification."  Jim let out a
sigh.  "The worst part of it is, I'm not sure he's wrong.  He said if I were
going to continue working with someone I loved that I had to be more
objective--or distanced or something like that.  That I was after
revenge."

     "The guy was gonna kill me."

     "When I shot him, yes.  But before that, he said he had a
message.  I was so goddamned mad at him that I didn't care.  I told him
to hit the floor, face down.  I didn't even listen.  Starsky's point was that
I might have fucked up our only chance to understand why you were
kindapped in the first place."

     "Jim, I was only an arm's reach away from the guy.  You
couldn't have known it was safe to stand there and keep him talking."

     "That's what I said," Jim responded, smiling.  "God, I love you
so much, Blair."  Jim shifted onto his side and gathered his lover into a
tight hug.  "I just hope I didn't blow this whole case."

     "Slater's dead.  It doesn't matter anymore."

     "I meant your kidnapping case, sweetheart.  That's always been
number one with me."  Jim felt the arms around him tighten.  

     "I know that.  Even with all the consultants and the hoopla
about Slater, I know that mattered most to you all along.  We'll figure it
out, partner."

     "Hey, we've got to get moving."  Jim pulled back.  "Starsky and
Hutchinson are still at the PD, and we're trying to track down where
Slater was staying."

     "I love you."  Blair reached up and cupped Jim's cheek with his
hand.  "You're the best thing that ever happened to me, man.  The very
best."

     "Since you've been with me, you've been shot at, kidnapped,
beaten up, pushed around, teased by a bunch of numbskull cops and
your schedule would keep three people stressed out."

     "Yeah, there's that," Blair responded, laughing a little.  "But
there's having someone miss me when I'm gone, having a place to call
home and really feel the meaning of the word for the first time, and
there's sleeping in the arms of somebody you know is going to love you
for the rest of your life.  There's being with somebody who cares
enough about what happens to you to be worried or pissed off when
you don't call.  All of that is *so* new to me, Jim.  I never had it before
I met you."

     "I wish I could...tell you how I feel.  I just...the right words
aren't there, or if they are, I can't come up with them."

     "You're telling me now.  Every time you hold me or touch me,
or take care of me when I'm hurting, or do something nice for me just
because--it's all there, Jim.  You don't have to tell me a bunch of words. 
I see it in those remarkable blue eyes of yours, and I feel it in your
touches.  You could snap a man's neck without a lot of effort, and I've
seen you drop-kick somebody across a room.  But when you touch me,
it's like you're touching something delicate and precious.  Nobody's
ever touched me like that.  Maybe because I'm not delicate, and I
haven't really been all that precious to anybody before."

     "You are to me," Jim whispered, covering Blair's mouth with
his own, kissing him as gently as he knew how.  "When this is over,
we're going to have some time for us."

     "We better get going, huh?"

     "Yeah."  Jim hauled himself up off the bed.  "Can't tell Simon I
came home to pick you up and you seduced me instead."

     "*I* seduced *you*."

     "You're better suited to the role of seducer than I am, Chief,"
Jim added, chortling a little.  "You're more...exotic."

     "Exotic?"  Blair dropped back down to sit on the edge of the
bed he'd just left.  Jim turned around, still smiling, to see his lover's
stunned expression.

     "Yup, exotic."  Jim kissed the top of Blair's head.  "Come on,
Chief.  Time to haul ass out of here."  Jim headed down the stairs,
leaving a completely speechless Blair to scramble to his feet and hurry
after him.

********

     "You really lit into Ellison back at the University," Hutch said,
taking a drink of his coffee.  The two men had taken a break to go to
the coffee shop near the PD to get a light breakfast.  "You really think
he had that coming?"

     "He handled Slater with the finesse of a bulldozer.  For
whatever the son of a bitch was, he *did* hold the key to Sandburg's
kidnapping.   Ellison antagonized him into action and then took
advantage of the situation to kill him because he frightened Blair."

     "And we've never done anything over the top for each other--something 
that stretched the rules?"

     "Sure.  But--"

     "You remember the Haymes case?"

     "That's a low blow, babe," Starsky responded, not looking up at
his partner.  "It's been over 20 years."

     "I'm not criticizing how you handled the situation.  I'm just
saying that you shot at that car, hit the gas tank and blew up the perps
because you thought they had just killed me.  They were the only ones
who knew where that girl was.  If we hadn't had the leads provided by
Joe Collandra, we'd have never found her."

     "You don't have to replay the whole fucking case for me.  I was
there, remember?"  Starsky spat out angrily.

     "My point is that Ellison did what his instincts told him to
protect his partner, and to remove a threat to his partner's life.  It's no
more extreme than some of the things we've done for each other and
you know it.  The real problem here is that the two of you are both
stubborn bastards who are used to being in charge and you're having a
territory battle."  Hutch shook his head.  "He's pissed because we've
been brought in on this case as if he couldn't handle it without help,
and we know we've got more years of experience handling psychos like
Slater, so when he took Slater out, you were pissed he didn't handle
things the way *we* would have done it."

     "I think we should offer to stay on and work the kidnapping
case."

     "Ellison'll love that."  Hutch laughed softly, shaking his head
and taking another bite of his wheat toast.

     "If he wants to refuse it, he can.  We'll make the offer to him
and Sandburg--not to Banks.  Because if he likes the idea, he'll turn it
into an order, and we'll never get anything accomplished."  Starsky
eyed the last sausage on Hutch's plate.  With a roll of the eyes, the
blond pushed the plate toward him, and Starsky gobbled the remaining
food happily.

     "You should really cut down your fat intake, Starsk," Hutch
opined, watching his partner lick the sausage grease off his lips.  

     "I'm healthy as a horse.  Doctor said so last month," Starsky
countered, citing his most recent annual physical.

     "I think you're doing that just to prove me wrong."

     "Nah, that's just an added bonus," Starsky added, grinning
mischievously.

********

     Jim and Blair arrived back at the Major Crimes bullpen near
eleven, to find their guests were ensconced in their temporary office
going over Slater's personal effects.  Simon had located an empty office
before Starsky and Hutchinson's arrival and had it set up to
accommodate their guests.  Jim tapped on the door, which was a few
doors down from Major Crimes.

     "Come in," Hutch's voice carried through the door.

     "Anything from Slater's stuff?"  Jim asked, entering the office
with Blair in tow.

     "First glance didn't give us much, but he did have a receipt in
here from a place called One-Stop Food Mart," Starsky responded.

     "That's not far from the U," Blair spoke up.  "Most of the dorm
and frat house students shop there."

     "How easy is it to rent a room near the campus?"  Hutch asked
Blair. 

     "Depends on the season.  Right now, late fall, when everybody's
pretty well settled...sometimes it's easier.  Students drop out and leave,
but other's don't join mid-semester.  I'd say you have to be watching for
it, but it's not overly difficult."

     "I think we should assume that Slater lived somewhere near
where he bought his food, and start tracking it that way," Jim opined.

     "Sounds reasonable to me."  Starsky paused.  "We'd like to stay
on after the Slater mess is wrapped up and help out with the
kidnapping case."

     "Any special reason?"  Jim asked, obviously puzzled.

     "A couple," Starsky responded.  He glanced over at Blair, who
seemed pleased by this turn of events.  For some reason, that made
Starsky inexplicably happy.  "First of all, we're assuming that Slater
*didn't* mastermind the kidnapping because he left Sandburg alive,
and because he didn't *appear* to be in charge.  So it's possible we're
still dealing with a crime instigated by Slater, in which case I would
like to close the circle by solving it.  Secondly, we're assuming that just
because Blair isn't a cop, he has no enemies angry enough to want him
dead.  I want to see that angle pursued more vehemently to find the
motive."

     "I imagine it's a done deal anyway.  I'm sure Simon will be
delighted with the offer."  Jim was still a bit bristly about the argument
earlier that morning, and his truce with Starsky seemed a bit shaky at
best.

     "We didn't mention this to Banks," Hutch spoke up.  "It's
entirely up to you to accept or refuse the offer."  Hutch shrugged.  "Of
course I'm not saying we won't follow up on a few leads on our own
one way or the other, but whether or not we stay on here and work with
you is your choice."

     "I think it's a great idea," Blair spoke up.  "Four heads are better
than two," he added, looking nervously at Jim.  The larger man smiled. 
It was apparent that what Blair wanted, he generally got, and this
would be no exception.

     "Okay.  Fine.  Thanks for the help," Jim managed, smiling
slightly.

     "Blair, do you know of anyone who would have a motive to go
after you?"  Starsky asked, leaning on the desk around which they all
sat.

     "I can't honestly think of anybody unless it's something
connected to my work with the PD."

     "Do you keep your old grade books?"  Hutch asked.

     "Yes."

     "From all the courses you've ever taught?"  he persisted.

     "Yes.  Even if I'm grading stuff for other profs, I write down the
student's name, the project, the course number and the grade, just so I
have a record in case there's any question.  All that stuff's in my office."

     "Do you flunk very many students?"  Starsky asked.

