The phone shook Jim out of his sleep first, and Blair wasn't far
behind him, stirring and groaning a little as Jim answered it.

     "Ellison," he managed, just before covering the mouthpiece as a
jaw expanding yawn took it's toll.

     "Jim, it's Hutch.  I thought you guys would like to know that
Starsky just regained consciousness and the doctor said his vital signs
are much stronger.  He said if all continues to go the way it is now,
which he thinks it will, he expects him to make a full recovery."

     "That's great news.  I'll tell Blair.  Thanks so much for calling
us.   You need a lift from the hospital to your hotel?"
     
     "No.  I'm just going to sleep here for a couple more hours, and
when Blair gets here, I'll go back to the hotel for a little while.  I know
they need to talk."

     "Is he up to talking about that?"

     "Very much so.  Look, I'll let you get back to sleep.  See you in
a few hours."

     "Yeah.  Thanks, Hutch."

     Jim broke the connection and rolled over to face his partner. 

     "He's awake, and doing much better.  Doctor thinks he'll be
fine."

     "Thank God."  Blair flopped back flat on the bed from where he
had been raised up on his elbow.  "I've been sort of sleeping, but I
couldn't really relax.  I kept expecting to get a bad phone call."

     "I know.  I'm just glad it was a good one," Jim found Blair's
hand under the covers and held onto it, lacing their fingers.  Blair
shifted back onto his side again and moved in close against Jim's side. 
He kissed the larger man's mouth, then rested a hand on his chest.

********

     Blair approached the door of the hospital room somewhat
cautiously, pushing it a few inches from the frame to look in at the man
in the bed.  Starsky looked like he might be sleeping, eyes closed,
peaceful expression on his face.  Blair moved a little further through
the door, and paused again.  He had to laugh when a single eye opened
ostentatiously to investigate the noises.

     "I'm awake," Starsky said, grinning a little and opening both
eyes.  

     "I didn't want to disturb you if you were trying to take a nap."

     "I've been unconscious since yesterday.  I think I've napped
enough for a few minutes," Starsky said, then paused to yawn.  "Maybe
not."  His voice was still a bit raspy, but his color had improved
immensely from the last time Blair had seen him.

     "I, uh, wanted to talk to you."  Blair moved up closer to the bed,
standing a little nervously behind the straight chair next to it.  "I'm
really glad you're feeling better."

     "I still feel like I have a fireplace poker in my chest, but they
tell me I'll live.  Sit down, huh?"  Starsky said, smiling.
     
     "Last night...Dan Wolf came over while you were in surgery."

     "He had our results, huh?"  Starsky watched while Blair nodded. 
"You wanna let me in on it?"  he prodded, both touched and amused by
his normally verbose and gregarious son's nervousness.  "And how
about sitting down while you're at it?"  Starsky watched as Blair
complied, then looked even more nervous for a moment, if that was
possible.

     "He said that the results were positive, and that it was 99.97%
accurate."  Blair had shot out the words, and was watching Starsky
intently now for a reaction.

     "Oh, man," Starsky sighed.  "It's official."

     "I don't want you to think that I'm going to start bugging you all
the time or anything.  I mean, I'm so happy we got a chance to meet
each other, and I'd like to keep in touch, if that's okay, but I--"

     "Blair, slow down, okay?"

     "Sorry."  Blair's eyes dropped to the floor.  

     "Hey."  Starsky waited until Blair looked up at him again and
then smiled.  "This is *great news*, kid.  I'm just too winded to
celebrate the right way."  Starsky reached a hand, palm up, toward his
son.  Blair looked at it a moment, and then reached out and grasped it
firmly.  "Blair, not knowing you wasn't my choice.  I know things
were...complicated for your mom, and I'm not blaming her at all.  But I
don't want you to walk around thinking that finding out about you is
like acquiring some piece of excess baggage.  I'm just so sorry for all
the time we lost, and for all the things I would have liked to have done
with you, places I could have taken you...you know, father-son stuff."

     "I always wondered if...if I ever met my dad, how he'd react. 
I've heard some real horror stories, you know?  Kids who found missing
parents and it was a disaster.  The parents didn't want anything to do
with them, and it screwed up everybody's lives."  Blair shook his head. 
"It's *so* important to me not to do that."  

     "I always wanted kids," Starsky said quietly.  "That's not the
kind of thing you can tell your male life partner, so that's just between
us.  I kind of figure he knows that, but I'd never say it.  I never wanted
Hutch to feel like there was anything missing from our life together for
me."

     "It's a trade-off."  Blair smiled slightly.  "But when you're really
in love, it's worth it," he concluded, thinking of his own situation with
Jim. 

     "Exactly."

     "I have some pictures at home.  Maybe you'd like to see those
sometime.  You know, baby pictures, childhood stuff."

     "I'll probably be laid out here for a while, so that sounds like a
great project as soon as they let me raise this damn bed a little." 
Starsky smiled and squeezed Blair's hand.  "All that stuff you were
saying before about not bothering me--I want you to understand that
door swings both ways.  I want to be a part of your life, Blair.  But only
to the degree it's comfortable for you."

     "I guess it's a little late for a birth announcement in the Cascade
Herald," Blair responded, smiling.

     "That might be pushing it," Starsky retorted, chortling a little
and then grimacing.  "I should know better."  He raised one tired hand
and brushed it over the area on his hospital gown that covered the
bandaged incision on his chest.

     "I shouldn't be tiring you out."

     "The nurse'll probably toss you out in a minute anyway." 
Starsky tightened his grip on Blair's hand as the other man started to
rise.  "Hey."

     "What?"  Blair finished standing, but didn't pull his hand away.

     "I know I didn't play any part in it, so I probably don't have a
right, but I'm real proud of you, son."

     "You can't know...what that means to me," Blair responded in a
strained voice.

     "Come back later?"

     "I'd like to, yeah."  Blair smiled widely.  "Is it okay if I tell some
of my friends?"

     "You can put a billboard up by the highway if you want.  When
I said I was proud of you, Blair, I meant it."  Starsky watched as Blair
bit his bottom lip and took a deep shaky breath.  The younger man
covered their joined hands with his free hand.

     "I'll come see you as soon as they let me in again--well, and
after Hutch gets his turns."

     "Good."  Starsky smiled let his eyes drift shut as Blair released
his hand and moved toward the door.  

     Looking back at the dozing man in the bed he now knew as his
father, Blair wondered how ridiculous Starsky would consider it if he
actually called him "Dad". //Maybe I better work up to that one,// he
thought, smiling as he pulled the door shut behind him.

********

     Blair sat on the bed in his old room and stared at the phone. 
Finally picking it up, he dialed the number he had handy for Naomi.

     "Hello?"  A man's voice greeted him on the other end of the
line.  

     "Is Naomi there?"  Blair asked.

     "Sure.  Just a minute."  The other man's voice sounded pleasant
enough, and Blair could hear his voice in the distance calling Naomi's
name, telling her she had a call.

     "Hello?"

     "Mom?"

     "Hi, sweetie.  How are you?"

     "I'm calling about the test, Mom."  Blair hesitated, and it
seemed as if Naomi stopped breathing on the other end of the line
waiting for the answer.  "It was positive.  He's the one.  He's my father."

     "I'm glad," she said softly.  "I'm glad it was someone special."

     "Me too," Blair agreed, wanting so badly to ask her more about
the circumstances that had made her so unsure about his paternity in
the first place.  Nonetheless, he refrained.  If she hadn't volunteered it,
she probably didn't wish to explain it.  "I really like him a lot.  We get
along great."

     "He was a very sweet young man, way back when.  You have to
understand, Blair.  I would have never made a good cop's wife." 
Naomi's statement made Blair laugh.  She deserved an award for
understatement of the year.

     "I hear that," Blair said fondly, still smiling.

     "If I could have known it was him...I would have told you,
honey."

     "Kind of ironic--finding out my dad's a cop.  Now I'm working
with the PD--"

     "Don't remind me."
     
     "Mom."

     "All right, all right," she caved in easily.  "No more lectures
about working with the pigs."

     "Mom!  What does that make me?  A son of a pig?"  he asked,
his smile coming through in his voice.

     "And a pig's roommate," she picked up the joke.  "All right.  No
more lectures about working with *Cascade's Finest*.  Is that better?"

     "Yeah, I think Jim could handle that better than the 'pig' label.
Especially since the man's a compulsive neat freak."  Blair paused. 
"Mom?"

     "What, honey?"  she sounded concerned, as if she'd detected the
tension in his voice.

     "There's something else you oughtta know."

     "What?"

     "Jim and I...we're...sort of...involved."

     "Took you long enough."

     "Huh?"  Blair's eyes widened as he answered.

     "I know you two have been interested in each other for a long
time.  You guarded Jim like he was your boyfriend the first time I
visited you two."

     "I did not," Blair protested.

     "You gave me so many 'don't flirt with Jim' warnings that it
became pretty clear you weren't worried about my virtue--or his.  You
were protecting your turf."

     "I never meant to do that."

     "Maybe not consciously.  But that doesn't matter now.  I just
know you two have had feelings for each other a long time.  I hope he
makes you happy, sweetie."

     "He does."  Blair let the silence hang there.  

     "But...?"

     "It's just real new, that's all."

     "New things are always a little scary.  But you'll work things out
together.  How is Jim handling all this at work?"

     "We're not.  I mean, it's tricky with his job.  He's willing to be
open about it if I want, but I know it would be miserable for him.  I
don't want him to spend all his time fighting homophobes instead of
doing his job."

     "You'll have to play it by ear, I suppose."

     "Yeah, probably."

     "Honey, I have to go.  Harold and I have tickets to a concert
tonight--"

     "Rock and roll or the symphony?  Oh, wait--Harold. 
Symphony, right?"

     "Unfortunately."

     "He's not going to last long, is he, Mom?"

     "I'm afraid not," she paused, covering the phone.  Her still
audible voice promised Harold she'd be right with him as Blair could
hear a door opening and closing.  "Probably until the next pair of
tickets to the opera."

     "I'd say have fun, but..."

     "Make a wish that might come true, honey."  She laughed a
little.  "I'll call you in a few days.  I want to know how things are going
with Jim--and with your father."

     "Okay.  Love you, Mom."

     "I love you too, sweetie.  Bye."

     "Bye, Mom."  Blair hung up the phone and sighed. //Poor
Harold.  Dug his grave with one too many trips to the opera house,//
Blair thought, laughing a little and shaking his head.

********

     After arranging a leave of absence from their home PD, Hutch
busied himself the larger part of the days working the final aspect of
the case, which was hunting down Sherman.  Starsky seemed happy to
have a little time to get to know his son better while he was confined to
the hospital, so in between his commitments at the University, Blair
spent most of his free time there, hauling in photo albums and basically
telling his father the story of his life from birth to the present.  Within
the span of two weeks, the two men had forged a bond that seemed as
if it had been there all of Blair's life.

     "No photo albums today?"  Starsky asked from where he was
propped up in bed.  He'd been dressed in his own pajamas for about a
week now, in the final stages of his hospital stay before being released.
     
     "I have to take more pictures.  I'm all out."  Blair sat on the edge
of the bed near the foot.  "How're you feeling?"

     "Like I'm ready to fly out the window if they don't let me outta
here pretty soon."

     "Better, huh?"

     "Much."

     "Good."

     "I'd feel even better if you'd level with me what's wrong."

     "What do you mean?"

     "You look like someone just ran over your puppy.  What's
wrong, kid?"  Starsky nudged Blair's hip with his foot.

     "It's Jim."

     "What about him?"  There was an edge in Starsky's voice and a
flare of something in his eyes that told Blair his father was ready to
take Jim on from his hospital bed if the other man had hurt Blair in
some way.

     "I think things are falling apart between us.  I mean, it's nothing
obvious...  We're still sleeping in the same bed, kissing a little
sometimes, but not much.  It's like he just lost interest.  And it's all my
fault."

     "When there are two people involved, it's pretty unlikely it's all
one person's fault alone."  Starsky took off the glasses he'd been using
to read the magazine that was lying forgotten on his lap since Blair's
arrival.

     "We tried to have sex and I blew it.  And ever since then, he
hardly comes near me that way.  I mean, when things were rough and I
needed him, he'd hold me, and he still kisses me good night and good
morning and stuff like that, but he never *tries* anything."

     "Do you?"

     "I feel like he doesn't want me that way."

     "What did you mean when you said you blew it?"

     "This is kind of hard to talk about."

     "Would it help if I said I could just about guarantee it won't
shock me?"  Starsky smiled.  "Just proving I was your father doesn't
mean I changed into something different from the guy you were talking
about sex with in the break room."

     "Jim tried to...to...top me, and it hurt and he had to stop."  Blair
looked down.  "I mean it hurt *bad*.  I couldn't stand it."

     "He didn't force the issue, did he?"  Starsky asked directly.

     "Never.  He was great about it.  I wanted him to keep pushing,
but he refused.  He wouldn't hurt me for anything.  But the thing is, he
hasn't tried it again."

     "Well, getting half in and half out and not being able to finish
what you start is right up there with being dangled by your thumbs over
a pit of sharks.  It isn't something you'd pick out if you could avoid it.  I
know, I've been there.  Don't tell Hutch I told you."

     "I thought you said it hurt the first time, but I got the feeling
you went through with it."

     "The first time we actually *succeeded* at anything, it hurt, but
it felt good at the same time.  But I made the mistake of urging Hutch
to keep going even though the pain was just killing me.  The result was
that I hated that kind of sex for about three years out of our
relationship.  I put up with it in the interests of fairness, but it was like
paying my dues, not making love."

     "And Hutch did it to you anyway?"

     "I'm a pretty fair actor, kid."  Starsky laughed a little,
remembering back to when sex had been such a major "issue" foremost
in his and Hutch's minds--just getting their sex life on an even keel and
settled had been a full-time job.  "And your body sometimes responds--I came 
most of the time.  But the worst mistake you can make is
forcing the issue when it hurts like that.  It gives you a negative view of
the whole thing.  When it came to Hutch, he was more open about it,
and when the pain and the stretching was more than he felt he could
stand, he asked me to stop."

     "So how'd you get over feeling negative about it?"

     "Well, we finally talked it all out, and I came clean that I didn't
really enjoy it, and we went through a lot of experimenting and buying
videos and reading books and finally we found some techniques that
helped me enjoy it.  With Hutch, nature just seemed to take its course,
and eventually, he relaxed and it went fine."

     "You had more than one disaster?"

     "I'm not going to count them off right now, but I promise you
there was more than one," Starsky responded, laughing.

     "But I don't know what to do.  It's like he doesn't even feel
sexually attracted to me anymore."

     "Do you come on to him?"

     "No.  I feel like he doesn't want me."

     "Blair, look, if you sit in the corner and wait for him to come
after you, you're probably going to suffer a deadly case of blue balls
and die a sexually frustrated old man.  The last time he got aggressive,
he hurt you.  So now it's up to you to make the next move.  He's giving
you space, dummy, not ignoring you."