     "I try not to.  It's a last resort, if they aren't willing to work with
me to bring up their grades.  I give them lots of warning."

     "But you've had to fail some?"

     "Yes."

     "Any threats of retaliation, revenge, whatever you can
remember?"

     "A couple.  I've gotten slammed around by a pissed off football
player before, and I had my tires slashed once, but generally speaking,
students either handle it, knew it was coming or get really angry, but
don't usually threaten the professor."

     "Ever had anyone lose out on team membership, financial aid,
parental support--anything like that--because of being flunked out of
one of your classes?"  Starsky queried.

     "I don't know for sure.  Possibly.  I know the football team guy
got tossed off the team.  I think one girl had to move back home.  But
she had flunked three of five classes, so I was in good company on that
one."

     "When you were granted your teaching fellowship, was there a
lot of competition for it?"  Starsky persisted.

     "Yeah, quite a bit," Blair responded, smiling.

     "What is it?"  Starsky smiled back.

     "You remembered the right term for it.  That's kind of unusual."

     "It's a real accomplishment--it oughtta at least get called by its
right name."  Starsky paused.  "Do you know anything about the other
candidates?"

     "Not a great deal.  I know one guy got an assistantship at
UCLA--"

     "That's not as good though, right?"

     "No.  Right.  It isn't as much financial support.  Plus, aside from
teaching, I've had the opportunity to participate in some research
projects, which has helped my publication record quite a bit."

     "You've been published?"  Starsky asked.

     "A few times, in scholarly periodicals.  I have an article at
'National Geographic', but I haven't heard back from them.  It's more
mainstream, so it would have been fun to get something in there."

     "Wow.  I knew professors had to write articles, but I didn't
know you'd already gotten started," Starsky responded, taking a couple
of notes.   "Who would have the list of applicants?  The registrar?"

     "Probably the Dean of Social Sciences, Dr. Carmichael.  She
did all the interviews, along with the department chair.  But the
paperwork is probably in the dean's office."

     "How about any other competitive situations you've been in
where someone lost to you?"  Hutch added.

     "There haven't been many.  I got a scholarship to Rainier when I
was 16, but a lot had to do with my age, and my GPA.  I don't think it
was really a competition in terms of someone losing out because I got
it.  I haven't had any jobs anyone would be jealous of until the
fellowship, which could have pissed some people off who didn't get it."

     "Okay.  That gives us a couple places to start.  See, the thing is,
a killer can often be set off by something minor--well, not *minor*, but
not something the average person would kill for.  Losing out on a job, a
promotion, a girlfriend, whatever--and their target is often the person
who *did* get that thing they wanted."  Hutch exhaled.  "So we need
your grading records, the applicant info from the dean's office--anything else?"

     "Follow up records from the registrar on the students Blair did
have to fail," Jim interjected, speaking for the first time in several
minutes.  He had been quietly assessing the interaction between Blair
and Starsky, and he wasn't sure what to make of it.  He picked up no
traces of lust from either man for the other, but they had a rapport that
was unusual for two such different people who had only known each
other a couple of days.

     "Okay.  Blair, who do we need to talk to in order to get this
stuff?"  Hutch asked.

     "My stuff is accessible for the asking.  I mean, I know you're
not going to do anything with it but use it for the investigation, so I
have no problems with turning over my records.  You'll probably need
to get a court order to get the application paperwork, and it would be
easier to work through the President's Office for that, and the registrar's
information, since they have to break confidentiality to do it."

     "I can handle the technicalities," Jim offered, taking the list
Starsky tore off a legal pad.  Being the only official Cascade PD cop in
the room, he was the only one who *could* request the necessary court
orders.

********

     "How're you feeling, sweetheart?"  Jim asked as he joined his
partner in the bedroom after finishing up in the bathroom downstairs. 
It was actually only ten in the evening, but the thought of catching up
on some sleep was a seductive one.

     "Okay."  Blair was reading an ominous-looking big volume as
he sat cross-legged on his side of the bed, closest to the wall.  In his 
t-shirt and sweatpants, hair falling forward as he read, Jim thought he
was the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen.

     "Been a rough day," Jim opined, tossing his robe aside and
climbing into bed.  In a pair of lightweight boxers, he was comfortable
under the bedding.  He smiled at the thought of finding other ways to
keep Blair warm so the neck-to-ankles bedwear could be dispensed
with soon.  He slid up in a sitting position and took the large book out
of Blair's hands.

     "Hey--"

     "You need to relax a little, baby."

     "Jim, I've gotta get through that--"

     "Tonight?"

     "Well, no, but soon."

     "Tomorrow's soon enough.  Come on.  Time to shut down the
brain for a few hours." 

     Blair reluctantly dispensed with his glasses and slid down in the
bed as Jim did the same.  

     "I'm so far behind, Jim.  I don't know how I'm ever gonna get
caught up."

     "Is there anything I can do to help?"

     "Hold me and tell me I can do it?"  Blair responded honestly.

     "You got it, Chief."  He spooned himself around Blair from
behind and held him close.  "I honestly believe you can handle it, Blair.
And I don't have to work you so hard at the PD for a couple weeks until
you get your head above water."

     "I really like working with Starsky and Hutch.  They're good
guys.  I'm glad they're going to be around for a while."

     "Yeah, they're good cops.  Hopefully we'll find some kind of
lead out of the stack of paperwork we've got to plow through."  Jim
kissed Blair's shoulder.  "How's your back?"

     "Pretty good.  I still feel it a little, but not as much."

     "I think I should investigate the situation personally."  Jim
pulled Blair's t-shirt up a bit in back and slid down to kiss the exposed
skin.  "Seems okay so far--but I need to see the whole thing to be sure."

     "Really?"  Blair played along, moving up long enough to
dispose of the t-shirt.  Jim still felt a stab of anger mixed with
heartache for the pain Blair had suffered when he saw the fading
damage, but it *was* fading.

     He kissed his way along several of the pale pink marks, smiling
against the soft skin when he heard Blair's little whimpers of pleasure. 
He took his time moving across the expanse of Blair's back, letting his
lips dance lightly over the surface until he reached Blair's shoulders,
and then the back of his neck.  His arousal was starting to make itself
known, and he could catch the scent that told him Blair was right there
with him.  

     "Love you," he whispered against one curl-covered ear, then
kissed it.  Blair rolled over to face him, claiming his mouth with
passionate enthusiasm.  Jim slid his arms around his lover's body, still
careful to be gentle, but knowing Blair's pain had lessened enough that
he could be touched without discomfort.

     They kissed for long minutes, learning every little characteristic
of each other's mouths.  When Blair broke free, he began kissing his
way across the broad expanse of Jim's chest, pausing to lick and suck at
one of the tiny nubs there.  The sensation was like a lightning bolt of
pleasure that seared through Jim's body, making him arch and groan
low in his throat.  He could feel Blair smiling against him, pleased with
the reaction, moving on to the second nipple to see if it worked as well
on that side.  It did.

     Jim's wandering hands soon were not content with Blair's back,
and found their way under the waistband of his sweatpants to squeeze
and knead the firm globes there.  Blair moaned and wrapped a leg
around Jim's leg, his tongue thrusting harder into the larger man's
mouth.

     Sliding the impeding garment over the curve of Blair's buttocks,
Jim waited while his partner kicked them the rest of the way off.  Not
to be outdone, Blair divested Jim of his boxers with equal efficiency.

     "Is this okay?"  Jim asked breathlessly, his hand slipping gently
around Blair's hardening shaft.
     
     "Ooh, yeah," Blair responded, arching at the touch and
mirroring the gesture.  

     "Come on, baby, it won't break off," Jim goaded, kissing Blair's
forehead, since the other man's face was turned downward,
concentrating on his task.  The strokes became a bit firmer and faster,
enough so to be real pleasure instead of teasing caresses.  Jim picked
up the pace of his own strokes to Blair.

     "Oh, God...Jim...I'm gonna..."

     "Right...behind you, baby..."  Jim ground out, pumping faster,
letting out a shout of ecstasy as Blair followed his lead, bringing him to
a climax.  As he spilled his seed onto Blair's pumping hand, belly and
chest, Blair let out a few little shouts of pleasure as his own orgasm
ripped through him, bathing Jim in the results.

     Arms and legs wound around each other, pulling the two men
close as they recovered.

     "Love you, sweetheart," Jim managed, kissing Blair's cheek and
then finding his lips.

     "That was beautiful," Blair murmured, kissing the spot on Jim's
chest that happened to be under his lips at the moment.  

     "You're beautiful," Jim countered, letting his hand trail down
the damp, cooling back to the rounded buttocks.  "Absolutely
beautiful."

     "We should get cleaned up."  Blair started to get up, but Jim
pulled him back down again, rolling them so that Blair was pinned
beneath him.  He leisurely kissed and nibbled at Blair's lips.

     "Not letting you go," he growled into Blair's ear, tugging on the
lobe gently with his teeth.

     "You want to be all sticky?"