     "How did you relax?  I can't.  Just thinking about it...makes me
tense."

     "What position were you in for the disaster?"

     "On my knees," Blair responded quietly, turning a deeper shade
of red.

     "If you straddle Jim so you're on top, that puts you in control of
how fast things move.  Trust me, it's a lot less scary that way, and you
have less of a tendency to 'brace yourself'."

     "What if it doesn't work?"

     "I think it will.  Look, Blair, there's one problem that you've
gotta face when you're trying to launch something like this.  With gay
couples, sometimes 'the big one'--penetration--isn't a major part of
things.  If they don't like it, it might not be a frequent part of their sex
lives.  But when you've got two previously straight guys getting
together, you've got what amounts to two tops and no bottoms in a
homosexual relationship."  Starsky sighed, looking away as if searching
for the right explanation.  "When Hutch and I got together, it was out of
love, and the lust followed."

     "It's the same way with Jim and me, but the lust isn't following."

     "Is the lust missing or are you afraid of what it's going to mean
if you act on it, and Jim's waiting for you to make the first move
because he doesn't want to pressure you?"

     "Maybe."

     "Maybe what?"  Starsky asked, laughing a little at the
ambiguous answer.

     "I'm not making any moves on him either."

     "He's not going to force you."

     "Never."

     "Then tell him this--tell him what you're afraid of."

     "I don't want to just...whine at him about it.  I feel so stupid. 
I'm not exactly inexperienced in bed.  Now as soon as I get into this
relationship with Jim, I've done all but wear a chastity belt to bed."

     "What *is* that contraption, anyway?  I always wondered."

     "I'll find a picture of one.  I know it's in one of the Anthro books
at my office."

     "You're going to talk to Jim, right?"  Starsky persisted.

     "If you were him, would you think I was being wussy about
this?  Be honest."

     "Did it ever occur to you that Jim's not any more confident
about this than you are?  With Hutch and me--we practically needed to
sit on the bed with an instruction manual to figure out some of the
positions.  We made mistakes, we had disappointments, we had some
mind-blowing sex when we got things right--but we did it together. 
Struggle alongside Jim, not without him.  He's no more experienced or
'good' at this than you are.  He probably feels a huge burden of pressure
here, thinking he's expected to know everything about how to proceed. 
The one time he did, he hurt you, so now he's scared to touch you for
fear of messing things up."

     "I'll talk to him about it tonight."  Blair nodded, realizing there
was a lot of truth in what his father was saying.  Then he smiled at that
thought. //Advice from Dad...//

     "What?"  Starsky was half-smiling too, watching Blair's
expression.
     
     "I was just thinking...  Seems really odd to be getting advice
from my father.  Seems...really good."

     "I've got to wonder if I'd been around when you were a kid, if
we could have been friends.  I know some parents can do it--be friends
with their kids and be parents too."

     "I'd like to think so.  I wasn't really all that bad when I was a
kid--I mean, you wouldn't have had to come down on me all the time.  I
gave Naomi a few fits, but not too many.  But then she doesn't ruffle
easily either," Blair added.

     "These guys your mom dated--they were okay guys?"

     "Some of them."

     "The ones who weren't?"

     "Most of them just didn't like me or thought I was a dork.  I
was, honestly," Blair concluded, laughing.  "I was a puny little kid with
glasses who spent most of his time with his nose in a book.  I liked
baseball, but I wasn't very good at it until high school, and then I was in
accelerated programs, and ended up going to college at 16, so I didn't
spend much time there.  I learned how to play basketball when I got to
Rainier.   I wasn't on the team or anything, but when I turned 18 and
moved into the dorms, I had a couple of roommates who wouldn't let
me alone until I got out of the library or away from my desk for a few
hours here and there to do something besides study.  They taught me
how to play, and I got pretty good at it."

     "They treated you okay?  The guys your mom was with?"

     "Only a couple of them were real jerks.  As soon as Naomi
knew something wasn't right, she dumped them.  One guy pushed me
around when she wasn't looking and the other was just insulting.  He'd
call me 'four eyes' and things like that.  I was thirteen, and he decided
he was going to 'make a man out of me'--dragging me out and trying to
teach me how to fight--things like that.  She didn't like him much
anyway, so when she found out he was trying to pull this big macho
kick with me,  he didn't last."

     "It's still hard sometimes, when I think about all the time we
missed.  I just hope you had a good childhood.  I can't change it now,
but I still don't want to think you had a really bad time of it.  But I'd
want to know if you did."

     "Naomi was a great mom--she loved me a lot.  I always knew
that.  I don't...sometimes I don't think she really wanted to have a child
*when* she did.  I think she wanted one eventually, because it wasn't
like she resented me or anything.  But I know there were plenty of
times when it got in the way of her really living her life to the fullest
the way she wanted to.  I think she would have been happier if she
could have had her freedom for a while, then settled down and had a
child."

     "When I get out of here, Hutch and I are going to have to go
back to LA,"  Starsky stated quietly.  "They're talking about letting me
out in a couple days."

     "I'm glad you're doing well enough to get released.  That's
great," Blair said, mustering a smile that didn't have its usual radiance.

     "This isn't a kiss-off, Blair."

     "I know."  Blair was a bit embarrassed to feel the lump rising in
his throat, so he didn't say anything else.  He spent an inordinate
amount of time fidgeting with the button the cuff of his brown plaid
shirt.

     "Blair."  Starsky waited until Blair looked up at him again.  "I'm
gonna miss you too, kid."  He smiled.  "That's what phones and
airplanes are for."

     "With our schedules, it's never going to be easy."

     "When you're free, you come to LA and visit.  You're used to
riding with cops now, so even if I have to work, that's no reason you
can't come and spend some time.  And you're welcome to bring Jim if
he wants to come.  We've got a great guestroom that overlooks the
ocean.  Just call us and let us know you're coming."

     "And you know you'd be welcome to come here anytime at all."

     "Okay, so that's a little less depressing, isn't it?  I'm not going
home to China or something.  Just LA.  Besides, I want you to come
and see me there.  I want a chance to show off my kid to my friends
back home."

     "You mean that?"  Blair asked, looking both pleased and
surprised.

     "Sure I mean it.  Why wouldn't I?  Blair, I told you from the
start that I'm very proud of you.  That hasn't changed.  I really haven't
earned them, but I still want bragging rights."

     Blair bit his lower lip and reached out tentatively to pat
Starsky's knee.

     "Come here, kiddo.  You can do better than that."  Starsky held
out his left hand, since his right side was still less that completely
mobile as he favored the healing incision.

     "What about your incision?"

     "Just don't put weight on the right side."  Starsky pulled the
younger man close against him, Blair's arm lightly resting over his
waist while the other arm came up behind Starsky's back, so Blair was
essentially hugging his left shoulder.  "My going home to LA isn't the
end of anything, Blair.  I want to be part of your life."

     "Me too."  Blair hesitated a moment.  "I wanted to find you for
so long."
     
     "If I'd known about you, I'd have found you--you know that,
don't you?"  He gave Blair a little squeeze.

     "I know.  I wish you had known."

     "Oh yeah, so do I," Starsky said regretfully, resting the side of
his head against Blair's.  "I know you're going through some tough stuff
right now, but you remember I'm here for you.  I don't care if I'm sitting
here or in LA.  If you need me, you call me.  Got it?"

     "Got it," Blair repeated in a strained voice, still hanging on for
dear life.  He didn't know how well his next words would be received,
but he took a deep breath and forced himself to chance it.  "I love you,
Dad."

     There was a long pause, and then a hand came up to press
Blair's head more firmly against his father's shoulder.  A watery voice
answered him. 

     "I love you too, son."

********

     "I've been following my nose all the way upstairs," Jim
announced as he walked in the door of the loft.  

     "I got take-outs from Tony's," Blair responded, setting a chilled
bottle of wine on the table.

     "Here I thought you slaved over a hot stove for me," Jim
replied, heading into the kitchen to wash his hands.

     "I was going to make something, but then I decided to get
something you'd actually *like*."  Blair laughed a little as he carried
the large tray of lasagna to the table.  "I even got some of their Italian
salad.  You wanna grab it out of the fridge?"

     "Sure."  Jim pulled out a large cardboard dish with a lid on it
and headed toward the table.  "What do you mean, something I'd
*like*?  I like your cooking just fine."

     "Yeah, but I don't cook the really good stuff with all the cheese
and meat and unhealthy stuff in it."

     "I'll corrupt you eventually."

     "Don't hold your breath, man."  Blair joined Jim, sitting at the
table, and the two men started dishing up food.  

     "How's Starsky doing?"  Jim asked, poking into his salad.

     "Okay.  Better.  He's probably going to be released in a couple
days, and then he'll be going home to LA."

     "How do you feel about that?"  Jim asked through a mouthful of
salad.

     "When he first said it, the first thing that crossed my mind was
that he was trying to get rid of me.  I know that's not fair, but it still was
my first thought.  Like, 'gee, it's been real' and then he'd leave and that
would be it."

     "I can't picture him doing that.  Of course, if he hurts you, he'll
be back in the hospital soon anyway, so you can see even more of him."
Jim smiled faintly as he poured their wine.  

     "He invited us both to come out there and visit--said they've got
a beautiful guest room that overlooks the ocean.  I was thinking maybe
we could go for Thanksgiving.  I mean, he didn't invite me for it or
anything, and I don't want to intrude, but it would still be really cool."

     "Why don't you run the idea by him?  He'd probably like it."

     "What about your dad?  Did he say anything about the holidays
this year?"

     "If we do Thanksgiving with *your dad*, we can always do
Christmas with mine.  Of course, my dad and I have to have a little talk
before then."

     "Jim, about that..."  Blair moved his salad around for a few
moments before finishing his sentence.  When he did, he had Jim's
undivided attention.  "I want us to start trying again.  I know I haven't
really made any moves toward you lately, and after what happened...  I
know it's probably hard for you to make them on me--not knowing how
far I can handle going."

     "It's a little tricky, but it's worth the effort," Jim responded,
abandoning his fork to take a hold of Blair's hand where it rested on the
table.  "I love you, sweetheart.  I'm in this for life.  That gives us plenty
of time to work our way up to things."

     "You're not too frustrated yet?"  Blair asked, covering Jim's
hand with free hand.

     "Never, baby.  I'm not frustrated with you at all.  The timing's
just been wrong.  You were worried about your dad, and that was a big
upheaval, even if it was a good one.  The case has been a real bitch all
the way around...  I'm glad we waited.  Our first time should be
something memorable--not just a quickie when our schedule permits."

     "I thought maybe...never mind."

     "What?"

     "I thought maybe you were changing your mind about me.  I
know that was stupid, but when you didn't try touching me--you know,
*touching* me, I thought it was a bad sign.  But I realize now it was
just as much my own fault if things weren't happening.  I haven't been
making any moves on you either."   

     "Maybe we should do something about that--purely to prevent
any future...miscommunications," Jim opined, moving his hand to pull
Blair toward him until the other man straddled his lap.  Blair let his
arms rest loosely around Jim's neck.  "Now, we have a matter of some
salad here."  He reached behind Blair and plucked a fat black olive out
of his salad.  Running it lightly back and forth, he coated Blair's lips
with the Italian dressing, then popped it in his lover's mouth.  Blair
took the opportunity to trap Jim's forefinger between his lips, sucking
on the tip.  After he released it, he began chewing the olive, and Jim
pulled him down for a long kiss, moving their tongues and the captive
olive back and forth between them.
     
     When they parted for air, Jim began licking the dressing off his
partner's mouth.  Running his hands up and down Blair's back, he
smiled.  

     "Now, what was this you were saying about me changing my
mind about something?"  Jim asked, kissing Blair's chin where he saw
a tiny drop of Italian dressing.

     "I'm still nervous about...you know."

     "So am I, sweetheart.  It's okay.  When the time's right, it'll
happen."

     "You want to finish dinner first?"  Blair asked, grinning.

     "I'm eating dessert first," Jim countered, pulling Blair close for
another long kiss.  "But I might need my energy later.  Just lift your
butt a little and move with me."  Jim slid the chair closer to the table,
turning it slightly so he could reach his plate.  He took his fork and
skewered a choice bite of lasagna, raising it to Blair's mouth.  The
other man ate it, then took the fork from Jim and mirrored the gesture. 
They paused to kiss, then began the cycle again.  It was destined to be a
very long meal.
     
     When all of Jim's plate was clean as well as part of Blair's, both
men agreed to give up on the food portion of their routine and stick
with the kissing.  After several long minutes of exploring each other's
mouths, Blair started rocking, rubbing his hardening shaft against Jim's
through the multiple layers of fabric that separated them.

     "Upstairs?"  Blair suggested.

     "Yeah."  Jim waited for Blair to move off his lap, and then rose,
grabbing onto his lover's offered hand and heading up the steps to the
loft bedroom. 

     Once upstairs, Jim made short work of the buttons on Blair's
shirt, and in one swift gesture, sent Blair's t-shirt to join it on the floor. 
He kissed a trail down Blair's jaw to his throat, then across the soft skin
to his shoulder, his hands fumbling for the younger man's belt. 
Determined not to miss out on the action, Blair managed to get Jim's
shirt open and made the necessary moves to get Jim's arms out of the
way long enough to dispense with it and the tank shirt below it.  

     Jim unbuckled Blair's belt and unzipped his jeans, carefully
pushing them and his boxers down in one long, carefully slide, freeing
the swollen cock from the fabric confines.  He steadied his partner
while the other man toed off his shoes and kicked the pooled fabric out
of the way.  Blair divested Jim of the last of his clothing in much the
same way, and the two men fell together on the bed, kissing and
writhing each other, hands everywhere.

     "I want my dessert," Jim growled playfully, pinning Blair's
wrists down to the mattress as his lover lay on his back, his legs spread
to accommodate Jim between them.  The big smile on Jim's face made
Blair laugh softly at the demand.

     "What did you have in mind?"

     "One deluxe Sandburg, topped off with a little fresh...cream,"
he added, flexing his eyebrows.  Then his face became serious.  "Let
me explore you, Blair.  Every part of you.  I want to smell you and taste
you and fill up every sense with you."

     "Whatever you want," Blair responded, finding that he truly
meant it.  He didn't trust anyone else on earth the way he trusted Jim,
and as excited as he was, he felt game to try almost anything.

     "Relax, sweetheart," Jim said softly, moving up to lift one of
the wrists to his mouth, licking and sucking at each finger, trailing his
tongue over the palm, nibbling his way down the arm to the crease of
the elbow and up the underside of Blair's upper arm to his shoulder,
across his chest and down the other arm in a reversal of his treatment
of the first arm.  

     He returned to the center of Blair's throat and began a series of
little licks and kisses, and the occasional deep breath, drawing his
lover's scent deep into his system.  He stopped to tease a nipple with
the tip of his tongue, flicking at it as Blair arched and groaned under
him.  Smiling, he lowered his mouth on it and sucked hard, dragging a
broken cry of pleasure from his lover.  He released Blair's arms and
immediately felt the other man's hands in his hair, holding his mouth
right where it was.