     "As long as I'm all sticky with you, that's fine by me, Chief." 
Jim was still busily licking and nibbling his way down Blair's throat,
stopping to plant a very large passion mark on his Adam's apple.
     
     "That's gonna show," Blair protested weakly.  

     "Mm-hm," Jim agreed, finding an equally succulent spot on
Blair's shoulder.  When he'd finished, he licked the second mark.  "So
will that one."

     "Not under my shirt."

     "Who said you were going to be allowed to wear a shirt for the
next 24 hours?"

     "Think Simon'll okay me running around naked just for your
personal amusement?"  Blair countered, laughing.

     "Always getting hung up on the details, Sandburg."  Jim started
kissing his way down Blair's neck again, nuzzling him and finally
licking at his throat and down to the beginnings of the hair on Blair's
chest.  The younger man already felt the beginnings of another
erection, and Jim felt his own shaft filling again.

     "Jim...make love to me."

     "That's what I'm doing, baby," he responded, lowering his head
to attack a nipple.

     "No...I mean all the way.  For real."  Blair watched as the head
hovering over his chest stopped, then moved up until Jim was face to
face with him.

     "Are you sure you want to try that?"

     "I'm sure.  I want to feel you inside me."

     "It's not that simple.  It's going to be painful at first, sweetheart."

     "No pain, no gain, right?  Come on, Jim.  I love you.  You love
me.  You know we're both dying for it.  Why not?"

     Jim found his body couldn't argue with that logic, even if his
brain was intent on making an issue of it.  He took Blair's mouth in a
fiery kiss, his hands sliding down to possessively knead the globes of
his lover's ass.  Hands roamed over hot flesh, mouths and tongues
savored tastes of each other as their lovemaking continued.  

     "Let's try it on your knees, baby," Jim suggested, not sure
exactly how this would be easiest for Blair.  He hoped by getting the
younger man's ass up higher that the penetration might go more
smoothly.  Blair scrambled up on the bed to oblige, spreading his legs
and lowering his elbows to the mattress.  "Oh, man," Jim gasped, trying
to convince his throbbing hard-on that it didn't need to ram in to the hilt
on the first stroke.

     Placing his hands gently on Blair's hips, he kissed and licked the
upturned buttocks, smiling at Blair's groans of pleasure as he made his
way to the tiny little pucker, where he paused, then darted his tongue
inside.  

     "J-im...Oh God...Oh...do that again..."  Blair's head had dropped
to folded arms by now, and he was breathing heavily.  Jim obliged the
request, loving how crazy this was making Blair.

     "That's gonna be me in there, baby," he promised in a low,
husky voice.  Blair just whimpered and wiggled his ass invitingly.

     Jim leaned over to the nightstand and rifled the drawer with one
hand until he found a tube of aloe vera lotion.  He could feel Blair's
body tense a bit, so he stroked his lover's back soothingly.

     "Relax, sweetheart.  We're going to take it slow."  Squeezing
some of the lotion out on his fingers, he hesitantly moved his hand
toward Blair, carefully probing the little hole with the tip of his finger. 
Slowly, he rotated and moved it until it was sheathed until the second
knuckle.  "Still okay?"  he asked softly.

     "Yeah.  Just...different."  Blair's voice had an odd quality to it. 
Not exactly strained, but definitely less relaxed than he had been.

     Jim worked the finger in the tight passage for a while until he
felt Blair relaxing around him.  With great caution and a lot of lotion,
he worked his way up to a second finger.

     "Starting to feel good, lover," Blair encouraged, and Jim could
feel the relaxation in his partner's body.

     "You're so tight, baby.  God, you're going to be incredible," Jim
said, a bit in awe of what they were doing.  Encouraged by Blair's
obvious enjoyment of the movement of his fingers, Jim finally added a
third finger, which Blair accommodated with a minimum of
discomfort.

     "Thought you hadn't done this before," Blair ground out,
moving in time with Jim's fingers now.

     "I've...uh...put a dildo in a woman before."

     "Ellison...I'm shocked," Blair replied, stifling a chortle.  It
turned to a shout when Jim found his prostate.  "Oh, God..."

     "A woman doesn't have one of those, baby."  Jim rubbed over
the little gland again, smiling at the cry of pleasure it dragged out of his
lover.  

     "Come on, Jim...do it."

     Jim was in no condition to turn down the invitation.  Coating
himself with the lotion, he positioned himself at Blair's center and
started easing his way inside the hot passage.  Blair's sharp indrawn
breath froze him in his tracks.

     "Blair?"  He tried to convince his voice that it really did want to
come out audibly.  The head of his cock had been swallowed in a vise,
and all he wanted to do was slide into home base and get some relief.  

     "Wait...I...need a minute."  The discomfort behind Blair's words
was more than sufficient to make Jim wait forever if necessary.

     "Try to relax, sweetheart.  I won't move til you tell me." //Or
until I die and collapse on top of you, whichever comes first.// Jim
worked hard at finding some kind of breathing exercise to do, police
radio codes to recite, the boy scout oath...anything to calm himself
down while he waited.  Feeling Blair's muscles relax a bit, he ached to
move forward, but waited for his lover's permission.

     "Okay," Blair said, but it wasn't too convincing, and he was still
breathing raggedly.  Jim pushed in a bit further, but halted at Blair's
groan.  "Jim...God...wait a minute.  It hurts."

     "Try to calm down, baby.  You're tensing up, and that's probably
making it hurt.  Don't fight it if you feel some spasms in your stomach. 
It takes time to pass."

     "How...d'you know?"

     "The dildo thing, remember?"

     "Oh yeah," Blair gasped.  "Try more."  

     "No." //Shit, Ellison, you're a masochist.  You like having your
dick pinched off at the end?// "Try to breathe, Blair.  Relax,
sweetheart."  Jim slipped a little further in, and another pained groan
decided him.  This wasn't working.  "I'm pulling out, baby.  I need you
to relax for me.  It's going to feel better in a second, but I can't pull out
fast with you tensed up."

     "Don't do that!  I'll do better.  Please...just...give me time."

     "It's hurting you, Chief.  Nothing's worth that."  Jim felt his
erection cooperating a bit.  He worked at slowly withdrawing as his
cock softened.  When they were separated, Blair shifted and turned on
his side, away from Jim.

     "I couldn't do it...I doesn't fit," he said miserably.

     "Shhh, don't worry about it, sweetheart.  We'll work it out when
it's right.  I don't think when we're horny is a good time to do this."

     "That's usually when people do it," Blair replied, trying to keep
his voice steady.

     "What I mean is...we started doing this tonight because we
wanted sex.  We wanted the physical part of it.  But our minds...we're
so damned fragmented with this case, and everything that happened at
the U this morning.  I just think we picked a lousy time to try this."

     "I'm too small for you!  It isn't going to make any damn
difference when we do it!  My asshole won't get bigger because we
wait longer!"  There was a hint of tears in the last words.

     "This isn't your fault, Chief."

     "Whose fault is it?  You were doing fine!  I'm the one who
couldn't accommodate you."  Jim wrapped himself around Blair from
behind, just holding him close and letting him talk it out.  "I always
thought the one place that...that I wasn't too small for *anything* was
in bed."

     "Blair, your height has nothing to do with the size of your anus. 
You were nervous, and we're both stressed.  I needed stress relief as
much as I needed lovemaking.  I was too wired to play with you long
enough to get you really ready.  Besides, maybe we'll have to work our
way up to the main event.  My fingers felt okay, didn't they?"

     "Yeah."  Blair sighed.  "That's why I thought the rest of it would
feel good.  But it hurt like hell, and my stomach cramped up and I
didn't like it,"   Blair said honestly, his voice breaking.

     "Nobody likes to be hurt, baby."  Jim leaned forward far enough
to kiss Blair's ear, since he couldn't reach his face and the other man
wasn't moving to make it more accessible.  "As soon as it started
hurting you got more upset and nervous, right?"  There was a little nod. 
     

     "I knew what was coming was even more intense, and I couldn't
picture it all fitting inside me, and when it hurt like that, I didn't think it
could."

     "You're not too small, sweetheart, and there's nothing wrong
with being nervous.  We're just not ready."

     "You mean *I'm* not ready."

     "Yeah, well, you didn't see me flopping on my stomach and
begging to go first either."  Jim lightly rubbed Blair's stomach as he
pulled him closer.  "It's a big change for both of us."  After kissing
Blair's shoulder, he moved his lips up near his lover's ear.  "I'm sorry I
hurt you, baby.  Do you feel okay now?"

     "A little sore, but not too bad."  Blair shook his head.  "It wasn't
your fault.  It was mine."

     "It wasn't anybody's fault.  It was bad timing.  But one thing we
know now."

     "That I've got the smallest asshole in the United States?"

     "Besides that," Jim said, deadpan.  He smiled as Blair laughed. 
"We know now that we want each other physically.  That we can have
a good time in bed together.  I think that's a pretty important
milestone."

     "But it was a disaster."

     "The first time wasn't.  Last time I looked, we were both lying
here with dried come on our bellies.  Something went right tonight. 
We just need to move slowly."