     "Jim...please...other one..."  Blair managed.  Jim licked his way
to the other nipple and began his work there, having left a wet, hard
peak behind.

     "God, Chief, you taste so damn good," Jim panted against
Blair's taut nipple.

     "Better than lasagna?"
     
     "Definitely."  Jim resumed his trail down the line of hair to
Blair's navel.  

     "I'm better for you, too.  I won't clog your arteries."  Blair
laughed when Jim burst out laughing against the skin of Blair's
stomach, making the most ungodly noise.

     "Didn't anyone ever tell you that talking about nutrition during
sex is a turnoff?"  he teased.

     "I gotta do my lecturing when I think it'll get through," Blair
responded, grinning.

     "Shhh," Jim said, still smiling and resuming his work on Blair's
stomach, dipping his tongue into the little valley of his navel, feeling
the rigid erection poking him in the chin as he licked and kissed the
tender skin below Blair's navel.  "Relax, baby.  Just want to taste you,"
Jim said huskily, encouraging Blair's legs up off the mattress until the
younger man was lying there, hands under his knees, pulling his legs up
and spreading them wide.

     "Ohhh...Jim..."  Blair moaned as he felt the hot tongue caress
his balls and the base of his shaft.   "Please," he begged, praying the hot
mouth would do something for his straining, leaking arousal.

     "Patience, baby."  Jim kissed and licked his way down Blair's
perineum, pausing, and then poking his tongue into the tight opening. 
Blair started thrusting in time with the movement of his tongue,
whimpering needfully at the same time.  Finally taking mercy, he
wrapped his hand around the base of Blair's shaft and engulfed the
upper half in his mouth.   Blair let out a wail then, his legs resting on
Jim's shoulders, his hands clutching fistfuls of the sheets.

     Not positive of the exact technique, but knowing what he liked
to feel on the receiving end of this act, Jim did his best to keep his
teeth off his lover's tender skin, and concentrated on stimulating the
sensitive head, teasing the weeping slit with his tongue.  He grabbed
onto Blair's ass with his free hand, attempting to hold him still while he
let more of the large cock into his mouth.  He knew he couldn't take it
all the way yet, and he had to know that Blair wasn't going to thrust up
instinctively and unexpectedly.  

     He started a rough massage of Blair's buttocks while he picked
up the tempo of his sucking.  Blair was writhing as much as he could,
and started letting out a series of guttural, broken grunts of pleasure
with each motion.  Finally, Blair's body stiffened out and hot liquid
shot down Jim's throat, which he worked hard to swallow completely. 
He finally released the flaccid organ, licking around it to clean any
drops that escaped during Blair's orgasm.

     Blair lay there, panting and shaking in the aftermath, crawling
eagerly into Jim's arms when the other man slid up on the bed next to
him.  

     "Jim...Oh, man...  That was so good.  I love you so much."

     "I love you too, sweetheart."  Jim claimed Blair's mouth, letting
the other man taste himself there.  

     "My turn," Blair said, smiling, rolling them from their sides
onto Jim's back with Blair atop him.  

     Blair started his travels over Jim's body with a soft kiss to his
lover's forehead, then moved down to kiss each eyelid, both cheeks, the
tip of Jim's nose, and twice on the mouth he had to coach out of it's soft
smile long enough to get some lip action.  He put all the love he felt
behind the kisses he peppered over Jim's face, neck and shoulders. 
When he reached the first of the taut nipples, he tentatively lapped at it,
and spurred on by Jim's little groan of approval, he began lightly
sucking on it, then wetly kissed his way to the other and brought it to
the same hardness.

     Jim's hands tangled in Blair's hair and pulled him back up for
another long kiss.  Blair considered his position for a moment, and
looked into Jim's eyes.  

     "I want to try again," he said softly.

     "Blair, I...you don't have--"

     "I know I don't have to.  I *want* to.  Can we try it like this? 
Me straddling you?"

     "Absolutely, sweetheart.  It'll probably go in a little deeper like
this."

     "Yeah, but I...I feel like I'm still sort of in control of things."

     "You always are, baby.  All you have to do is say 'stop'.  I don't
care if we're suspended from the ceiling."

     "Maybe when I'm a little more experienced, man," Blair
quipped.

     "Smart ass."  Jim pulled him down for another kiss.  "I got some
better stuff--better than the lotion.  It's in the night stand."

     "Okay."  Blair crawled over to get it while Jim shifted himself
on the bed so there was a pillow under his head.  "You bought KY?"

     "No, I stole it.  Of course I bought it, Chief," Jim responded,
laughing.  "I bought about eighty bucks worth of groceries just so I
could be unobtrusive about it, but I *did* go through the check out
with it," Jim admitted, chuckling.  Blair laughed a little then, looking at
the tube like it was a gift in itself.  "The lotion wasn't all that great of a
lube, baby.  I thought this might make you a little more comfortable." 
He stroked Blair's thigh lovingly.  

     "I love you, you know."  Blair caught the hand on his thigh and
held onto it.  

     "I know.  Almost as much as I love you."

     "More."

     "No way."  Jim caught Blair around the waist and tossed him
back on the bed, smothering him with eager lips.  

     "A tie?"  Blair offered, breathing hard, smiling through red,
kiss-swollen lips.

     "A tie it is."  Jim kissed Blair's mouth again quickly, and let his
lover move up on his knees.  

     "Will you get me ready?"  He handed Jim the lube.

     "I'd love to, angel."  He stroked Blair's cheek and kissed his
forehead.

     Blair turned around and straddled Jim, on hands and knees,
facing the foot of the bed.  He felt some movement behind him, and
then the barest touch of soft lips to his center.  Jim kissed him gently
there, but not quickly, then moved back to start preparing him.

     "Watch out I don't bump you, sweetheart.  I'm going to give you
something to lean on here."  Jim drew his knees up a bit, with his feet
flat on the bed.  Instinctively, Blair relaxed against the strong thighs
and held onto Jim's knees.  The extra support made it easier for Blair to
let his muscles relax without so much weight on them.  He could feel
Jim's hard-on nudging at his own rapidly engorging shaft.  "I'm going to
start out with one.  Just say so if it doesn't feel good."

     Blair relaxed against the support of Jim's legs, and accepted the
sensation of one slow, gentle finger spreading cool, slippery gel around
his opening.

     "You're so beautiful, sweetheart.  Love you so much," Jim said
in a voice barely above a whisper.  "Want to show you all that love." 
He carefully eased the finger inside the tight ring of muscle.  Blair
tensed a little, but soon relaxed again, liking the feeling of the slippery
digit rubbing firmly at the walls of his tight passage.  A little murmur
of approval slipped from his lips as he started really enjoying the more
aggressive movement of the finger.  

     "More," he said simply, starting to move a little with the motion
of Jim's finger.

     "Coming, baby."  Jim eased the finger out and returned with
two.  Blair panicked a bit at the initial stretching sensation, and
clutched Jim's knees like they were life preservers.  "Calm down, angel. 
Let your muscles relax.  Nothing's going to move until you're ready,
baby."  Jim stroked Blair's back and buttocks in long, soothing strokes
with his free hand, keeping his two fingers just inside Blair's entrance.

     "Okay," Blair said, letting out a long breath.  He wanted to feel
the stretching increase, and spread his legs a little wider to invite Jim
inside.  The two fingers slowly eased in and stretched and massaged,
patiently working until Blair was rocking on them, letting out little
moans of pleasure.  He grabbed Jim's knees and let out a howl when
Jim's finger brushed his prostate.  Panting, Blair asked, "Can you do
that when you're in there?"

     "Probably can't avoid it, sweetheart."

     "Do it more, please!"  Blair tried to force himself farther down
on the impaling fingers.  Jim brushed over the little gland three times
in rapid succession, each time dragging a scream of pure, unabashed
ecstasy out of Blair.  He eased the fingers out, and Blair groaned.

     "I'm coming in with three, baby.  You're going to feel stretched
now.  Let me know if--"

     "Just get back in me, please!"  Blair thrust his ass up invitingly,
begging for more stimulation.  Jim obliged, stretching him with three
fingers now, rotating and scissoring them.  "God, Jim, do that thing
again...make me scream...please...it felt so g-Goooood!"  Blair shouted
as Jim found the little gland again and rubbed over it firmly several
times, leaving Blair crying out and thrusting wildly down on Jim's
fingers and rubbing his groin against Jim's engorged cock.

     "I think it's time, baby."  Jim withdrew his fingers, and Blair
eagerly turned around and straddled Jim again, taking the tube and
after warming a liberal amount in his hands, coated Jim's length. 
"Okay, sweetheart.  I need to get lined up here.  Don't move until I tell
you."  Jim reached down and aligned his cock with the entrance to
Blair's body.  "Ready to take a little?"  he asked in a strained voice,
wondering if he'd have the control to ease Blair through this phase of
things.

     "Yeah," Blair replied, enthusiastically.  Jim felt the head of his
cock pop past the tight ring of muscle.  Blair's eyes bulged a little, and
he froze in place, but he didn't seem to be in pain exactly.  Jim brought
both hands up now to steady Blair's waist, pacing his descent even
more slowly than Blair himself would have.  

     Blair had a bruising grip on Jim's arms, fearing and yet
welcoming each new stretch as the large, hard, hot invader made its
way along his snug tunnel.  He groaned a little as they made it to the
final stages.  It was hurting a bit now, going very deep and stretching
him to his limits and a little beyond.  But finally, his buttocks rested on
Jim's pelvis.  They were fully joined.  

     "Just stay still, baby.  Let yourself adjust," Jim managed, feeling
like his tormented cock was being compressed by wet velvet, and yet
not able to move to relieve the pressure.

     "It feels...good...but it still...hurts a little," Blair said, shifting
experimentally.

     "Don't move, sweetheart.  I have an idea."  Jim stuffed all the
pillows behind his back with one arm, the other hand still caressing
Blair's side and back.  Leaning back, he found he was raised up almost
to a sitting position.  "Okay, slowly move down on me.  Let me hold
you, huh?"  Blair followed the directions, wincing a little at the
movement, but finding a lot of happiness in being all wrapped up in
Jim's strong arms.  He just lay there a few moments, letting himself get
used to being impaled, feeling much safer and more loved tucked in
Jim's arms, with the gentle hands caressing his back and hair, pressing
his head against Jim's shoulder.  "Ready to move a little, angel?"  Blair
nodded, hanging onto Jim for dear life, and not at all sure of what to do
next.  

     Jim made one slow, but very noticeable undulation and thrust
from under him.  It was a mixture of pleasure and pain, but it was now
or never.  Blair answered the movement with one of his own.  Jim tried
again, a little more assertively this time.  Blair responded with a thrust
that felt much better than the last few moves.  Soon, they had fallen
into a gentle rhythm together, Jim moving up and Blair answering it
with a move down.  Their tempo was slow and their motion a little
awkward, but it was starting to feel very good.  Blair raised up a little,
bracing himself on either side of Jim.  

     "A little harder," he groaned, writhing on the rigid cock that
impaled him.  His own erection was fully recovered now, and Jim
grasped it with one hand and pumped in time with their movements. 
"Harder," Blair goaded, grunting and thrusting down harder himself. 
He seemed preoccupied trying to find just the point he sought.  

     Jim was grunting in time with his moves now, finally freed to
move inside Blair, to feel that virgin tightness squeezing his cock
mercilessly.  

     "Oh, God, Chief," he panted, moving faster.  Blair let out a wail
of his own as Jim's cock made contact with his prostate on a
particularly strong stroke.  Jim was pumping his cock with one strong
hand, and massaging his prostate relentlessly with every thrust.

     Blair's voice was just one long cry of pleasure broken and
shaken by the movements of their bodies.  He rode Jim enthusiastically
until his entire body stiffened and stilled for a moment, his seed
spilling over Jim's belly and chest.

     Jim groaned loudly, moving rapidly under Blair, the clenching
muscles pulling his orgasm out of him, milking him ruthlessly until he
shot his completion into the deep recesses of Blair's body.

     Blair slumped forward into Jim's arms, both men breathing
heavily as their recovered.  Jim found the strength to pull a few sweaty
curls away from the side of Blair's face as his lover lay against him,
head on his shoulder.  

     "Are you okay, sweetheart?"  Jim asked quietly, kissing Blair's
hair and stroking the damp curls under his hand.

     "It was so beautiful," he murmured, kissing the flesh close to
his mouth.  "I love you."

     "I love you too, Blair.  You're my heart and soul, baby.  I love
you so much.  Thank you."  He encouraged Blair's face up and kissed
his lips this time.  "I need to pull out, baby.  Try moving up *real*
slowly."  Blair cooperated, and Jim reached down to make sure his
spent cock was still slick enough to slip out of Blair as easily as
possible.  It was.  Blair groaned a bit at the final tug of separation. 
Keeping him gathered close, Jim turned them on their sides, letting
Blair bring his legs together again.

     "It felt so good.  It's worth being a little sore for that."

     "Being with you like this...it was the most amazing moment of
my life, baby.  Like making love for the first time."

     "For me too," Blair pulled back, looking into Jim's eyes.  "If this
is making love, I definitely never did it before tonight," he said quietly,
feeling tears burn his eyes.  "I love you so much right now it scares
me."

     "I feel so close to you," Jim added, kissing Blair's forehead. 
"You've always been a part of me, but now...it's like you're really the
other half of my body, as well as my soul."

     "Me too."  Blair wrapped his arms tightly around Jim's body,
burying his face against his lover's warm, damp flesh.  "You're my life,
Jim.  My everything."

     "And you're mine.  The center of my universe.  Everything
revolves around this one beautiful man," Jim whispered against Blair's
ear.

     "We did it," Blair said sleepily, a sense of accomplishment in
his voice.

     "There's nothing we can't do together, Chief."  Jim held his
lover close and kissed him thoroughly. 

     "I'm sorry I took so long to be ready."

     "You were well worth the wait, baby."  

     "I only could do it because...you were so...perfect.  You really
took care of me, Jim.  I felt...safe.  And I could relax."

     "You're the most precious thing in my life, Blair.  I'll always
take care of you."  Jim smiled against Blair's curls and kissed his
forehead again.  "Feel like you could sleep a little?"

     "Mmhm," Blair murmured, already halfway there.

     Jim assessed his situation briefly.  He was too warm, his equally
hot, sweaty partner was plastered to his side, and he was sticky.  With a
big grin on his face, he settled in for a nap.  He'd never felt better in his
life.

********

     The next time Blair opened his eyes, it was still dark in the loft,
but there was a soft, dancing gold light in the room.  He raised up on
one elbow, both disappointed not to find Jim and curious to know what
his lover was up to.  

     There were two fat candles in holders on the dresser, their
flames dancing merrily.  Soft music wafted up from the stereo
downstairs.  Blair sat up and groaned a little, then smiled as he thought
of Starsky's words--that he'd find lots of reasons to stand for a few days.
//Wise words from Dad,// he thought, shaking his head and wincing as
he stuck a couple pillows behind his back and reclined.  What he really
wanted right now was Jim, so he patiently waited there in the bed,
figuring his partner had some romantic surprise in mind when he lit the
candles.   

     After thirty minutes passed with no sound from downstairs,
Blair climbed out of bed and found his robe.  Descending the stairs, he
called out to Jim, but got no reply.  Suddenly, the dancing light of the
candles was nothing but eerie, and there seemed to be an unfriendly
shape in every shadow.  Blair moved to the light switch in the kitchen
and dispelled the gloom.

     Nothing was out of place.  The candles were the only change in
the loft's usual appearance. 

     The bathroom door was ajar, and candlelight flickered in that
room as well through the crack in the door.  Taking a deep breath, Blair
moved toward it and pushed the door open slowly.  Two candles sat on
the back of the toilet tank, giving the room its spooky dancing
shadows.  What would have been romantic with Jim was beginning to
feel like something out of a late-night horror movie without him.  

     Blair turned on the bathroom light and blew out the two
candles.  If Jim had started this as some sort of romantic surprise, he
would have shown himself by now.  Furthermore, he'd have never left
his lover sleeping, unaware, in an apartment full of lit candles.  Jim
was nothing if he wasn't careful about basic safety issues.

     He flipped off the bathroom light and walked into his old room. 
He let out an involuntary scream when he noticed a form on the bed. 
He flattened himself against the wall, his heart pounding, when he saw
what it was.  Jennifer's corpse, dressed in a black lace nightgown, lay
atop the bedspread, her hands folded over her waist.  The incision from
the autopsy made a horrendous contrast with her blue-white skin, as did
a number of other odd, blackish marks that must have been knife
wounds from the murder.  He ventured a closer look at her face, which
was white and lifeless, her black hair and dark lashes standing out
sharply against the pallor of death.

     Blair tried to breathe, or speak, but no air seemed to move
through his constricted throat.  The sight in front of him was so
atrocious that he couldn't bear it and yet couldn't look away from it.  To
his horror, he noticed that the bluish fingers held a small piece of paper
with his name written on it in bright red ink.
     
     //She's dead.  She isn't going to reach up and grab you because
you get closer to her,// Blair reasoned with himself. //Not with your
bare hands, dummy,// the voice of reason interjected. //Fingerprints.// 

     He found a kleenex in a box on the dresser and used it to
carefully pluck the note from her dead fingers.  He could smell the
rancid odor of death in the air when he approached the corpse, and
realized it was probably rapidly warming up in the cozy loft after
having been artificially preserved in the refrigerated storage of the
morgue. 

     Carefully opening the note with the kleenex, he read the
dreaded message, printed neatly in the same red ink as his name:  

     "Someone to keep you company now that your lover's gone."

     Blair dropped the note and rushed into the bathroom just in
time to empty his stomach in a violent wave of vomiting.  Pausing only
long enough to swish out his mouth with a handful of water, Blair
staggered to the phone in the kitchen and dialed Simon's number.  He
had no idea what time it was, but prayed the captain was putting in a
late night.

     "Banks," came the familiar voice over the line.  Blair almost
collapsed with relief.

     "Simon, it's Blair."

     "What's wrong?"  he asked immediately.

     "Jim...he's gone...and there's...a...a...Jennifer...she's here."

     "Jennifer?  What are you talking about, Sandburg?"  When there
was no reply, Simon probed, "Are you all right?"

     "Jim's gone," he repeated.
     
     "Blair, listen to me.  Are you alone in the apartment?"

     "Yes."

     "Are you sure?"

     "Yes."

     "Sit tight.  I'll be right there."

     Blair dropped the phone back on the counter and braced himself
on the cool counter top.  Slater was dead, Maxwell was dead...that only
left Sherman.  Swallowing hard, Blair picked up the phone and dialed
the number for the hotel where Hutch was staying.  After getting no
answer in his room, he called the hospital.  The front desk refused to
ring Starsky's room after midnight, which made Blair finally notice that
it was, in fact, one in the morning.  They did, however, agree to page
him, since he was a police officer and Blair said it was a police
emergency.  Within moments, Hutch was on the line.

     "Blair, what is it?"

     "Jim's gone.  It has to be Sherman.  He left Jennifer here."

     "Jennifer?  Your student worker?"

     "Her body," Blair said, glancing back at the shadowy bedroom,
half expecting to see the dead woman standing in the doorway.

     "Have you called this in?"

     "I talked to Simon.  But you know more about Sherman.  He has
Jim.  There's a note, and I don't know what to do--it says Jim is my
lover, and we're not out, and if Simon and everyone sees it, and then
we'll be out and Jim didn't have a chance to know--"

     "Blair, calm down.  I know you're upset, but you've got to get a
hold of yourself.  If that note is evidence, left by the kidnapper, you
leave it right where it is."

     "I handled it with a kleenex.  But I was upstairs, and I'm in my
robe and the body's on my bed and they're gonna know I was in Jim's
room and--"

     "I'm on my way, Blair.  Don't worry about 'outing' yourselves
here.  We've got bigger problems."

     "I don't' wanna 'out' Jim.  I don't care...  I want everybody to
know..."

     There was a click and the line went dead.  Blair wasn't sure if
Hutch hung up or if the line had been cut.  He felt some marginal relief
at the sounds of the sirens.  Within minutes, there was a banging on the
front door.

     "Sandburg!"  Simon's voice cut through the haze that seemed to
surround Blair's brain.  He moved to the door and opened it, letting the
captain and a blur of other cops into the apartment.  Realizing he was
naked except for his robe, Blair drew it tightly around himself, and
absurdly felt that somehow every cop coming in the door would be able
to tell immediately that he'd just made love with Jim a few hours
earlier. //God, Jim, I'm so sorry to out you this way.  I should have
destroyed that note...  And here I am, wandering around naked in a
bathrobe, having just crawled out of your bed while there's a corpse in
mine...  No way to cover this now...//

     "It's in my room," Blair said quietly to Simon, who led the way
through the French doors while Blair stayed in the kitchen.  The
lingering sensations of his encounter with Jim were breaking his heart. 
Never in his life had he felt closer to anyone, or needed to be in
anyone's arms more than he needed to be with Jim right now.  He
ached from the separation that had come at the cruelest possible time.

     "Blair?"  Hutch's voice startled him from behind.

     "It's in the other room there," he said, gesturing toward the
room where all the noise and commotion were going on.

     Hutch joined the other cops, and Blair saw Rafe and another
detective heading toward the stairs.  He closed his eyes, holding his
robe more tightly around himself as he stood in the kitchen, feeling like
having outsiders poking around the bedroom wasn't much different
than having them there to watch the lovemaking itself.  The rumpled,
stained sheets...God alone knew where their clothes, underwear and the
lube hand ended up.  It had been the most beautiful, intimate, defining
moment of Blair's life, and now it was going to be reduced to crime
scene information and crude jokes in the break room.

     "Blair?"  

     Blair spun around at the sound of his father's voice.  Starsky
was making his way slowly from the open apartment door to the
kitchen.  He was dressed in jeans and a sweater, with his jacket on one
arm firmly and draped around the side where his arm was still in a
sling to favor his healing gunshot wound.

     "How...shouldn't you be in the hospital?"  Blair asked weakly. 
He'd never been as glad to see anyone in his life, but he knew this kind
of stress, not to mention the cold, rainy night air, wasn't good for his
still-recuperating father.

     "Hutch wouldn't let me come, so I took matters into my own
hands.  Been doin' that for years," Starsky added, smiling a little as he
approached Blair.  "I thought you might need a little moral support." 
He slid his arm around Blair's shoulders.  "It's gonna be okay, kid. 
We'll find him."

     "What if--"

     "Hey, don't get started on those."  He gave Blair's shoulders a
little squeeze.  "They don't lead anywhere productive."

     "We just...  I was asleep...  And then the candles..."

     "Okay.  Why don't we sit on the couch and you tell me what
happened, huh?"

     "They're upstairs."

     "Who?  You mean the cops?"  He watched as Blair nodded. 
"You and Jim...before all this happened...?"  

     "Everything upstairs is still all...messy.  But there are candles
up there too...so maybe whoever it was got up there, so I couldn't keep
'em out and Jim isn't out at work, and now he is."

     "This isn't your fault, Blair.  It's just terrible timing.  What do
you drink to calm you down?  Some kind of herbal stuff, isn't it?  Hutch
consumes that dishwater by the gallon."  

     "It's over here," Blair moved toward a canister on the counter
and found a tea bag, but seemed confused about what to do with it.

     "You get the cup, I'll boil the water, huh?"

     "Everybody'll want coffee...not this stuff."

     "Everybody can make their own."  Starsky turned on the water
in the sink and stuck the teapot under it, filling it and then setting the
pot aside to turn off the water with his good arm.  He felt a little shaky
yet, but not too bad.  Blair was obviously very close to being in shock,
and someone had to pay a little attention to his needs in the middle of
all the chaos of crime lab people and swarming cops.

     Setting the water on to boil, Starsky left Blair staring somewhat
vacantly at the tea bag and joined the pandemonium in what used to be
Blair's bedroom.  

     "How in the hell did they get that corpse out of the morgue?" 
Starsky challenged, startling his partner more than anyone else in the
room.

     "Starsk, what in the hell are you doing out of the hospital?" 
Hutch shot back angrily.

     "If she can make a trip across town, I sure as hell can."  He
jerked his head toward the dead woman.  "What I want to know is what
kind of drive up window you've got at the morgue that some flake was
able to steal the body of a murder victim?"  he asked Simon angrily.

     "Apparently someone showed up with all the right paperwork,
and the M.E.'s office released the body, thinking it was going to the
funeral director.  I signed off on it earlier today--to release her body to
her family for burial, so everything seemed in order."

     "This is a bit advanced for Sherman to pull off," Hutch
commented, hoping to deflect a little of the mounting argument.  The
whistle of the teapot startled everyone in the room with the dead
woman.  

     "I'll be back," Starsky said, returning to the kitchen.  Blair had
the tea bag in a mug, but that was as far as he'd gotten.  Starsky poured
the hot water over it, and Blair bobbed the tea bag up and down in a
mechanical motion.  "Bring it over to the couch and take the load off,
huh?"  

     "Is it Sherman doing this?"

     "I don't think so.  He's not that smart."  Starsky sat next to Blair
for a moment.  Rafe and the other detective were heading downstairs
now, having snapped photos of the candles on the dresser and then
wrapped them and the holders for evidence.  Blair seemed to shrink
down in the cushions, his eyes averted to the floor as the two men
passed by them and set their evidence on the kitchen table, stopping to
talk with Simon, who had emerged from the bedroom to let the
forensics people do their work.

     "I just want to find Jim," Blair said softly, sipping at his hot tea.

     "I know.  So do I.  So do all of them.  We'll find him."

     "If he doesn't come back...  I can't live without him," Blair said
firmly, with such conviction that it made a chill run up and down
Starsky's spine.  Perhaps because he knew the feeling only too well. 
He'd faced losing Hutch on more than one occasion, and never had he
believed he'd last long if the worst happened.

     "Jim's a tough customer.  He won't go down easy.  Just keep the
faith."  Starsky squeezed his son's shoulder, wishing he could say
something that would make the younger man feel better.  Starsky
couldn't honestly think of too much that could be more humiliating
than having all of Jim's co-workers trudging around the apartment, two
of them examining the bedroom, following the first time the two men
made love for real.  If it had been anything remotely similar to one of
his encounters with Hutch, there were clothes and underwear all over
the place, lube dropped in some strange spot, and big nasty wet
splotches on the sheets.  "I'm not going anywhere until Jim's back, safe
and sound.  I won't take off and leave you stranded, Blair.  I promise." 
Starsky reached up and rested his hand on the back of Blair's head a
moment.  "You're not alone, kiddo.  I'm right here."

     "I'm really glad," Blair managed, shivering a little and taking
another drink of his tea.  

     "Tea helpin' a little?"

     "Yeah, I feel a little better.  But I don't think it's the tea.  I'm real
glad you're here, Dad."  Blair glanced at the other man, still uncertain
how his use of the parental title outside of the hospital would be
received.  He was greeted with a bright smile. 

     "I think I'm gonna like that title."

     "Blair?"  Simon entered the room and sat on the end of the other
couch.  "I need to ask you some questions."

     "Okay--but what about Jim?"

     "We've got an APB out on Jim, and all the wheels are in motion
to search for him as a missing person.  I'll be supervising the case
myself.  But for now, I need you to tell me exactly what happened here
tonight."
     
     "I woke up, and there were candles on the dresser.  I thought
Jim had put them there--"

     "In your room?"  Simon asked, frowning.  Blair realized then
that there were candles in his old bedroom as well as upstairs.

     "It's okay, Blair.  Just tell the story, and don't worry about it,"
Starsky reassured, squeezing Blair's shoulder.

     "I was in bed...upstairs," Blair said softly, not sure why it
mattered anymore.  Rafe and the other detective had seen everything. 
Nothing was sacred anymore.  "I was sleeping, and when I woke up,
Jim was gone, and there were candles--"
     
     "You were in bed with Jim before?"  Simon asked, still looking
a bit stunned.

     "Jim and I are...together.  We just got together...after I was
found."

     "When were you two planning on mentioning this
development?"

     "Maybe after this case was wrapped up...I don't know for sure."

     "I thought you needed to know what happened here tonight?" 
Starsky interjected pointedly.  

     "You woke up and..."  Simon prompted, shooting Starsky a
slightly venomous look.  Blair's father was undeterred, and met it
unwaveringly.

     "There were two candles on the dresser.  I thought maybe Jim
was downstairs, so I just waited.  For like, half an hour.  When he didn't
come back, and I didn't hear anything downstairs, I went down to check
things out.  That's when I found Jennifer."  Blair took a deep breath.  "I
turned on the kitchen light, and then one in the bathroom before I went
into my room.  When I first came down, everything was just in candle
light.  The note was tucked between her first and second fingers, and I
pulled it out with a tissue so I didn't destroy fingerprints."

     "You didn't hear anything before that?"

     "No.  I was sleeping really soundly."  Blair took another drink
of his tea, grateful to his father for helping him make it.  His shattered
nerves seemed a bit steadier.  Whether that was the tea or Starsky's
presence or some magic combination of both elements, Blair wasn't
sure.

     "Well, Jennifer's body was stolen from the morgue about nine
p.m.  You discovered this whole mess about...when?"

     "Must've been about 12:45.   It was almost one when I called
you and then called the hospital to find Hutch.  I got sick when I saw
Jenny...it took me a couple minutes to get to the phone."

     "When did you go to sleep?"

     "We must've been asleep by about eight," Blair answered,
feeling the hot flush creep up into his cheeks.  He ran a hand through
his disheveled hair.  Just then, the gurney bearing Jennifer's bagged
body made its way through the front door, en route to the morgue, yet
again.