     "How long are you going to be satisfied with hand jobs?"

     "As long as you are.  You aren't getting any either.  What makes
you think I can't last as long as you can to get this right?"

     "I think you *can* do anything you want.  It's more a matter of
when it becomes not worth the struggle."

     "So how long have I got?"

     "For what?"

     "Before you get sick of not drilling me into the mattress and
dump me for a chesty T.A. who can show you a good time?"

     "The rest of my life," Blair answered softly, his hand stroking
over Jim's arm where it crossed the younger man's waist.

     "I feel the same way, Chief.  We're going to be together the rest
of our lives.  Let's just relax a while.  We can keep each other from a
nasty case of blue balls while we're waiting.  Beyond that, why worry
about it?"

     "But sticking it into something hot and tight is the sensation
you're used to."

     "Unlike you, who have been celibate for the last five years."

     "Okay, so it's what I'm used to too."  Blair had a little smile in
his voice.

     "We're both used to topping.  Neither one of us knows the first
thing about bottoming."

     "Is that a word?"

     "You're asking *me*?"

     "Oh, yeah, I guess I'm s'posed to be the expert, huh?"

     "That would be you, yes," Jim agreed, yawning widely.

     "I can see you're all shaken up about this."  Blair chuckled a
little.

     "We've had a rotten day, we've both come once tonight, I say we
call it a day and get some sleep."

     Blair smiled to himself as he remembered Starsky's advice: if it
doesn't work out, jerk each other off and go to sleep and forget about it. 
He let out a pent up breath and settled into Jim's arms.

     "Love you, Jim."

     "Love you too, Chief.  Everything'll be okay."   Jim let himself
relax as he felt the tension leave Blair's body.

********

     "This has to be the biggest waste of time we've gotten into yet," 
Hutch declared, visibly frustrated as he got up and paced around their
temporary office.  "Not one of these people ended up bad off enough to
want Sandburg dead or even maimed a little.  Most of them don't have
enough money to hire muscle, half of them honestly didn't remember
him by name..."  He picked up his coffee and took a drink.  "Maybe we
better go back to looking at Ellison's past."

     "You've gotta learn to relax a little, blintz," Starsky moved up
behind his partner and squeezed the other man's ass through his jeans.  

     "Shit, Starsk," Hutch sputtered, choking on his coffee and
setting the cup down to face his partner.  "Give a guy a little warning."

     "Consider yourself warned, babe," Starsky retorted, sliding his
arms around Hutch's waist.  "Wanna see how sturdy the desk really is?" 
he asked, flexing his eyebrows lecherously and grinning evilly.

     "Someone could walk in that door any minute."

     "If you're trying to turn me off, that wasn't the approach to use,
blondie."  He pulled the slightly taller man down for a prolonged kiss,
melting Hutch's resistance as easily as he always did.  He felt his lover's
long arms wrap around him tightly, pulling him close.  Soon, a long-fingered 
hand wandered down to Starsky's ass, kneading the flesh
through the denim.

     "I got that printout back from--" Jim froze in the doorway,
papers in hand, not sure if he should go back out again or finish his
entrance.  The door had just been pushed around to the frame, and he
had been with the two detectives fifteen minutes earlier.  Knocking
hadn't seemed necessary.  "Uh, I, uh..."

     "That's okay," Starsky said cheerfully.  "You caught us before I
threw him on the desk.  No harm done."

     "I'll get you for that later, babe," Hutch promised under his
breath, of course unaware that Jim could hear everything with crystal
clarity.

     "I'm countin' on it," Starsky replied pleasantly, as if they'd just
made a lunch date.  "So, do we have anything new?"

     "Well, I've been checking out everyone connected to Slater.  
His mother's still alive, but she's pushing 90.  His father's been dead
about six years, natural causes.  He has two brothers--"

     "One's in the state pen in California for rape and aggravated
assault, and the other's a flunky for a suspected mob boss," Hutch
supplied.  "We know all this crap already."

     "So what was I running the damn check for?"  Jim tossed the
folder on the desk, more than a little annoyed to have been sent off to
do what sounded like busy work.  It had taken quite a while to define
the parameters of the report for the computer, a process Jim didn't
enjoy to begin with, and now, they acted as if they already knew
everything contained in the results.

     "You ran the check to see if there was anything new," Hutch
responded just as Blair came through the door with a large bag of
breakfast take-outs.

     "I could have had someone in the file room do that.  In case you
haven't noticed, I'm not a fucking file clerk."

     "I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm starved."  Starsky
reached into the bag and started fishing out omelets, passing them
around according to the scrawled omelet titles on the wrappers.  All
they needed was another horn-locking episode with Ellison.

     "Everything okay?"  Blair asked, hesitantly accepting a wrapped
omelet from Starsky.  

     "If you felt running a report on Slater was too menial, I
apologize for asking you to do it.  We did need to know if there was
anything new on him."

     "You'll have to forgive me.  I was a detective before I became
an errand boy," Jim shot back, then grimaced.  "I'm a little on edge this
morning.  Sorry."

     "I'll get us some coffee," Blair offered, getting up and leaving
the room.  Starsky glanced down at the mostly full cups sitting around
on the desk.  

     "Is he okay?"  he asked Jim, who just shrugged. 

     "Why are you so worried about Sandburg?"  Jim asked, tired of
the other cop's obvious interest in his partner.  Jim still didn't pick up
on anything sexual in it, but it unnerved him nonetheless.

     "He's a good kid.  I was just concerned about him."  Detecting
he had overstepped some kind of line with Ellison, Starsky fell silent
and opened his omelet.

     "Blair's fine.  This whole case has just been a hard one for him." 
Jim opened his own breakfast, trying to ease a little of the tension in
the air between them.   He hoped some of the tension he felt over the
previous night's bedroom disaster would ease before he decapitated
someone.

********

     Blair continued to be silent and withdrawn most of the day, and
Ellison had stuck close to him like a jealous pit bull.  Starsky had given
up on finding an opportunity to draw the younger man out a bit. 
Ellison wouldn't get five feet away from the kid at any time.

     "Penny for your thoughts, Gordo," Hutch said, sitting behind
Starsky where the dark-haired man was perched on the side of the hotel
bed.  Large hands began working the knots out of Starsky's tense
shoulders.

     "Nothin' special, babe.  I was just wondering what was eating
Blair all day."

     "You really care about that kid, don't you?"  Hutch asked, no
trace of jealousy in his voice.  If Starsky had harbored any plans to
cheat, he'd had ample opportunities to do it before this.

     "God that feels good."

     "Just call me 'magic fingers'," Hutch quipped, continuing his
work.

     "Among other things."  Starsky smiled and imagined the one
that probably graced Hutch's features.  "I like Blair.  He's smart, he's got
guts...and he cares about people.  That's a good combination.  He
would have made a good cop."

     "He'd never harden up enough," Hutch said simply.  "He's a
scholar...a teacher.  He doesn't have the mean streak you need to
survive a long stint on the streets.  I'm not saying that's a bad thing."

     "I met his mother."

     "When?"

     "Long time ago.  Late 60's.  We were both at a music festival." 
Starsky laughed a little. "I only knew her name as 'Sunflower'.  I just
happened to think that I forgot to ask Blair what it really was."

     "Another notch on the Starsky belt, huh?"  Hutch teased,
reaching around the front of his lover to start unbuttoning his shirt.

     "Something like that.  It wasn't anything more than a one-night
stand.  At least not to her.  I liked her.  But we got separated in a
crowd, and she disappeared.  I couldn't find her, and she obviously
didn't want to find me, so that was that."

     "What's she doing now?"  Hutch asked, pulling the opened shirt
out of Starsky's jeans and off his shoulders.

     "He didn't say.  I guess she never married.  Still a free spirit,"
Starsky replied, leaning back against his partner, closing his eyes and
smiling as Hutch's hands slid down from his shoulders and rubbed over
his nipples.

     "No wonder the kid latched onto you.  He's probably a little
lacking in the father figure category."

     "Probably.  Oh, yeah," Starsky sighed, feeling his nipples rising
to hard pebbles.  Remembering that he had plans of his own for his
partner, he stood and turned around to face Hutch.  "I'm drivin' tonight,
babe," he announced, pulling his partner into a tight embrace, claiming
his mouth thoroughly.  Hutch gave him a yank that sent them both
sprawling back on the bed.  

     "Oh yeah?"  he challenged.  

     "So that's how you wanna play it, eh, blondie?"  Starsky got a
hold of his partner's wrists and pinned them to the mattress.  

     "I suppose you think you can get our clothes off and keep my
wrists down at the same time, mushbrain?"  Hutch chortled a little. 
"Go for it.  I've been dying to see you unzip your fly with your toes.  Of
course, you'd have to get your shoes off first."

     "God, why did I ever hook up with you?  What a smart ass."

     "It was my phenomenal sexual stamina."

     "It sure as hell wasn't your spirit of cooperation."

     "Hey, if you let go of my arms, I promise not to make a run for
it."

     "Yeah?  Well, you wouldn't get far."  Starsky released the
hostage arms and sat back so he was straddling his lover's body.  

     "Can you seriously tell me you don't want me to use my hands
while we make love?"  Hutch asked, running the newly freed hands up
the insides of Starsky's thighs.

     "I got some plans for your mouth, too," Starsky replied, opening
Hutch's shirt and diving down to torture a nipple to hardness.  He
licked his way to its mate, sliding along the satiny skin.  Hutch was as
hairless here as Starsky was hairy. //Yin and yang,// Starsky thought,
remembering how Hutch had described them the first time they tried a
69 together.  Hutch, the long, smooth blond and Starsky, the slightly
smaller but powerfully built, hairy brunet.

     The two men wrestled playfully, finally disposing of the last of
their clothing, hands and mouths in constant motion.  Hutch slid into
position and Starsky moved up so his hardening cock was in reach of
his lover's mouth.  In one fluid movement, Hutch swallowed him
whole.

     Hands dropping on the headboard for support, Starsky tried to
control his instinctive thrusts, grunting in pleasure at the amazing
sensations ripping through his cock and spreading throughout his body. 
Hutch's long fingers gripped Starsky's ass, kneading the firm globes and
letting his fingers wander to the valley between them.

     Starsky slowly withdrew from the hot, wet ecstasy of Hutch's
mouth.  

     "Want to finish in you, babe," he grunted, moving so Hutch
could roll over on his stomach.  He grabbed the lube while Hutch
raised up on his hands and knees.

     After years of lovemaking, prolonged preparations weren't
really necessary anymore.  Still, neither of them liked giving up the
intimacy of lubricating and stretching his lover.  

     Starsky spread a layer of the gel on his straining shaft and
positioned himself at Hutch's center, sliding inside in one long, steady
stroke.  Hutch grunted a little and both men paused while the muscles
in the snug passage adjusted to the expansion.  Then Starsky began
moving, and Hutch began thrusting back to meet him.  The pace grew
steadily until the rapid strokes vibrated the bed.  Hutch grabbed onto
the very useful headboard and began moaning with every stroke.  

     Reaching under his partner to pump his engorged cock, Starsky
angled his strokes to hit Hutch's prostate.  The shout from the blond
brought a pleased smile to Starsky's face, which soon faded as the
intensity of his own desire overtook him.  

     "Yeah, babe, like that...fuck me...hard..."  Hutch's strained
words were almost enough to make Starsky come even without the
phenomenal feeling of those clenching internal muscles squeezing his
pumping cock.

     Hutch reached his climax first, and the internal spasms dragged
a howl of pleasure from Starsky, who drove in hard in a few final
strokes, shooting his completion into his lover's body and slumping
with Hutch on the bed in a heap of sweaty flesh.

     "Told ya I was gonna drive," Starsky whispered in Hutch's ear,
smiling and seeing the creasing near Hutch's eye that told him his
partner was grinning too.

     "Only because I let you win," Hutch countered in a drowsy
voice.

     "Love you, babe," Starsky said softly, carefully withdrawing
from Hutch's body.  They shifted onto their sides to face each other.

     "Love you too, love."  Hutch smiled again and brushed a stray
curl away from Starsky's forehead, then let his hand get tangled in thick
hair.  It had barely changed at all in eighteen years...it was just a little
longer now, and Starsky wasn't working as hard to tame it as he had in
the past.  "You want to tell me what's bothering you now?"  Hutch
asked.

     "After what we just did?  Absolutely nothin'," Starsky replied,
kissing Hutch's lips and rubbing noses with him.

     "You've got something on your mind."

     "Yeah, and maybe fifteen years ago, I coulda done more than
think about it, but I'm wiped out for tonight."

     "I'm serious, babe.  What's eating you?"

     "Besides the fact we just totaled another hotel bedspread?"

     Hutch raised up a little to survey the damage, then shrugged.  

     "Besides that," he persisted.

     "I'm worried about Sandburg."

     "Any special reason?"

     "Something seemed really wrong with him today."  Starsky
sighed.  "He and Jim haven't done it yet.  At least, as of yesterday, they
hadn't."

     "He told you that?"  Hutch frowned, a little shocked that
Sandburg had confided so much in Starsky.

     "He's nervous about the relationship.  He's never been with a
guy that way before.  You remember all the shit we went through."

     "Yeah, only too well."  Hutch let out a long breath.   "You think
something happened last night?"

     "I don't know.  I just hope he isn't...hurt or anything."

     "He seemed to be moving around okay.  We walked around like
we'd been horseback riding for a week."  Hutch laughed a little, and
Starsky joined him.  

     "I remember...the first time wasn't too easy."

     "Not really, no."  Hutch relaxed and let his eyes drift shut,
happy he only had to anticipate a very mild tenderness from their wild
encounter, unlike the aches and pains the early days had caused.

     "I don't even know the kid very well, but I care what happens to
him."  Starsky shook his head slightly.  "Maybe it's because of
Sunflower."

     "Did you love her?"

     "At the time, I think I was starting to.  She was pretty, smart,
loving, sexy as hell...and she had a laugh like music."  Starsky smiled
at the memory.  "She was like the ideal vision of a flower child.  I was
pretty gone on her.  I guess the feeling wasn't mutual though, because
she never looked me up, and I was at my campsite another full day and
night after she disappeared in the crowd.  I helped a security guy break
up a fight, and when I turned back to look for her, she was gone.  I
think she freaked when she saw me help a cop."

     "Didn't you tell her you were in the academy?"

     "I started to, but she told me that whoever I was on the outside,
I could leave behind.  That I was someone else, I was in touch with my
real self and free to experience a new consciousness while I was there. 
Or something like that.  So I was Davey and she was Sunflower and
that was it.  Tracking her down later was impossible with nothing more
to go on than that, and I kind of figured she didn't want to be tracked. 
Maybe seeing me do my bit with the security guard to break up the
fight drove home to her what I was.  I was part of the establishment she
was fighting."

     "So maybe you're transferring a little of how you felt about his
mother onto Blair?"

     "Well, yeah, I guess.  Not the romantic part.  I got that covered
already," Starsky added, grinning and taking time out to share a few
slow, lazy kisses with his partner.  "But maybe just some of the old
leftover feelings, whatever they really are now.  Maybe I just see some
of her in him."

     "Whatever the reason, I don't think you have to worry.  Ellison
seems pretty protective.  I don't think he'll be rough on the kid."  Hutch
shook his head.  "He is kind of a strange one, though."

     "Ellison?"

     "Yeah.  When we went to look through that crack house, I felt
like I was taking one of the tracking dogs from Narcotics."  Hutch
snorted a little laugh.   "I've never seen anybody go over a crime scene
that way.  I thought I was going to show *him* something about being
thorough."

     "Gave you a run for your money, eh, blondie?"

     "That's not exactly what I mean.  He was...well, strange.  We
found a cigarette butt the forensics people missed because he
*smelled* it.  He kept saying he smelled stale cigarette smoke, and
then there it was."

     "Must have a sensitive sniffer."  Starsky began to find Hutch's
neck very interesting as he kissed and nibbled his way along the blond's
jawline, moving downward on the long throat.

     "My sniffer tells me it's time to hit the showers."

     "I thought you'd never ask," Starsky retorted, flexing his
eyebrows.

********

     Jim looked over at Blair, and sighed with frustration.  The other
man was wrapped up in his favorite plaid robe, stocking feet tucked
under him on the other couch, watching television.  Or rather, staring at
it. //You'd think I'd raped him last night the way he's hiding on the other
side of the room from me.// Jim took another handful of popcorn and
shoveled it into his mouth.  This evening was worse than a bore and a
disaster;  it was destructive.  The strain would just keep building
between them until the cord holding them together snapped.  

     Sick of the silence from Blair, Jim snapped off the TV and set
the remote next to him.  It seemed to take Blair a moment to even
notice the screen was dark.  He looked at Jim with confusion plain on
his face.  Confusion and a bit of panic.

     "I think we need to talk about last night."  Jim couldn't believe
he had to prod Blair to talk.  It was such a reversal of roles that Jim felt
himself tumbling into the Twilight Zone at warp speed.

     "What's to talk about?  I couldn't do it."

     "You're insisting on making this your fault.  It isn't."  Jim
exhaled loudly.  "It's probably mine.  I wanted sex last night.  I didn't
particularly want to 'make love'.  I was horny and overheated.  I should
have never just started poking at you that way.  Mr. Dildo Expert here
should have practice what he preached."

     "I don't want something hard and artificial stuck up my ass,
Jim."

     "I have one that's smaller than I am.  It might help you...get used
to it."

     "I don't want to get used to it, okay?!  It hurt and I don't want to
do it again!  Happy now?"  Blair turned his face away again, and his
breathing held the threat of tears.  "I don't know what to do, man.  I
*hated* it."

     "When did you start hating it, sweetheart?"  Jim asked gently,
moving over to sit near Blair.  "Please relax, Chief.  I'm not going to
jump your bones because I sit by you."