     "Do you have somewhere else to stay tonight?"  Simon asked,
flipping his notepad closed.  He felt two penetrating eyes on him, and
looking up, saw Starsky studying him intently.  The unspoken question
in those eyes seemed to be "Would you be talking to him like any other
witness if you hadn't just found out he was sleeping with Jim?  Is that
why you aren't offering him any option of staying with you?"  But
Starsky spoke up, breaking the silence, and the speculation.

     "Someone has to be here if there's a call about Jim.  Hutch and
I'll stay here with Blair.  We should have a couple back up units
watching the building."

     "Thanks for the tip," Simon shot back, rising to stand.  "We
have to get the monitoring equipment hooked up to the phone line and
have a couple men here to man that.  Shouldn't you be in the hospital?"

     "I'll be all right.  I want to be with my son."

     "We're getting the equipment hooked up, and then we'll show
you how to take a call, Blair."  Simon headed toward the kitchen table,
where the technician had his supplies spread out to work.

     "Do you want to lie down or something?"  Blair asked Starsky. 
"I could clean things up upstairs, so you could get some sleep."

     "I can catch a nap on the couch in a while if I need it.  I've been
in bed for two weeks, Blair.  I don't mind being up a while."

     "Are you fucking out of your mind?"  Hutch asked through
clenched teeth as he joined them in the living room.  "Do you have a
death wish?"

     "No, and no," Starsky responded calmly.  "I wanted to be with
my son, and since you were too damned pig-headed to give me a ride
here, I caught a cab.  End of story."

     "I don't think your son wants you to pop open your incision and
end up in ICU again."

     "He's right.  It's too risky--"

     "Blair, he's mother-henning.  He does it all the time.  After
thirty years of being friends with this turkey, I'm used to it.  I'm not
going to pop anything by being here."

     "I never should have left you any clothes.  Of course, having no
pants never stopped you from walking out of the hospital before."

     "And it wouldn't'a stopped me tonight either.  Now what's the
status of things?"

     "Well, forensics is dusting everything in sight for fingerprints,
they're gathering up all the physical evidence.  You know they've got
the APB out for Jim, and beyond that...they'll haul it all back to the lab
and analyze it."

     "Blair?  Can I talk to you for a second?"  Rafe motioned to him
from the front door of the apartment.

     "Sure.  Excuse me," he said to the other two men and joined
Rafe in the doorway.

     "We checked things out down by Jim's truck.  His keys were in
the ignition, and there were a few groceries in a bag on the seat--actually, 
there was a bottle of champagne and strawberries and
whipped cream.  If I could have stashed all of that in my coat, I would
have, but I did get this.  I didn't think forensics needed to bag and
analyze it."  Rafe produced from beneath his jacket a somewhat
beleaguered single red rose attached to a large envelope which looked
and felt like it contained a greeting card of some sort.  Blair's name was
written in Jim's handwriting on the front of it.

     "Thank you," Blair said quietly, accepting the items as if they
were the rarest treasures.

     "Maybe you should take it upstairs before Banks spots it."

     "I will.  Thanks again, Rafe."

     "Anytime, pal."  The other man smiled and hurried back
downstairs.  Blair took his treasures with him and headed quickly up to
the bedroom.

     "Let him be for a few minutes," Hutch said as his partner
followed Blair's hasty trip upstairs with concerned eyes.  "He knows
you're here for him."

     "The timing on this couldn't have been worse."  Starsky sighed. 
"Poor kid didn't even have time to put things away upstairs before half
of Ellison's colleagues were trailing through the bedroom."

     "Swell."  Hutch leaned back in the cushions of the couch.  "I
guess Ellison's out now, whether he knows it or not."

     "I guess this is my introduction to the part of being a parent that
sucks--seeing your kid hurting and having no fucking way to make it
any better."

     "I think having you here makes a big difference, babe."

     "We've both been where he is.  And that's an ache nothing can
help.  It's a big hole in your guts that nothing fills except getting your
partner back."

     Blair sat on the rumpled bed and lightly touched the wilted
petals of the red rose.  He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent, and
imagined Jim waking him up with it, seeing that beautiful, soft smile
that Jim saved just for him.  He curled up on the side of the bed with
his head on the pillow that still held a trace of Jim's aftershave.  With
the rose on the pillow next to him, he opened the card.  The front was
plain white with the red outlines of two hearts overlapping.  The
message "I Love You" was printed on it in the same red color.  There
was no printed verse inside, only Jim's writing:

     "Do you know how beautiful you are when you're sleeping?  I
want to go to sleep with you every night and wake up with you every
morning for the rest of my life.  I love you, and more.  It goes beyond
love to something I don't have words for.  Tonight was perfect...just
like you.      Love, Jim"

     Blair held the open card against his heart and gave in to his
tears, sobbing into the pillow to try to muffle the sound.  If this was
what a broken heart felt like, it was the most painful wound possible.

******
     
     The forensics team had finally completed their work, and the
cops had dispersed back to headquarters to get to work on the case.  It
was almost dawn, and Starsky had finally succumbed to his partner's
urgings that he lie down and rest for a while.  The muffled sounds of
crying had carried down from the loft for a long time before they
quieted, and now Hutch saw a puffy-eyed, sheepish-looking Blair come
downstairs, still in his robe, carrying some fresh clothes and heading
toward the bathroom.  

     "Is he okay?"  he whispered to Hutch, nodding toward Starsky,
who was sound asleep on the couch, covered with the throw.

     "He's fine.  Sleeping like a baby," Hutch whispered back.  "Are
you okay?"

     "Yeah.  I'm gonna get dressed and go downtown for a while.
Judging by the note I found, I really don't think anybody's going to call,
and Simon's leaving a couple guys here to watch the phone anyway.
Think he's up to that?"

     "Try to stop him," Hutch responded, smiling and shaking his
head.  Blair returned a small smile and headed into the bathroom.

******** 

     "As near as we can tell, Jim must have made a late-night run to
the grocery store, picked up a few things, and headed back toward the
loft.  He made it to the parking lot near the apartment, got out of the
truck, and was grabbed as he was taking the grocery bag off the seat." 
Simon paced near his windows while Blair, Starsky and Hutch listened,
seated around the conference table.  

     "Whoever did the grabbing had to be pretty strong, and
accomplished.  Jim knows just about every move in the book," Blair
responded.  

     "There was no blood in the area, which eliminates the use of a
gun or knife, which is a good thing."

     "He could have been hit from behind," Starsky added.  "Doesn't
matter how good you are if someone knocks you out first."

     "He would have heard someone sneaking up on him," Blair
said, obviously preoccupied.  In the silence that followed that
statement, he realized how flimsy it sounded.  "I just mean that Jim's
very alert.  It would have taken someone really outstanding to be able
to sneak up on him."

     "Not that this isn't understandable, but I think you've got Jim
elevated to superhuman status here, Blair.  He can't see and hear
everything."  Hutch took another drink of his coffee.

     "He's better at it than most, that much is true," Simon added in
Blair's defense.  There was no way to explain to their guests how
unlikely it was that anyone *could* sneak up on Jim.

     "Well, I wish we could stay on and work the case, but--"

     "But nothing," Starsky interrupted his partner.  "We're staying. 
That's final."

     "You belong at home in bed."

     "I *belong* right where I am at the moment.  I can take some
naps at the hotel.  I'll be fine."

     "Hutch is probably right," Blair spoke up.  "I don't want to see
you endanger your recovery.  Jim wouldn't want that either."

     "I don't plan to overdo it.  But I'm not going back to LA until
this is settled.  We worked the Slater case before, we had some contact
with the degenerate who might be behind this."

     "You said this was too advanced for Sherman," Simon
countered.

     "It is.  I was thinking more along the lines of Mantego."

     "Rudy Mantego?"  Simon frowned.

     "Slater used to do a little muscle work for him.  Maxwell and
Sherman picked up a few extra bucks that way once in a while too.  So
maybe this whole thing has to do with Mantego having it in for Jim or
Blair.  Has Ellison ever had any contacts with Mantego or one of his
people?"  Hutch asked.

     "Not to my knowledge.  I thought you went through all his old
case files," Simon turned to Blair.

     "Jim and I went through all of them, and I entered anyone he
considered a possible into a database.  I don't recall Mantego being in
there, and since his name's come up before, I would have
remembered."

     There was a knock at the door, and Rhonda poked her head
inside the office. 

     "Captain Banks, Mrs. and Mrs. Theisen are here to see you. 
Their attorney is with them."

     "Shit," Simon muttered, letting out a puff of breath.  "Tell them
I'll be with them in a moment."  Simon waited as she nodded and
backed out the door, closing it again.  "Lawsuit.  I knew it."  

     "Maybe I could talk to them," Blair volunteered.  

     "Couldn't hurt.  Why don't you sit in on the meeting?"

     "Sure.  But how long is it gonna take?  I want to do
*something* on Jim's case."

     "The whole department is doing something on Jim's case,
Sandburg.  We've essentially turned Cascade upside down and are in
the process of shaking it.  I have every available cop--and a few called
in off vacation--following up any minor lead we can generate.  We're
doing everything we can.  Now I would like to turn you two loose to
track down Mantego and see what he's up to.  I'll give the word that you
have full access to our records--if you can find a link between Jim and
Mantego we missed before, we might have something to go on."

     "Will do," Starsky replied, rising with some difficulty.  Hutch
was at his side in a flash.  "I'm fine."

     "You're going back to the hotel to rest.  I'll follow up--"

     "Hutch, dammit, I'm fine.  Quit hovering.  I just got a little
fuzzy for a minute."

     "He's right.  You need your rest.  Please don't set yourself back. 
Jim would say the same thing if he were standing here," Blair said to
his father, who seemed to pause to listen to him.  

     "You have an empty cell in lock-up?"  Starsky asked.

     "Oh for God's sake," Hutch snapped.

     "I meant one that was by itself, like a holding cell.  All I need is
to rest for a couple hours.  Then I could get back in the action."

     "I can come up with something better than that.  The chief's on
vacation.  His secretary can let you into his private waiting room.  He
has a big leather sofa in there.  Her name's Justine.  Just tell her Simon
sent you up."

     "Justine, huh?"  Starsky repeated, grinning a little. 

     "We've gone out a few times," Simon said with a dismissive
gesture.

     "I'll tell Justine you said 'hi'." 

     "You do that."  

     "You're crazy," Hutch said to his partner, shaking his head. 
"You were in ICU ten days ago."

     "And now I'm not.  Rhonda knows the way upstairs?"  Starsky
asked Simon.

     "Sure.  She'll be glad to take you up."

     "I bet she will," Hutch muttered under his breath as he opened
the door for his partner to pass through into the bullpen.

********

     Blair unlocked the door to the loft and went inside to find the
same two detectives playing cards at the kitchen table.  No calls had
been received.  Starsky and Hutch had retreated to their hotel for some
much needed rest.  Blair had turned down their offer to stay at the loft
with thanks, figuring that the movement of the round the clock
detectives and his own restless ruminations would probably keep his
father awake most of the night, even if he fixed up the upstairs
bedroom for them.  Plus, he wasn't sure how comfortable they were
being that much of a couple in front of the police personnel who were
coming and going.

     Not really regretting the absence of guests as he was too tired to
make conversation, Blair fell into the cushions of the couch to open his
mail.

     "I hope you guys have been helping yourselves to the food," he
said to the two cops at the table.

     "Yeah, we have, thanks," the older of the two men answered.  

     "Nothing all day, huh?"  Blair asked, his face scrunching in
confusion as he pulled a large manilla envelope out of the pile that was
addressed to him.  It must contain something important, he reasoned,
since there was a stiff backing, probably cardboard, inside of it.

     "Nothing at all," the same cop answered.  "You got a couple
calls from students.  Their numbers are on the counter by the phone."

     "Thanks," Blair responded a bit absently as he pulled a manilla
folder out of the envelope.  He flipped open the cover and felt his
whole sense of reality and consciousness spinning away.

     He was greeted with an 8x10 glossy color photo of an elaborate
and expensive mahogany casket, lined with a rich cream-colored
velvet.  A spray of roses decorated the closed lower half, and in the
upper half, dressed in a dark suit, white shirt and tie, face composed in
the serenity of death, was Jim.

     The scream that rose up from Blair's soul died in his throat as
everything went black.

********

     Jim fought the lethargy he felt and finally opened his eyes. 
Looking around, he found the opposite of what he expected.  He knew
someone had gotten the drop on him, and vaguely remembered
knowing he was being moved against his will.  But instead of coming
to on the floor of a basement or a warehouse or locked in the trunk of
someone's car, he found himself tucked comfortably into a large, soft
bed made up with the finest of sheets and a fluffy blue comforter.  The
room itself looked as if it were in an old house, with plenty of ornate,
polished woodwork, long windows and vintage furnishings.

     All of which unnerved him far more than if he'd come to in one
of the less desirable locations.  

     He moved his limbs, relieved to find none of them broken.  His
head was a bit foggy from what must have been a monstrous slug of
sedatives, but otherwise, he was uninjured.  He pulled himself into a
sitting position in the ornate canopy bed and looked around the room
more carefully.  It was definitely a woman's room--every detail carrying
out the Victorian theme to perfection, right down to the little glass
perfume bottles with the squeeze pumps on the dresser.

     He focused every sense on trying to ascertain, first, if Blair was
in this house anywhere.  His hearing detected no trace of the familiar
heartbeat, and his nose no trace of his mate's scent.  Nothing.  But there
was someone else in the house, moving about on the first floor.

     Judging by the lighting in the room, it was night.  A few antique
lamps lent a soft glow to his surroundings.  Getting up stealthily, he
moved toward the window.  He caught sight of his reflection in the
mirror. //At least they didn't dress me up in some God-forsaken
nineteenth century men's nightie,// he thought, taking in his reflection
in the simple suit of sweats. //Stocking feet aren't ideal for climbing
trees, but I'll just have to make do.  Now if there's just a damn tree
somewhere near this window...//

     "Shit," he muttered, pulling back the drapes to come face to
face with solid brick.

     Footsteps on the stairs jerked his attention to the door of the
room. //I could play 'possum and then spring up,// Jim mused, moving
quietly toward the bed. //Son of a bitch probably heard the fucking
floorboards and that's why he's here.  And the goddamn door's in the
corner of the room, so if I stand behind it, it won't open all the way. 
Don't know how much firepower I'm dealing with...// Deciding to face
his captor without subterfuge--at least for now--Jim waited as the door
lock clicked and the knob turned.

     "I see you're awake."  A man of medium height with gray hair
and glasses stood in the doorway.  Dressed in a shirt and cardigan
sweater, the man could have been a buddy of his father's.  

     "What is this?"  Jim gestured irritatedly at his surroundings. 
"Who the hell are you?"

     "Dominic Mantego.  Ring any bells?"

     "You're some relation to Rudy Mantego?"

     "My son.  You probably never heard of my beautiful daughter,
Irene, have you?"

     "Ah, no, I can't say I have.  What does this have to do with me
anyway?"

     "Almost nothing, unfortunately.  You're just a means to an end. 
It's your little hippie faggot lover I'm after."