     "I'm sorry," Blair responded through tears.  "I just...it hurt when
you tried to penetrate me."

     "My fingers were okay?"

     "Yeah."  Blair nodded.

     "Baby, three fingers actively stretching you weren't really much
smaller than my cock.  I worked at stretching you.  I think you were
just scared.  That's natural."  Jim caressed Blair's hair.

     "I don't want to try it again.  Maybe we oughtta just admit this
isn't working."

     "Tell me what's not working, sweetheart.  Is it just the sex?"

     "*Just* the sex?  Jim, that's the only difference between us now,
and us *before*."

     "That's not entirely true, Chief.  We had a good time last night
before...we hit a rough spot.  We wouldn't have had any kind of sex
together before, and we sure weren't making any pledges of eternal
love before.  That's a lot more than just one sex act."

     "So you're going to live without penetrating your partner for the
rest of your life?"  Blair shook his head.  "That's crazy."  Blair stood up
and walked over to the windows.  "I...I guess I just needed someone to
be close to after the kidnapping...I was scared.  And you were so good
to me.  Can't we just leave it at that?"

     Jim sat on the couch, unable to move, everything in his chest
constricting into a knot until he wasn't sure if it was the physical
sensation of his heart breaking or the beginnings of a heart attack.  He'd
heard of men younger than himself keeling over, and losing Blair
would be enough to do it to him.  If Blair had plunged their largest
carving knife into his chest up to the handle, it couldn't have hurt more
than this moment did.  

     When the silence became deafening, Blair turned away from
the window.  He had never seen Jim look quite the way he did at that
moment.  His skin was snow white, his eyes glassy, his breathing
almost...suspended.  It wasn't exactly a zone out...it was worse
somehow, if that was possible.

     "Jim?"  Blair moved to the couch and sat facing his stone-faced
partner.  "Jim, come on, man, snap out of it!"  He patted a cheek that
was cool to the touch.  "Jim, please, follow my voice.  Concentrate on
my voice and come back," Blair repeated, trying to stay calm.  He let
out a breath he didn't know he was holding as Jim blinked a time or
two and stared at him.

     "Did I zone out on you?"  he asked, his voice a bit rough.

     "Yeah, big time.  I don't think you were even breathing, man. 
Do you feel okay?"

     "Not really.  Look, I think I'm going to go up and turn in.  You
can...join me if you want or if you want to sleep down here...  I won't
bother you."  Jim pushed himself up off the couch and headed for the
bathroom, his steps looking more weary that Blair ever recalled.

     "Jim."

     The other man didn't answer, but he stopped, keeping his back
to Blair.

     "I...I'm sorry about what I said...about just needing someone
after the kidnapping."

     "You shouldn't apologize for telling the truth.  If that's how you
feel, it's better to be honest about it," Jim managed, angry that his voice
came out so strained and shaky.

     "But that *isn't* how I feel.  Dammit, Jim, I don't know how I
feel.  I know I love you.  I know I want us to be more than friends.  I
know what happened between us before everything went to hell last
night felt great.  I just don't know how realistic it is for us to keep
trying to do this when I can't stand the thought of trying...of, you know,
trying it again."

     "Blair, I would gladly die before I'd hurt you, I think you know
that."  Jim finally turned around, but stayed out near the kitchen.  "I
will never touch you that way unless I get a green light from you.  I
don't want you lying in bed afraid that I'm going to start poking around
in a way that hurts you or makes you uncomfortable."  Jim ran his hand
back over his hair.  "I don't want to lose you, or what's between us
now."

     "Neither do I."

     "What if I go first?"  Jim offered.  "It's not written anywhere
that it *has* to be you."

     "I won't do to you something I can't endure.  If it's too painful
for me, I couldn't bring myself to do it to you."  Blair looked down and
sighed.  "I have to get past this.  And the thing is, I don't even really
know why it's such a...a *thing* with me.  Your fingers were fine, and I
was getting into it.  But when I knew it was coming, and you got
started, I just...couldn't deal with it, and when I got scared, it hurt really
badly, and I couldn't relax..."  Blair shrugged.  "I don't know how to
change that."

     "Maybe time'll change it.  Just being together a while, moving
slowly in bed...maybe that'll help."

     "I still want to sleep with you, if that's okay.  And I...I want us
to be able to make love.  I just...can't deal with...'the big one' yet."

     "Then we won't deal with it for now."  Jim moved over to where
Blair sat.  "I'm still going to take a leak and crash."  He kissed the top
of Blair's head.  "Come up when you're ready, huh?"

     "I won't be far behind you," Blair replied, grinning.  "Jim--I love
you.  I really do."

     "I know you do.  I love you too, sweetheart.  We'll work things
out.  Don't worry, huh?"  He patted Blair's face lightly and headed for
the bathroom.

********

     Starsky came out of the restaurant with a large bag and a carrier
bearing two coffees.  Hutch leaned over and opened the driver's door of
the unmarked Cascade PD sedan they were using.

     "So what do you want to do this mornin'?"  Starsky asked,
settling in the seat and entrusting the coffee to Hutch to put in the
beverage holders in the car.  He began digging in the bag.

     "What do you do for excitement on a Thursday morning in
Cascade, I wonder?"  Hutch accepted the breakfast sandwich, having
adopted a few of his partner's unhealthy eating habits over the years. 
There was something much more appealing about a hot English muffin
with egg, cheese and sausage on it that there was about a tub of
clammy yogurt.

     "Well," Starsky sighed and looked around them, "there's the
Fountain Centre Mall," he nodded toward the sprawling structure
across the street.

     "We don't have enough malls in L.A."  Hutch continued eating. 
"Do they have anything cultural around here?"

     "There's a maritime museum.  Remember at dinner, Blair
mentioned that Lash character, and Ellison said something about
chasing the look alike around a maritime museum?"

     "I guess that would be good to kill a couple hours."

     "I, uh, thought maybe we could stop by the University and see
how Blair's doing later.  He's supposed to go back to his office this
morning."

     "Ellison's with him, isn't he?"

     "Probably."  Starsky picked at his sandwich, then stared out the
windshield.  "Hutch...you don't think maybe..."  Starsky's voice trailed
off, and he shook his head.  "Nah.  That's a long shot."

     "What?"

     "Well, I was thinkin'.  Blair's 29, so he musta been born in '69.  I
met his mom in the fall of '68...and we had one night together..." 
Starsky was quiet a moment, then he laughed a little.  "Like I said, a
real long shot."

     "It only takes one time to do the deed, Starsk.  It's possible.  But
what about the man he knew as his father?"  Hutch had been through
the same thought process in his mind as soon as he learned about the
connection between Starsky and Sandburg's mother.  His partner and
the long-haired police observer had taken to each other like...well, long
lost relatives.  And Sandburg had those deep blue eyes, all those curls,
that zest for life...  Not unlike someone else Hutch knew only too well.

     "He never mentioned a father.  Not even as someone he visited
once in a while or ever even knew.  I guess it's possible that his dad
didn't want anything to do with his mother once she got pregnant. 
Maybe he didn't know him."

     "Is this wishful thinking or a hunch, babe?"  Hutch asked gently.

     "Both," Starsky admitted, taking a drink of his coffee.  "There's
a part of me that...sometimes...I think about having a son...what it
would've been like.  I mean, there's no way I'd change a second of the
last 20 years--even getting shot by Gunther's goons--that brought us
together.  I just wonder sometimes."

     "You don't have to explain.  I wonder too.  And I feel the same
way."

     "It's just...if I had a son, I would like to think he'd be like Blair--smart, 
capable...and with a good heart."

     "Maybe you should talk to him about it."

     "Maybe I just need to find out about his father."

     "Or you need to get his mother's name and get a hold of her. 
There's not much point in rattling Sandburg's cage for nothing right
now.  He's got enough going on."

     "You're right."

     "You want to go see him."

     "I know they got his office cleaned up, and he was going back
in there, and I thought maybe he could use some moral support."
     
     "You probably better find out about this situation pretty soon,
Starsk.  You're starting to piss off Ellison the way you're hanging
around Blair all the time."

     "His student assistant was murdered and another mutilated body
was left in his office.  This is going to be one hell of a hard morning for
him."  Starsky shook his head.  "I know it shouldn't matter, but it does."

     "Sounds like a 'dad' instinct to me," Hutch responded, taking
another bite of his food.  "Let's take run over there and see if you can
discreetly get his mother's name.  We'll spend the rest of the morning
hunting her down so we can get to the bottom of this."

********

     "You're sure you'll be okay here?"  Jim asked, hovering by the
door of Blair's office.  Everything was immaculate.  As soon as they
had been given the all-clear by the police, the University's custodial
staff had scoured every trace of the dead man's presence, and a new
chair sat in front of Blair's desk, replacing the other one which had
been hopelessly blood-soaked.  Thankfully, Blair hadn't seen the crime
scene at all.

     "I have to be.  I've got stuff to do, and I have to come in here
and do it now or I'll feel crawly about it forever."

     "Okay.  I'm going to have the cell phone.  Call me if you need
anything, baby."  Jim crossed the room one more time and kissed
Blair's mouth quickly.  "I love you."

     "I love you too," he responded, grinning.

     "You free tonight?"  Jim asked.

     "Uh...yeah...  Why?"

     "I was thinking expensive dinner, movie...maybe a little
something special after the movie."

     "Like what?"  Blair narrowed his eyes.

     "Like something I can get set up if I have a 'yes'."

     "Sounds great, but what's the something special?"

     "That's for me to know and you to find out, Chief."  Jim
hesitated by the door.  "I still don't like leaving you here all day."

     "Jim, this is what I do.  I'm fine.  I have a ton of stuff to do to
catch up, and I can't put it off any longer."

     "Okay.  I'll pick you up around six, and we can go home and
change, and then head out for the evening, huh?"

     "Yeah.  Sounds great."  Blair smiled, then became serious. 
"Jim, are you sure you're okay?  I mean, last night, you didn't look so
hot."

     "I feel fine now," he replied honestly, flashing Blair one of
those perfect smiles that always melted the other man where he stood.

********

     Blair had to admit that spending a lot of time alone in his office
wasn't what he would have picked out, but it had to be done.  Getting
past the fact that the last person to occupy his office had been a
mutilated dead man was paramount to his ability to keep working in
the room at all.  

     He busied himself calling Jennifer's mother and expressing his
condolences.  He also found the woman was pleased to talk with him
as he was able to explain to her a few of the official hold-ups that were
delaying the release of her daughter's body.  All in all, it was a grim
conversation, but he at least felt he had helped Jennifer's family in
some small way. 

     After hanging up, he picked up the stack of papers from his
students that had been turned in to the substitute in his absence. 
Forcing himself to concentrate, he started plowing through them.

     "Mornin', professor," Starsky greeted from where he stood in
the doorway.

     "Hey, Starsky.  What brings you over here?  Something about
the case?"

     "I was just curious to see your office--well, under the right
circumstances."  He walked the rest of the way in the room, and Blair
moved to clear off the other chair near the desk.

     "It's a little messy.  I'm like, *way* behind right now."

     "I can leave if you're busy."

     "No!"  Blair hastened to correct the wrong impression.  "I'm
glad for the company.  I chased Jim out of here earlier, and it's getting a
little...depressing."  He sighed.  "I talked with Jennifer's mom.  That
was rough."

     "I can imagine.  Talking to the parents is probably the hardest
thing to do in a murder case."  Starsky was delighted with the easy shift
into the parent discussion.  "Which reminds me, I never asked you what
your mom's name was.  I can't believe she wandered around as
'Sunflower' all the time."

     "No," Blair responded, laughing.  "Even *I* never heard that
one.  Her name's Naomi.  I've got a more recent photo of her right over
here."  He reached across the cluttered desk and brought a framed 5x7
into Starsky's view, handing it to the older man.

     "Naomi.  She's still beautiful," he commented, smiling.
     
     "I think so," Blair said honestly.  "She's always been pretty."

     "You look like her."

     "Maybe a little."

     "Do you take more after your dad?" //Time to move in for the
kill, Starsky,// he thought to himself.

     "I don't know about that," Blair replied quietly.  There was a
slight hint of a flush that crept into his cheeks.  "I, uh, never met him."

     "Oh.  Well, that's not too unusual, if your mom was a single
parent.  A lot of unmarried dads don't hang around and do right by their
kids."

     "I wonder sometimes, though...what he was like.  I would've
just liked to have seen him someday.  I wouldn't bother him or
anything.  I mean, I'd understand completely if he didn't want to hear
from me."

     "It'd be his loss."

     "Thanks."  Blair smiled and accepted the photo back from
Starsky, replacing it on the desk.

     "What did your mom tell you about him?  Anything?"

     "Uh...not really."  Blair seemed uneasy now, and while Starsky
wanted the information, he hated himself for pinning Blair down on
something that was obviously not an easy subject for him.  "She, uh,
well, you know how the whole hippie culture was then.  She...wasn't,
uh, 100% sure...who..."

     "I see.  Yeah, after spending some time at that music festival, I
can see how that could happen real easily.  It was a whole mindset--the
whole free love thing."  Starsky leaned back in his chair.  "I didn't
spend much time around hippies, to be honest, but I did go to a few
concerts and hang around on the beach once in a while, so I have a
pretty good idea what the culture was."

     "Usually I tell people that, and I know they're thinking my
mom's some kind of...well, they're thinking something that isn't very
positive, anyway.  Jim was great about it--he gets along great with
Naomi, and he never said anything really negative about the whole
thing.  Not that anyone should.  She was just living according to the
principles of her generation."

     "You can't always judge somebody else based on a few old
stereotypes.  At least you shouldn't."  Starsky looked around.  "So tell
me about your classes this semester.  What exactly do you teach?"

********

     Hutch flipped through the pages of "American School &
University", wondering how much longer Starsky was going to bond
with Sandburg.  If they were going to run a check on the kid's mother,
and still be at the PD by one o'clock to meet with Ellison and Banks
about the case, they needed to get a move on.  He was about to
dispense with the first magazine and move on to something equally
titillating, like a month-old issue of "The Chronicle of Higher
Education", when he picked up on his partner's voice, animated and
tinged with a little laughter, alternating with Sandburg's voice as the
two men walked down the hall together.  Blair was all gestures and
expressions as they came into Hutch's range of view, enthusiastically
describing something with an energy Hutch only saw mirrored in his
own life partner when he was excited about something.

     "Hey, blondie, Blair wants to show us around over at the Fine
Arts Building.  He set up an exhibit of Mayan art over there a couple
months ago that's still being shown," Starsky explained.

     "Sounds great."  Hutch rose from the chair he'd been occupying
and fell into step with the other two men.  

     As the wind picked up, colored leaves swirled down from the
many trees surrounding the walkway they were following to the
building that housed the Art and Music departments.  Their ears picked
up the sounds of diligent piano practicing as they moved through the
double doors into the main hallway of the building.  A couple of
students carrying hefty instrument cases passed them in the hall,
chattering away about the upcoming band practice.

     Blair led the way to the art gallery, and they moved through the
aisles of displayed paintings and sculptures to a small area that
contained various pieces of pottery and a few wall hangings.  Blair
went into great detail with each one, describing how it had been
acquired, happy to discuss his role in the project at length.  Hair pulled
back in a pony tail, glasses in place, Blair even took on the tone of a
professor as he educated the two detectives on the pieces they were
viewing.   

     "I guess that's about it," Blair concluded, after explaining the
history of the final vase.

     "Thanks for the guided tour," Hutch spoke up.  "I think we
better get going, Starsk."

     "Yeah, you're right," Starsky agreed, checking his watch.  "Are
you going to be at the station later?"  he asked Blair.

     "No.  I'm going to catch up here today. I'll probably be seeing
you tomorrow."

     "Probably," Hutch agreed as they started back outside.  After
saying their goodbyes, Blair hurried up the walk back to his building.

     "Naomi Sandburg.  And she still lives in L.A.," Starsky said,
smiling slightly.  "I think I'm going to have a little chat with Naomi."

     "Think we should have some urgent business back home?" 
Hutch asked, knowing how anxious his partner was to get to the bottom
of this question as soon as possible.

     "The case isn't exactly moving at rapid fire pace.  We really
aren't *needed* here that badly anymore.  I think we should make a
quick trip back home so I can pay Naomi a visit.  I don't think I should
handle this on the phone."

********

     Blair spent most of the day sifting through backed up papers to
grade, returning phone calls and generally immersing himself in his
professional life again.  Back at the U, doing what he did best, it
seemed that Slater finally wasn't controlling his life anymore.  

     There was a prevailing melancholy feeling about the day as he
moved through it without seeing Jennifer burst through the door of his
office, prattling on about her last class or informing him on the latest
news from the student grapevine.  Jenny was bright and talented, and a
good student.  She wasn't, however, grad school-bound, nor was she
particularly academic by nature.  Her interests were mostly those of the
average 21-year-old.  Nonetheless, she was reliable, took her job
seriously, and kept Blair's office neat and organized despite its sloppy
occupant who had the tendency to stack his materials wherever he
found a blank space.

     Blair had seen Jenny through two major boyfriend crises and
her first mammoth hangover in the two years she'd worked for him.  He
still had to smile at the memory of her staggering into the office like a
zombie that morning and cringing at every sound.  On the flipside,
Jenny had been there for Blair through a number of rough spots.  She
had been a wonderful listener as he'd poured out his reminiscences
about Professor Buckner after his death, and knowing how much Emily
Watson's death had shaken him up, Jenny had rescheduled vacation
plans to stay around and work with Blair for a couple weeks after it
happened.  It wasn't until now, when she was dead and gone, that Blair
really made the connection of why she'd changed her time off.  He'd
been too preoccupied at the time to figure it out, and that was just the
way Jenny was...supportive, but not showy about it.          