     "If you've touched Blair, I swear to God I'll kill you with my
bare hands."

     "Quite a threat coming from a man looking down the barrel of a
.45," the older man retorted, smiling and releasing the safety on the gun
he was pointing at Jim.  "Trust me, the pleasure is all yours.  I have no
desire to touch him.  He's just fine.  Well, a bit distressed, probably, but
I didn't harm him."  He laughed humorlessly.  "I'll never understand
what a man gets out of playing grab ass with his own kind.  What is it? 
All that long hair?  The earrings?"

     "Leave Blair out of this.  Obviously this has something to do
with me or I wouldn't be here."

     "Well, I tried to deal with your boyfriend directly, but you
managed to ride in on your white horse and rescue him.  Then it
occurred to me that perhaps I was going about it all wrong.  Sending
goons out to slap him around was pointless.  If I wanted to hit him
where it really hurt, my best route was via one Detective James J.
Ellison, Cascade PD.  I never expected you to step into my trap so
easily.  Nocturnal run to the store from champagne and strawberries.  I
thought that only happened in cheap romance novels."

     "Why are you after Blair anyway?"

     "My daughter, Irene, was one of his students a few years back. 
Her last name was Palmer.  My wife took back her maiden name and
changed Irene's name after we were divorced.  I got custody of Rudy,
and she took Irene--well, until Irene turned 18, and then she decided to
come back to live with me."  He gestured toward an ornate chair near
where Jim stood.  "You might as well take the load off.  You're not
going anywhere."

     "If you pursue whatever thing it is you're planning, you're going
up for the rest of your life, you know that, don't you?"

     "Well, they have to catch me first.  And even then, what do I
care?  Ten years in the can and I'll be dead anyway."  He waved the gun
at Jim.  "I said, sit down."  Reluctantly, Jim sat, as did his captor, in a
similar chair much handier to the door.

     "So you're planning to kill me to get at Blair for...what? 
Flunking your daughter?"

     "It's a bit more complex than that.  Irene was only 19 when she
met your Mr. Sandburg.  If it weren't for him, she'd be alive today."

     "You hold Blair responsible somehow for your daughter's
death?"

     "Very good, detective.  You catch on fast."

     "If you'd like to cut to the chase here, I wouldn't object."

     "My daughter was in love with your boyfriend, and he treated
her so badly that she lapsed into a deep depression and ultimately took
her own life.  Right here in this room, as a matter of fact."

     "I'm sorry for your loss, but killing numerous innocent people is
no great tribute to her memory."

     "Don't lecture *me*.  Lecture that dingbat, Slater.  That was
Rudy's idea.  Wes Slater's out of the looney bin.  Have him do the job." 
The old man rolled his eyes.  "Take my advice--never hire a lunatic. 
They're not very reliable."

     "Thanks for the tip," Jim mumbled sarcastically.

     "The point is, what Slater tacked onto this job was his doing. 
And in a way, it worked pretty well.  Everyone was out there hunting
for Slater, and even after he was eliminated, the cops were still chasing
their tails looking for that half-wit, Sherman, that he used to hang
around with.  He's living in Florida with some sleazy little stripper in a
house trailer under the name of Mel Schultz.  As far as I know, if he's
been a bad boy, it's been misdemeanor shit--nothing impressive.  His
only claim to fame was that he was good at burying bodies--literally. 
The stupid bastard would dispose of *anything* without questioning it,
and the cops usually didn't find it.  I often thought he was one of
those...what do you call them?  Savants?  Total idiot good at one
thing?"

     "Is this leading somewhere special or are we just bonding?"

     "You're not going anywhere, so you might as well relax.  Let me
fill you in on the set-up.  If you should overpower me and make a break
for the nearest exit, you'll set off an alarm as soon as you open the door. 
The grounds are guarded by two Dobermans I feed very infrequently,
and the gates, front and back, are guarded by a couple oversized goons
I feed a lot oftener but it hasn't improved their dispositions.  So if you'd
like to dazzle us with your Covert Ops escape training, feel free to give
it a shot.  I had hoped to keep you alive a while, for a variety of
reasons, but if you end up getting a leg mangled by one of the dogs, or
one of the guards shoot you in the head, well, que sera."

     "How did you figure Blair was responsible for Irene's death?"

     "She was in love with him.  He led her on and then jilted her. 
She tried repeatedly to reconcile with him, to renew the relationship,
and he rejected her over and over again until she hung herself from that
light fixture right there.  See the rope up around the top?"  He pointed
up without looking upward himself.  Jim indulged in one quick glance
at it.  The length of rope with the frayed end was nothing less than
chilling.

     "You never talked to Blair about his side of things, I suppose."

     "You suppose right.  He's the worst kind of user--using his
position to get favors from his female students and then dumping them
when he's had his fun."

     "You son of a--"

     "Don't make the mistake of leaping to his defense.  I don't have
any problem with blowing your kneecaps off."

     "So what do you plan to do about it?"

     "Well, we're going to let Mr. Sandburg enjoy the suspense a
while.  You know, it's very touching about him finding his father.  
After I'm through with you, I may have to pay him a visit.  As for you,
you can expect to live another week or so.  By then, you'll have
outlived your usefulness to me."  He rose from his chair.  "Well, I
better be going.  You know, mahogany really suited you," he
commented, smiling slightly as he moved toward the door, backed out
of it, and pulled it closed, clicking the lock into place.  

********

     Blair opened his eyes slightly, then the rest of the way.  The
first face he saw was Simon's.  

     "Blair?"  he asked hesitantly.  "Do you know where you are?"

     "Jim," Blair said softly, thinking back on the horrendous photo
that had shocked him into what must have been an unconscious state. 
"Jim," he repeated, looking at Simon with desperate eyes.

     "I saw the photo.  You have to understand that there are a
million ways that could have been taken without Jim being dead.  Do
you hear me, Blair?  We have no proof that he's dead."

     "The photo...he was in a casket...he looked--"

     "He looked unconscious.  Drugged, knocked out, maybe even
sleeping and the whole thing's a computer-generated illusion with the
casket.  The lab's working on it now.  I called Serena in to supervise.  I
wanted the best to take that photo apart.  We're not taking this at face
value."  Simon looked up and spoke to one of the detectives who had
been hovering around the kitchen table.  "Get me a glass of water,
huh?"  Simon waited until he had it in hand.  "Come on, Blair, sit up
and shake the cobwebs out.  Take a drink of this."  Simon waited while
Blair complied.  

     "Thanks."  Blair pulled himself up so he was sitting in the
corner of the couch, his knees drawn up, his stocking feet on the
cushion.  "I can't get that picture out of my mind.  Jim...de--"

     "Don't even say it.  It was just a photo.  It could have been
produced in any number of ways."

     "I don't know if I can do this."  Blair let his head droop against
the back of the couch and felt a physical ache wrap around his heart at
the thought of how desperately he needed to feel Jim's arms around
him.  Of how much he'd give just to see his lover smile...  "I'm sorry,
Simon.  Maybe you might as well leave me be for a while.  I'm not
good company."

     "You want me to call Starsky?"

     "No.  He shouldn't even be up and around like he is.  He needs
the rest.  I just..." //...need Jim// his mind supplied, and he felt the
burning of tears behind lids he closed to hide them.

     "Listen, somebody has to spell these guys on phone watch duty. 
Why don't I handle that tonight, and maybe you can teach me your
secret formula for picking those winners at the track, huh?  Just to pass
the time?  I'm going to the track Sunday--"

     "Simon, please, don't."  Blair couldn't hold back the single tear
that slid down his cheek.  "I...I'm sorry.  I just can't...care about
anything right now."  Blair brushed at his cheek.  "Thanks for taking
care of the picture, and bringing me around.  Well, on second thought,
thanks for sending the picture to the lab, anyway.  I'd have preferred to
stay unconscious."  Blair stood up.  "I'm going upstairs for a while.  If
anything happens, you know where to find me."  Blair headed for the
stairs with the weary gait of an elderly man and began his trek to the
loft bedroom.

     Blair crawled up on the bed he'd made earlier and curled up
with Jim's pillow.  He tried to force his brain to come up with some
new plan of action, some approach to finding Jim that no one else had
thought of.  The only other person besides Jim he really wanted to see
now was his father, who not only seemed to know how to say or do
something that made him feel better, but whose first rate brain for
criminal investigation would probably come up with some new angle. 
And if he didn't, his equally expert partner would.  Hutch was quiet, but
still waters ran deep, and what Starsky didn't think of, Hutch did.

     Blair's hand encountered the card he'd stashed under Jim's
pillow earlier.  The rose had been pressed with wax paper into a large
Anthro text, and sat on what was usually Blair's side of the bed, closer
to the wall.

     //Slater snatched me the first time around.  Was he trying to get
at Jim or at me?  Was Mantego pulling his strings?  If he was after me,
why?  What have I done that would be someone's idea of a hanging
offense?// Blair rolled onto his back and stared up at the high ceiling. 
The answer was out there.  Why couldn't he access it?

********

     "Hutch?"

     "Yeah?"

     "You awake?"

     "No," Hutch responded, deadpan.  He heard Starsky's little
chortle.  "Feeling okay, Gordo?"  Hutch asked, a smile evident in his
voice.

     "Yeah.  There's some pain, but nothing new.  Feels good to be
back in the sack with you, babe."

     "I don't know.  We've made do with hospital beds before."

     "I was thinking about Blair."

     "Surprise," Hutch said, an affectionate tone to his voice.

     "We should've stayed with him tonight.  He's gotta feel about as
alone as he can right now."

     "You need some real rest, love.  That much he was right about. 
Not piecemeal sleep between the changing of the shifts and him pacing
the floor half the night."

     "What time is it?"
     
     "Three-thirty."

     "I've been asleep since eight this evening.  That's more sleep
than I usually get."  Starsky hauled himself into a sitting position on the
edge of the bed with a groan.

     "Starsk, come on, get back in bed."

     "Why?  I can't sleep and my kid needs me."

     "I need you for the next twenty or thirty years, you idiot.  If you
keep pushing yourself, you aren't going to be here."

     "I can lie down over there if I feel lousy.  Now do I gotta take a
cab or are you gonna get off that great looking ass of yours and drive
me there?"

     "How can I resist when you turn on the charm that way," Hutch
shot back sarcastically, getting out of bed and turning on a dim lamp in
the hotel room.  He knew the argument was won, and keeping it up was
merely a waste of time.

********

     Simon snatched the phone the moment it rang.  He didn't know
if Blair had managed to fall asleep upstairs or if he was just lying up
there by himself being miserable.  On the outside chance he was
asleep, Simon was all for leaving him that way.

     "Simon, it's Serena Chang.  We've done every conceivable test
on this photo.  It's genuine.  No special effects.  I can't say conclusively
that Jim is alive or dead in the photo, because even blown up several
times its normal size, it just looks like he's sleeping.  His eyes are
definitely closed, but one thing I did notice I thought was a bit peculiar
if he were dead."

     "Which is?"

     "His mouth is open a bit.  Not much, but enough for him to get
some air through it.  I know Jim's complained about his sinuses
sometimes when the weather's damp like this."

     "In other words, 365 days a year."

     "More or less," Serena responded, laughing softly.  "But this
looks like the way someone who's congested breathes when they're
asleep--mouth slightly open.  If he were dead, I think it would be shut
tight."

     "But whoever took the photo might not be that detail-oriented
to make sure it was closed, even if he were dead."

     "True.  Like I said, it's not conclusive, and it's not terribly
obvious, but to me, it looks like he's asleep, and breathing at least
partially through his mouth."

     "Thanks, Serena.  You've put in a long night on this one."

     "It's worth it if it helps.  As far as the casket, Rafe is waking up
every mortician in Cascade to look at a copy of the photo to ID it.  First
thing in the morning, I understand Megan is visiting the local florists to
see if anyone recalls doing the spray, or one like it."

     "I guess I should just hand you the keys to my office right now,
since you've got everything under control there," Simon said good-naturedly.

     "It was Megan's idea.  She and Rafe were hanging out here at
the lab waiting for the results, and she said they were wasting time that
could be spent tracking the casket and the flowers."

     "I think we were all a little too stupefied with this thing to even
think about that."

     "It's bizarre, there's no question about that.  How's Blair?"

     "I don't know.  I think he's sleeping."

     "Tell him we're all pulling for Jim."

     "I will.   Thanks again."  Simon hung up just in time to hear the
soft knock at the door.  Moving toward it, he cursed at the poster that
covered the peephole.  "Who's there?"

     "Starsky and Hutchinson," Hutch's voice came through the door. 
Simon opened it and stepped back to let them in.

     "Sandburg's upstairs.  I don't know if he's sleeping or not."

     "Excuse me," Starsky said, heading for the stairs.

     "Before you go up, you should probably know we received a
little package here earlier.  A photo.  Whatever psycho has Jim took a
picture of him all dressed up in a suit and tie--laid out in a mahogany
casket with a spray of roses on it.

     "Goddammit.  If I ever get my hands on that son of a bitch, I'll
kill him myself.  He'll need the fucking mahogany casket himself."

     "Calm down, Starsk," Hutch said quietly.

     "Calm down my ass!  How would you feel to get a picture of me
like that?  What kind of sick bastard takes somebody's picture in a
casket, huh?"

     "Our lab expert seems to think he's alive--she said it looked like
he was breathing through his mouth in the photo.  Jim has allergies and
occasional sinus problems, so that would fit," Simon explained.

     "I'm going to go check on Blair.  Excuse me," Starsky said,
starting toward the stairs.

     "Take 'em slow," Hutch admonished.

     "Yes, doctor," Starsky responded, making his way slowly up the
stairs to the bedroom.  He saw Blair curled on his side, facing toward
the stairs, his head resting on one pillow while he clutched another
fiercely in both arms.  His face was wet, as was the pillowcase under it.
After a moment, the wet lashes flickered a little, and Blair opened his
eyes.  Starsky sat on the edge of the bed.

     "Dad?"  he said groggily.

     "If you're sleepy, go back to sleep.  I just want you to know I'm
here."  Starsky reached over with a handkerchief and wiped some of
the moisture off Blair's face.

     "Are you okay?"  Blair asked, letting his sore eyes drift shut
again.

     "I'm fine, kid.  Don't you worry about me."  He reached around
and rubbed Blair's back slowly.  "It's going to be okay.  You know, the
lab tech thought it looked like Jim was just sleeping in that photo."

     "Really?" 

     "According to Banks, she thought it looked like he was
breathing through his mouth--I guess it was open a little."

     "Yeah, he's been sort of congested lately.  Oh, God, if that's
true...it *has* to be true."

     "My guess with this psycho would be that if Jim were truly
dead, he wouldn't be sending you scary pictures."

     "Really?"

     "Really."

     "I wish I could make my mind work better.  I know there's gotta
be a reason...something obvious that I'm missing."

     "You're scared shitless, that's why you're not thinking straight. 
You've got to admit it, give into it, let it have its way with you and then
pull yourself together and start thinking like a rational adult again. 
You have to do that for Jim.  And I know you can."

     "I can't live without him.  I don't want to."

     "God, do I know how you feel right now."

     "You usually do."  Blair pulled himself up in a sitting position. 
"It's so funny.  I haven't known you all that long...but it's like we've
always known each other."

     "Maybe it's just an instinct thing--you know, parents and kids? 
You're the anthropologist."

     "Yeah, I guess it's just hard to see when you're so close to it."  
Blair paused.  "I have to say it.  What if he doesn't come back?"

     "Then we'll nail the bastard responsible for it, and pick up the
pieces when we're done."

     "There won't be any pieces left for me," Blair said desolately,
fighting back tears.

     "It's okay to cry when you're scared.  I've done it myself more
times than I like to remember."

     "I'm plenty scared right now," Blair choked out, tears starting to
flow.  Starsky pulled him into a tight one-armed hug.

     "That's it.  Get it out.  It's okay.  You need to let it out so you
can get past it."

     "I want him back," Blair moaned miserably, sobs wracking his
body and he clung to Starsky's good shoulder.

     "I know, kiddo.  I know."  Starsky sighed, regretting the motion
slightly as his still-healing body protested it.  "We're going to get him
back.  Plus, I wouldn't discount Ellison.  With his police experience,
his Covert Ops background...he's a pretty shrewd guy.  He's a survivor."

     "He's not immortal."

     "None of us are, unfortunately.  But he stands a better chance
than most of defending himself, maybe escaping."

     "Last night..."  Blair let the words dangle there, trailing off into
more tears.

     "Your feelings are kind of mixed up and all over the place right
now anyway, huh?  First you have a father pop up out of the blue and
then you're trying to deal with a whole new relationship and way of
living your life.  I remember being where you are now.  If somebody
had ripped Hutch away from me the next day, I'd'a gone nuts."

     "It's my fault."

     "What is?"  Starsky pulled back, truly puzzled at what Blair
could find in all this to blame himself for.

     "He went...to the store to get...champagne...he was going to
surprise me."

     "Did you ask him to go get it?"

     "No."

     "Then there's no way in hell you can twist it to being your fault. 
Anymore than it was his because he tried to plan a surprise for you.  It's
the fault of the psycho who grabbed him.  Nobody else."

     "It was so...embarrassing...Jim's friends coming in and looking
around up here.  I never even thought about that when I called Simon. 
I was so freaked out from seeing Jennifer."

     "Anybody giving you any trouble?"

     "No. Simon seemed a little cooler, but he's trying, I think. 
Rafe...brought me this."  Blair pulled his treasured card out from under
the pillow, but didn't hand it over.  Instead, his ran a finger over his
name where Jim had written it.  "This and a single red rose were on the
ground near the truck.  Rafe figured it was personal and brought it in
for me.  It was."

     "Nothing important to the case?"

     "No.  Just some...personal things Jim said to me.  It hadn't been
opened when Rafe brought it in, so I don't think anybody but me read
it."

     "Good.  Then you know you've got a couple of friends,
anyway."

     "I don't care about it for myself.  You can get away with being a
gay academic.  Being a gay cop..."  Blair shrugged.

     "We were never officially 'out', but everyone knew.  We haven't
been stoned yet.  Jim'll be okay.  He'll have some problems, but he'll do
fine.  So will you."

     "I'm glad you came over tonight."

     "Almost dawn now.  A new day to get to work on tracking this
nutcase.  You going to be up to the job?"  Starsky asked, smiling.

     "I feel a lot better now.  If this is what having a dad is like, I'm
all for the concept."  Blair returned the smile, wiping at his face with
his hand.  "My head feels like a cantaloupe, but other than that..."

     "Blow your nose and put some fresh clothes on, melonhead." 
He patted Blair's leg as he rose.  "We've got work to do."

********

     "Here you go, junior."  Starsky plunked a huge stack of files and
assorted grade books which looked all too familiar to Blair as he sat at
the table in Simon's office.

     "I wrote these stupid things.  What do you want me to go
through them all again for?  They were a dead end."

     "I want you to go through every damn name in there.  I don't
care how trivial it seems.  And if you can't remember them, then I want
you to make a list of the ones you can't remember and then go to the
University and look at photo ID's of the ones on the list."

     "We don't need to worry about looking for Jim at this rate.  He'll
die of old age before I finish this."  Blair pulled out the first grade book
with a sigh.  "Is this busy work to keep me off your back while you
work the case?  Be honest.  Jim doesn't treat me that way and I don't
want to start the pattern now."

     "We never laid eyes on any of these people, Blair," Hutch spoke
up from his seat at the end of the table, where he was sifting through
Jim's case files himself, not leaving anything to computerized chance. 
"If you had a bad relationship with one of these kids, or they were
unbalanced in some way, or had connections--like to Mantego, for
instance--you might recall that from dealing with them."

     "Okay.  The University has all the photo ID's on computer, so I
can go torment Judy in the Registrar's office this afternoon."  Blair
donned his glasses and pored over the first grade book, only writing
down five names out of forty.

     "You remember the rest of those kids?"  Starsky asked, looking
up from the file he was reading with Hutch.

     "I'm an anthropologist.  Studying people is my life.  Sure I
remember them.  Three of the people I wrote down, I didn't get along
with very well, and the other two I don't remember at all, which
probably just means they were no-shows most of the time, or didn't
participate.  They both got D's."

     The three men spent most of the morning sifting through
paperwork before Blair froze in the middle of a grade book.

     "What?"  Hutch noticed the pause in movement.

     "I don't know how I could have overlooked her before.  Or not
remembered.  I guess I was hunting for 'F' grades last time I went
through here.  She got a 'B'."

     "Who is she?"  Hutch persisted.

     "Irene Palmer.  She was one serious head case.  She had some
problems with the class at first, and I tutored her a few times.  She got,
like, totally obsessed with me.  She was calling all the time, leaving
gifts in my office--she even *washed my car* while I was in class."

     "Sounds like a textbook stalker," Starsky commented.

     "Oh, yeah.  And she was *weird*.  I kept expecting her to
announce that if she couldn't have me, no one could and carve me up
with a meat cleaver or something.  She finally dropped out of Rainier. 
I don't know what happened to her after that."

     "How'd you get her off your back?"  Hutch asked, leaning back
in his chair.

     "Well, she came in after classes were over for Christmas break,
and she said that now that I wasn't her teacher anymore, we could be
together.  I told her that had no bearing on anything.  That I wasn't
interested.  I had fallen back on the teacher-student argument to hold
her at arm's length all semester.  I said I wasn't interested in her that
way right up front, but when she kept after me, I told her I could lose
my fellowship if started dating my students--that it wasn't ethical.  So
she at least backed off hanging around my office and following me. 
She just kept sending me gifts.  I swear to God I spent about $100 in
postage sending them *back* to her.  I cleared everything through Dr.
Buckner so I had a witness to how I was handling it in case she sued
me or something.  Dr. Buckner was my advisor and at the time, he was
the department chair."

     "Can we get a hold of Buckner?"  Hutch asked.

     "He's dead.  He was murdered a little over a year ago."

     "Any connection, do you think?"  Starsky asked.

     "No, we know who killed him.  It had nothing to do with this
case or Irene.  Anyhow, the University wouldn't pay for any of it,
obviously, but at least he knew I was sending all the stuff back.  He
kept the post office receipts in his files for me.  I still have copies
somewhere."

     "Good paper trail," Starsky said, nodding.  "So what happened
with Irene, finally?"

     "I really lit into her.  I was so pissed off to see her show up
again after the semester was over that I let her have it both barrels.  I
had tried to respect her feelings, to be gentle with her before--I didn't
want to hurt her.  The last time we talked, I didn't care.  I told her that it
didn't matter what our situation was, whether I was her instructor or
not, that I was totally *not* interested in her, and if she called me or
came by the office again for any reason that wasn't directly related to a
class she was taking, I'd call the cops.  She rattled on and started crying
and saying 'how can you do this when you know how much I love you',
and I felt really badly because I knew she was a little unbalanced--to
put it kindly.  But I didn't have much choice.  Either enter a
relationship with her or tell her off in terms she'd understand.  She
finally apologized for bugging me so much, and then swung back to
begging me for another chance--if I would just let her prove it, she'd
show me how good we could be together."  Blair rolled his eyes and
shook his head.  "I said 'no'."  

     "What happened then?"  Hutch prodded.

     "It was weird.  It was like something inside her just...shut down. 
She stopped arguing, and she just stared at me for a minute, and then
she left.  Just like that.  I never saw or heard from her again.  I
understand she dropped the Winter semester classes she'd signed up
for, and then left Rainier."

     "She's definitely a possible.  Irene Palmer?"  Starsky clarified.

     "Yeah, but you don't think a woman could pull this off, do you? 
I mean, she was a small girl.  She couldn't take Jim on."

     "She couldn't, but hired muscle could.  Did you get the
impression she was affluent?"  Hutch asked.

     "Sort of.  I mean, it's not always easy to tell with students.  She
had a real thing for Victorian-era stuff.  Her hair was long, and always
swept up real dramatically, and she wore antique jewelry, and blouses
with brooches at the neck.  Truthfully, Irene was very pretty.  That had
nothing to do with it.  It was her obsessive behavior that freaked me out
and turned me off."

     "You all right, buddy?"  Hutch asked his partner, who was
sitting there with an odd look on his face.

     "I think I'm just tired."

     "I think you should see the doctor.  A gunshot wound isn't the
hiccups."

     "I'm going in to see him this afternoon, remember?"

     "You're supposed to be resting."

     "I can take a rest in the chief's office for an hour or so.  He's still
out of town.  Where's Banks this morning, anyway?"  Starsky asked,
frowning.

     "His son, Daryl, was supposed to address a community group
that just granted him a scholarship for college next year.  He said he'd
be gone a couple hours for that," Blair responded.

     "I'm going to walk upstairs with Starsk.  Blair, see if you can
run Irene Palmer through the computer.  While you're at it, get one of
your detective buddies to request a warrant from the Rainier Registrar's
office to have a look through Irene's records."

     "Will do."  Blair hurried out to Jim's desk to start on his
assignments.

********

     Jim rubbed his temples, trying to dispel the headache he'd
earned himself by spending the entire night and most of the morning
trying to make an auditory map of his surroundings.  The old man
hadn't lied about the dogs.  He'd heard them.  The guards were there
too.  He had heard more than he cared to from one pair about their
wives, and the others about their sexual exploits.  He had picked up the
latest Jags scores, too.

     There were no hidden passages in the walls or the closets,
though there was an access to the attic through the closet ceiling.  But
getting up to the attic wouldn't accomplish a hell of a lot if he couldn't
get across the grounds without becoming a human Milk Bone. 
Mantego didn't appear inclined to feed him, so he couldn't stock up on
food to ply the dogs.  His hope was to hear when the dogs were either
fed or when they rested.  There had to be an opening...a chink in the
armor somewhere. //Certainly isn't the fucking bricked up windows.//
Jim sighed and sat on the foot of the bed.  He wasn't sure what time it
was, since he couldn't see outdoors.  His watch was gone, along with
the rest of his belongings.// 

     It wasn't until now that he'd let himself pause to think about
Blair.  The last time he'd seen his lover, the other man had been
sleeping peacefully, his face still a little flushed from their lovemaking. 
Jim smiled when he thought of how he'd planned on waking Blair,
running the soft petals of the rose over the silky skin of his shoulder
and side and hip until he moved--or laughed from the ticklish
sensation.  He'd planned to hold Blair and kiss him, say all the little
love words he deserved to hear after what they'd shared the night
before.  

     //You're smarter than this, Ellison.  If you can't figure a way out
of this one, you're ready for the old folks' home.//

     Jim got up and started pacing again.  He scanned the interior of
the house, tuning his hearing into every tiny noise.  There was still
someone in the house, but he could only locate one heartbeat, and it
was at a fair distance.  Unable to tolerate sitting and staring at the
ornate Victorian room, he went into the closet and set about the project
of opening the attic access as quietly as possible.

     There was no drop down ladder or stairs, but once he had a hold
on the edge of the opening, he thrust himself upward, using a hope
chest for a boost, and his own considerable upper body strength to do
the rest.  He carefully slid the wood panel back into place, and let out
an audible sigh of relief to finally see a little daylight. //Daylight
escapes aren't perfect, but maybe they feed the damn dogs or let them
take naps during the daylight hours.

     About to head for the door of the attic room, he paused when he
noticed a long object covered by a tarp.  Curiosity piqued, he moved
stealthily toward it and pulled back the cloth.  An ornate, highly
polished mahogany casket greeted him.  Puzzled, and a bit chilled at
the same time, he tossed the tarp back in place and slithered to the door
of the room.  Cracking it carefully, he decided to venture down the
narrow stairs to the hallway he could see at the bottom.

     The hall was as quiet and empty as the attic had been.  He
scanned the house, listening for any signs of life.  The owner of the
heartbeat was sleeping.  Finding that peculiar, Jim continued his
movements toward the main staircase.  He froze when he heard the
sound of the heartbeat get louder.  He was coming closer now, and
approached each doorway that opened off the hall with new
trepidation.  

     Finally, he found himself looking into what was the library of a
very large, well-appointed home.  The elder Mantego slept in a leather
wingback chair near the fireplace, newspaper crumpled under his hands
where they had landed as he dozed.  The .45 was on the small end table
next to him.

     Jim looked around the hallway again, and again scanned the
area with his hearing.  The two men were alone in the house.  There
were guards out front, but no one else inside.  He made a few tentative
steps toward the sleeping man, keeping constant track of his heartbeat
and breathing patterns.  Suspending his own breathing, he got his
fingers curled around the cool metal of the gun and lifted it off the
smooth wood of the table.  

     Just as he was about to retreat with it, he heard the man's whole
pattern of breathing change, his heartbeat increase--he was coming
around.  Only sure of one thing--keeping hold of the gun, Jim started to
back away from the table.  A somewhat wrinkled but very strong hand
clamped over his.  
     
     "Nice try," the old man snapped.  Jim didn't relinquish the
weapon.  It was now or never.  He wrested his arm out of the man's
grip, but his elderly opponent wasn't wise enough to concede this part
of the battle to his captive.  He grabbed for the gun, both of his hands
clutching at Jim's hand as he did his best to hold onto it, wrestling for
control with the older man.  

     A single shot decided the fight.

     Jim moved back as the old man's body fell, bleeding, at his feet. 

     "Oh, shit," Jim had time to mutter before the door downstairs
crashed open and there was movement on the stairs.  Bursting through
the doorway of the library, he surprised the first guard with a few well-placed 
moves that left him sprawled on the rich burgundy carpeting. 
His back-up, however, stood pointing a gun directly at Jim's head as he
crouched on the floor near the fallen man.

     "Drop the gun.  Right now," the man ordered.  He was
comparable to Jim in size and height, his dark hair slicked back from
his weathered face.   "Don't fuck with me, Ellison.  You just shot
Mantego's old man.  I put a bullet in your head and get a promotion."