     He let out a long, shaky sigh, and took an envelope out of the
top middle drawer of his desk.  Inside were photos taken at a birthday
party Jenny had surprised him with a year earlier, having spread the
word among the faculty and staff in the nearby buildings that it was
Blair's birthday and that cake, ice cream and other treats could be had
in his office.  He smiled and felt a couple of tears trickle down his
cheeks as he sorted through the pictures.  One of them made him pause
as he noticed he was standing with Emily Watson and a couple of other
grad students, and the esteemed Professor Watson had her two fingers
up behind Blair's head making rabbit ears for the camera.

     "Dammit," Blair swore quietly, tossing the photos on the desk. 
The last thing he wanted to do was spend his afternoon grieving for lost
friends and colleagues.  But Jenny was his right hand person, his
sidekick, his assistant--in a purely platonic sense, she was all the things
to him that Blair was to Jim.  She was his professional support system. 
She knew all about his projects, and when something wasn't going
right, he could talk to her and not explain all the background.  She
knew.  She had either typed the paper in question, hauled his research
materials back and forth, gathered telephone survey data for him--she
had a thank you in the acknowledgments of three of his most important
published articles.

     Blair sighed and gathered up the photos again, tucking them in
their envelope and back in the drawer, trying not to remember that
Jenny had even taken care of getting the film developed and had
brought him the pictures as part of his birthday present.

     Trying to shake off the depressing thoughts, he checked his
watch.  It was 5:45, almost time for Jim to pick him up.  He sniffled a
time or two and swiped at his eyes, determined not to make their first
official evening out as lovers a miserable, depressing experience.  But
part of him couldn't help thinking that he'd already made their whole
relationship a miserable, difficult experience for Jim.  And whatever
had swept over Jim in the moment in which Blair tried to swerve the
relationship off its current course chilled Blair to the bone.  Jim looked
positively horrible, white, and still--as if he were one of the living
dead. //Actually, more like one of the *dead dead*,// Blair thought,
shuddering. //Living dead implies a sign of life.  He wasn't even
*breathing*.//

     Feeling the weight of the world firmly planted on both
shoulders, Blair got up and grabbed his coat.  Turning out his office
light and closing the door, he pulled on his coat and trudged down the
hall toward the stairs, trying not to re-run in his mind all the
horrendous activity this building had seen in the last 48 hours.  He idly
wondered when Jenny's body would be released for burial as he made
his way across the dusky campus, pulling his coat tightly around
himself.  He noticed then that he'd left his backpack at the office, and
honestly didn't care.  All he wanted to do now was crawl into Jim's
arms and pretend none of it existed.

********

     Jim pulled up to the curb and watched the path for Blair's
arrival.  It wasn't long before the solitary figure came into view, coat
clutched tightly around himself as if it were sub-zero outdoors instead
of just brisk.  The backpack wasn't clutched in either of the hands, one
of which was buried in a pocket, the other keeping the coat close
around his lover's body.

     Blair opened the door and got in the truck, longing to slide over
and lean on his partner, but not sure how the other man would react in
the semi-public setting, with a few students visible as they made their
way to evening classes.

     "Everything okay, Chief?"  Jim asked gently, knowing very well
nothing was okay.  Blair's eyes were puffy and slightly bloodshot, his
breathing patterns indicated tension and...angst of some sort, and the
very fact his precious backpack of paperwork had been left behind
spoke volumes.

     "Just a long day," Blair managed.  

     "I know, baby.  I can tell," he responded softly, reaching over to
smooth back a stray curl that had escaped Blair's pony tail.  "You want
to stop and get some take outs and go home?"

     "We had a date," Blair replied, taking a deep but shaky breath.

     "We live together, sweetheart.  Technically, we have sort of one
big, long, running date.  This is a change of plans.  No big deal."

     "It sounded like such a nice evening.  You had special plans and
everything."

     "Plans can be changed.  How about Saturday night?  I mean,
what kind of a date night is *Thursday* anyway?"

     "You sure you don't mind?  God, I keep screwing up every time
you try to do something for *us*."

     "You didn't screw anything up, sweetheart."  Jim reached over
again and stroked Blair's cheek with the backs of his fingers.  "My
timing for everything I've done has basically sucked.  It's not you're
fault your not feeling 100% okay about things."

     "What'd I do to deserve you, huh?"  Blair asked, smiling a little
and catching Jim's hand in his.

     "I don't know, Chief, but I hope you enjoyed it, because you're
going to pay for it by being stuck with me until I croak."

     "Promise?"  Blair kissed the back of Jim's hand.

     "Promise," he answered, smiling and reversing the angle of
their hands so he could mirror Blair's gesture.  "Let's go home and
relax, huh?"

     "I'm sorry about tonight."

     "I'm not.  I'm looking forward to tonight.  Just you and me and a
big bag food and the remote control."  Jim smiled, and Blair laughed a
little, still holding onto his lover's hand.

     "Sounds like heaven."

********

     "That's it," Starsky announced, pulling his bright red Firebird up
to the curb, across the street from a modest but attractive white stucco
house with arched windows and a small fountain in the front yard.

     "So you think Harold's home?"  Hutch asked, referring to the
name of the property owner they'd found on the county clerk's records
for the address associated with Naomi Sandburg.

     "She just filed a change of address last month, so let's hope
she's still here."

     "You want company, or you want to do this solo?"  Hutch
asked.

     "Solo.  I think she's more likely to talk to me one on one."

     "I think you're right.  I'll wait for you out here.  Take your time."

     "Thanks."  Starsky stared at the house a moment.  "Maybe she's
not even home."

     "Do you want her to be home?"  Hutch asked, drawing a little
chuckle out of Starsky.  

     "Yes and no.  I guess it's been a nice fantasy."

     "Maybe you'll get the answer you want."

     "Yeah.  Maybe.  Wish me luck."

     "Good luck, babe."  Hutch reached over and squeezed Starsky's
shoulder.  The other man smiled and patted the squeezing hand, then
got out and headed for the front door of the house.

     He rang the bell and waited, then tapped on the wood firmly.

     "Who is it?"  a female voice inquired.

     "Police, ma'am," he responded.  It was true--he was a cop, but
there was nothing official about his visit.  He held up his ID for her to
look at through the peephole.  The lock clicked and the door opened. 
Naomi, his "Sunflower", stood before him in the doorway, dressed in
what looked like a soft blue leotard under a pair of form-fitting jeans. 
Her short hair was a contrast from the long tresses he remembered, but
her eyes still danced the way they had thirty years earlier.

     "Yes, officer?"

     "N-Naomi Sandburg?"  he managed past the sudden dryness in
his throat.  It troubled him that no flicker of recognition crossed her
pretty features.

     "Yes."

     "I...I'm David Starsky."  He watched her pleasant but blank
expression.  

     "Do I know you?"  she asked, smiling slightly.

     "You did.  A long time ago.  Remember the music festival in
1968?"

     "I'm afraid you'll have to be a bit more specific, Mr. Starsky,"
she replied, laughing a little.  "I attended a lot of outdoor concerts and
music festivals thirty years ago.  I thought you were with the police."

     "I am.  I'm a detective with the Bay City PD.  I...we met at a
music festival, and I was in the academy, and we spent some time
together," he managed, somewhat clumsily.  "You called yourself
'Sunflower'."

     "What is this about?"  she asked, her eyes narrowing a bit.

     "I've met your son, Blair.  That's why I'm here."

     "Is he all right?"  she asked immediately.

     "He's fine," Starsky replied, not sure how much she knew of
Blair's recent ordeal.  "But when I had dinner with Jim and Blair, I saw
a photo of you he had, and I recognized you."

     "What does your coming here have to do with Blair?"

     "Possibly everything."  Starsky sighed.  "Could I step in for a
minute?  I feel a little strange talking about this on the porch."

     "I think you should get to the point," she stated firmly.

     "We spent the night together at that festival, and I lost you in
the crowd the next day.  I was helping a security guard break up a fight,
and when I turned back to find you, you were gone."  He watched as
recognition dawned on her features.  

     "Please, come in," she invited, stepping aside and closing the
door behind him.  The inside of the house was pleasant, decorated in
various shades of beige and white.  Some soft New Age music played
on a CD player, and candles flickered on a low table in the middle of
the room.  "I was meditating," she explained, picking up a remote
control and turning off the music.

     "You remember me now?"

     "Davey.  I remember, yes," she said, nodding.  "You were going
to be a cop.  When I saw you in action, it just reminded me what a
mistake I would be making by spending any more time with you.  I
don't mean to be rude, but I have never felt any great affection for the
police."

     "So you wrote me off because I broke up a fight?  Those two
jerks could've killed each other, and the security guy who was handling
it couldn't settle them down."

     "You still haven't explained what this has to do with Blair.  I
understand that you've met him now, but that still--"

     "We spent the night together in 1968.  Blair was born nine
months later.  I think that's significant."

     "I suppose you think he's automatically yours then?"

     "How many men did you sleep with at that festival?"  He
demanded.  He was stunned by the quick slap in the face that earned
him.

     "Get out," she said evenly.

     "Not until you answer me.