     Jim tossed the gun on the carpeting.  Things had turned out in
the worst possible way he could have imagined.

********

     Blair stared at the computer screen, slightly dumbfounded. 
Irene Palmer was in the Cascade P.D.'s database...as a suicide.  His
hand came up to his mouth involuntarily as he read the account, in all
its cold precision.  She had hung herself.  With a slightly shaking hand,
he dialed records and asked if there was a case file on her he could take
a look at and if there was any further information there than in the
database.  Learning that there was, he headed down to records in a bit
of a stupor.  Was he the cause of the young woman's suicide?  

     "Blair, we have a lead on the casket," Rafe said, falling into step
with Blair in the hallway.  "Did you hear what I said?"

     "Huh?  Oh...yeah..."

     "What's up?"

     "What did you find out about the casket?"  Blair stopped in the
hall, turning his attention to the other man.

     "Well, guess what Rudy Mantego's old man just invested in a
few months ago?"

     "What?"

     "The Willow Ridge Funeral Home."

     "You're kidding."

     "Nope.  He's the senior partner, but pretty much a silent partner,
from what I understand.  But get this--when I went to see them and
showed them the photo, the funeral director said he had one just like it
in stock and took me to the showroom.  No casket.  The one he thought
was just like the one in the photo that he had in stock was gone.  He
has no sales record on it.  He was totally baffled."

     "Oh man.  Then we've got a link to Mantego."

     "Well," Rafe made a face, "of sorts.  It's nothing concrete.  The
guy could be a lousy record keeper, or the casket was stolen, or it's in
another part of the building.  There are uniforms there now going
through the big storage area out back to see if it was placed there for
some reason.  He thinks he's had a casket stolen."

     "I was on my way to records, to look up a former student.  She
committed suicide."

     "Geez, that's ugly.  What happened?"  The two men resumed
walking, and Blair explained what had led him to look up the girl's
name.  When they reached records, the file clerk, whom Blair knew
quite well, happily located it for him.

     "Looks like pretty standard stuff."  Blair skimmed the coroner's
report.  "Here it is.  Catch her father's name."

     "Dominic Mantego!  Says here she was living with him.  Here's
an address."

     "Simon!"  Blair spotted the captain just walking back through
the double doors into the hallway.  "We've got a lead!"

********

     Jim tugged at the ropes.  Nice and tight, solid, and just taut
enough to keep every muscle on full alert.  This was a definite step
down from lounging on an antique bed.  The ropes that bound his
wrists were suspended from a thick pipe in the ceiling of the basement,
which was surprisingly high.  High enough that Jim found himself
mostly on his tiptoes, trying to relieve the pressure of essentially
hanging by his wrists.  The way his arms were spread, there wasn't
much way to pull himself upward.  He'd assessed every possibility for
getting his hands upon the pipe and getting the ropes undone, but there
was no way to accomplish it.  His bound ankles would afford him the
ability to give one or two good kicks by putting his weight on his
wrists, but as securely bound as he was, that wouldn't accomplish
anything.  Still, he held the idea in reserve in case it was needed.

     He tried for a deep breath and found it increasingly difficult the
way his arms were stretched.  He was suddenly acutely aware of one of
the principle elements of crucifixion as a method of execution--after a
time, the position would hamper the victim's breathing sufficiently to
kill him.  He idly wondered how many other men had met similar fates
in this very manner.  And he wondered what would finally kill him, and
prayed that Blair wouldn't be on the scene to find the body.

     The door to the large, empty, gray room he was in opened, and
Rudy Mantego walked through it, followed by two of the house's four
guards.  One still sported the bruises from his unsuccessful encounter
with Jim in the upstairs hallway.

     "Well, well, well, if it isn't Detective Ellison," Mantego smiled,
resting his hands on the hips of his obviously expensive grey suit pants. 
The suit he wore had to be pure silk, the white shirt, pristine and
perfectly tailored.  Rudy Mantego was a bit younger than Jim, with a
thick mop of black hair and a well-trimmed mustache.  His dark good
looks, coupled with his considerable wealth, made him very popular,
and as arrogant as one would expect.  "You should have dealt with my
father.  He really didn't have much of a plan, and what he did have
didn't involve doing anything more than putting a bullet in your head
when he was done with you.  I, on the other hand, like to get a little
more entertainment for my efforts."

     "Is he dead?"  Jim asked.

     "Yes.  Congratulations.  You managed to kill an elderly man in
his own library."

     "An elderly man with a .45 who planned to kill me.  The gun
went off accidentally.  I had no intention--or desire--to kill your father."

     "Well, I'm not too surprised.  I told my father to leave phase two
of this project to me, but he had other plans.  He wanted to do it
himself.  See, your little friend the professor destroyed my sister's life,
and when she died, everything that was vital and alive in my father
went with her.  She was his little princess."

     "Look, I don't know what happened with Sandburg and your
sister, but killing a cop isn't going to solve anything."

     "You're right.  It isn't.  That's what I kept trying to tell my
father.  Not that I have any problems with killing a cop if that's what's
necessary, but it does bring a lot of heat down on your head that you
can generally do without.  But making Sandburg pay for killing Irene
was worth any price to him.  And it became very apparent that slapping
the little hippie around wouldn't be nearly as effective as hitting him
where it really hurt."

     "So your father orchestrated the whole operation of Blair's
kidnapping?"

     "Yes."  Mantego crossed his arms over his chest, moving closer
to Jim as the goons stayed near the door.  "But he was a slave to his
taste for the dramatic.  I said, let me send Slater and a couple of his
pals out to do away with the little shit.  I thought he should use Slater
because, as you know, the man was *very* creative.  He'd chop up his
own mother for the right price.  Hell, maybe he *did* chop up his own
mother...  Anyway, I figured that would take care of the little problem,
and my dad could even have a selected body part dried and stuffed for
a souvenir.   But no, he had to do something elaborate and symbolic. 
He wanted Sandburg to die slowly, preferably of suffocation.  But first
he wanted him to waste away, like he thought Irene had.  It had a
certain...poetic justice to it.  But it wasn't efficient, and ultimately there
was too much risk for just what happened, to happen.  If he'd left it to
me, the job would have been done right the first time."

     "You don't exactly seem broken up about your father's death."

     "You want me to grieve?  Put on a show?  I suppose I could
have stormed in here and had my thugs beat your brains in while I
shouted reprimands at you for killing my father."  Mantego shook his
head.  "No, grief is a private matter, and it will be dealt with in a
dignified manner.  Justice...an eye for an eye, so to speak, now that's a
whole different matter, my friend.   You and I, along with Rick and
R.J. here,  are going to spend a little time together.  If you're wondering
how you're going to ultimately die, well, telling you that would ruin the
suspense."

********

     "It's times like these I wish I had Jim's senses," Blair said to
Simon as he rode with him in the passenger seat of the captain's car. 
Starsky and Hutch brought up the rear in an unmarked sedan, with
back-up units standing by a few blocks up the street.

     "Being able to send you in to listen for his heartbeat would be a
real advantage right now.  But if he's there, we'll find him.  I plan on
ripping the place apart from basement to attic."

     "I'm just glad you talked Judge Whitfield into issuing the
warrant based on the missing casket and the connection to Irene
Palmer.  I didn't think she'd go for it."

     "It could be questioned in court later, but we're talking about a
cop's life here.  That changes the stakes a little."

     Simon pulled into the circular drive in front of the rambling
white Victorian-style house, with the other detectives pulling in behind
them.  Banks and Sandburg approached the door first, with Starsky and
Hutch catching up with them before they rang the bell.  After what
seemed like an eternity to Blair, a tall, muscular man in a black t-shirt
and jeans opened the door.  

     "Cascade Police.  We have a warrant to search the premises,"
Simon announced, flashing his ID and a copy of the search warrant.  

     The other man stared for a split second, and then attempted to
close the door.  Simon put a sufficient force against it to open it,
stumbling in as the other man gave up and started running toward the
back of the house.  Simon drew his weapon and yelled at the other man
to freeze.  The fleeing man spun around and as he raised his gun to fire,
Blair felt a hand on the back of his collar yank him out of the line of
fire against the front of the house.  
     
     Two shots rang out from the interior of the house as Hutch
rushed inside behind Simon.

     "You stay put," Starsky ordered Blair, following his partner, gun
drawn in his one good hand.  Back-up units were swarming on the
property now, barreling up on the well-manicured lawn, cops spilling
out and surrounding the house.  

     Never one to follow orders, Blair poked his head around the
front door and saw Simon checking the fallen man's pulse quickly.  

     "He's dead.  All right, everybody, spread out.  I want this place
surrounded."  Simon started barking out directions to each man who
crossed the threshold, sending him in a different direction through the
elaborate mansion.  In the confusion, Blair darted inside and nimbly
wove his way through the dispersing cops.  

     Following an instinct that had no reason, he rushed to the
kitchen, almost running into Megan and Rafe as they headed for the
basement door.

     "Whoa!  Hold it right there, Sandy," Megan admonished,
grabbing a hold of the sleeve of Blair's coat.

     "Jim's down there," he stated simply, wresting his arm out of
her control.  

     "How do you know that?"  Her eyes narrowed.

     "I just *know*!"  he protested, making another run for the door. 
This time, Rafe got a good grip on his arm and hauled him back.

     "Fine.  Then let us go first.  You stay behind us, and be ready to
get down.  Understood?"

     "Whatever.  Just go!"  Blair demanded, practically vibrating
where he stood.

     The two detectives headed down the narrow stairs, weapons
drawn.  Blair was close behind them.  They fanned out in different
directions at the bottom of the stairs, scanning the area with eyes and
weapons until both their stances relaxed marginally.

     "Damn," Megan muttered.  Before either of them could move,
Blair pushed his way past them and spotted Jim, still hanging by his
wrists, his head lolling to one side.  There were splotches of moisture
soaking through various spots on the gray sweats he wore.

     "Jim!"  Blair flew to his partner without regard for anything that
may or may not have been lurking in the shadows.  "Help me!"  he
yelled back at Megan and Rafe.  He turned back to Jim, wrapping his
arms around his lover's lower body and hoisting, attempting to take the
pressure off wrists that oozed blood from beneath the ropes that
contrasted with hands that were a strange bluish color from total lack
of circulation.

     Rafe located a step ladder leaned against the wall and rushed
over with it, climbing up and using a pocketknife to saw through the
first of the two ropes.  Megan was close by to help Blair catch Jim's
weight, but surprisingly, he barely flinched when one of the large arms
came down over his shoulder.  Rafe sliced the second rope as quickly
as he could, and Megan did help Blair withstand the drop of Jim's full
dead weight on their shoulders.  Lowering him gently to the floor,
Megan untied the rope around his ankles while Blair cradled his
unconscious lover against his chest.  

     "I'm here, Jim.  It's okay, buddy.  I'm here.  It's over," he
murmured.  Then in a voice so low only Jim's ears would ever pick it
up, he added, "I love you."

     More shots rang out from one of the upper floors of the house. 
Rafe, who had radioed for an ambulance and notified Simon that they
had found Jim unconscious but alive, fled up the stairs, weapon drawn. 
By unspoken agreement, Megan stayed near Jim and Blair, checking
her own weapon and making a brief walking tour of the basement. 
Soon she picked up her own radio and contacted Simon.

     "There's another staircase down here, so they must have used
that one.  Looks like it might be a back route up to the upper floors.  I'll
check it out as soon as you can spare someone else for the basement."  

     "Blair," the hoarse voice was nothing more than an expelled
breath, but it brought a smile to Blair's face as he saw Jim's eyes
struggle to open.

     "Everything's okay now, love.  I've got you," Blair said quietly,
stroking Jim's face gently before turning his attention to massaging
some circulation back into the clammy, bluish hands..  

     "Mante...Mantego..."

     "Rudy or the old man?"

     "Ru...the old man...shot him..."

     "The old man shot Rudy?"

     "No...I...shot...Dominic...  Accident."

     "But Rudy's the one who did this to you?"

     "Mostly," Jim managed, letting his eyes drift shut again and
seeking the support of Blair's shoulder.

     "What happened to you, Jim?"  Blair asked softly, still stroking
Jim's hair.
     
     "Don't worry.  I'm just...winded.  Cattle prod."

     "Bastards," Blair muttered, holding Jim close and
unconsciously starting a slight rocking motion.  "That's it, just rest. 
We'll be out of here soon."

     "Home."

     "Soon, lover, soon," Blair whispered, kissing Jim's forehead and
not really caring if Megan saw it or not.  He felt the sting of his own
hot tears welling up at the relief of having Jim in his arms.  

********

     There were cops in every part of the Mantego mansion, but
somehow, they hadn't managed to corral Rudy yet.  Starsky felt the
drain of the long day and all the commotion on his tired body as he
paced at the foot of the ornate staircase.  Hutch was busily directing
medical personnel toward the kitchen with directions to go down the
basement to collect Jim.  

     When it happened, it all happened so fast that no one could be
exactly positive of the chain of events.  There was movement at the
head of the stairs, and drawing his weapon, Starsky began to turn,
raising his arm in a gesture that would have been seconds too late to
save his life.  As he was aiming his weapon, three shots rang out,
slicing through the sounds and commotion going on around them.

     A few of the uniformed officers stood gaping at the fallen man
on the stairs.  Just as Starsky had paced over to stand at the foot of the
long staircase,  Mantego had appeared at the head of the it and aimed
directly at him.  Before he could squeeze the trigger, he'd been dropped
by the three shots that hit only inches apart in his upper chest.  With the
exception of Jim Ellison, very few of them had seen a cop shoot with
that kind of speed, confidence and precision.  

     Hutchinson holstered his weapon and moved toward the stairs,
where his partner had already moved Mantego's weapon away from the
man's hand and was checking his pulse, which had stopped.  

     "Nice shooting, buddy," Starsky said to his partner.  "Now we
just have to work on your dart game," he concluded, smiling a little. 
Glad for the tension breaker, Hutch chortled under his breath.

********

     The thought of home loomed like nirvana as Jim scanned his
overcrowded hospital room with tired eyes.  Somehow, just because he
wasn't in ICU, the entire Major Crimes division seemed intent on
visiting, preferably all at the same time, most of them committed to re-enacting 
every moment of the raid on Mantego's house that he missed.

     "So Mantego must have taken those backstairs up to the second
floor.  He and a couple of his goons came out through a hidden door in
the back of the closet in the master bedroom."  Simon smiled and
shook his head.  "I don't know what he was thinking, trying to make it
downstairs."

     "Probably a last ditch effort, or the intention of going out in a
blaze of glory, and not in a squad car," Blair opined.  He was perched
on the side of Jim's bed, barely resisting the urge to crawl into it with
his lover.  Somewhere along the line, Jim had taken a hold of Blair's
hand, and wasn't letting go.

     "It's still hard to believe his father master minded the whole
operation with Slater," Megan commented, shaking her head.  "All of
that for revenge.  I still find it unthinkable that he advocated the
murders of innocent people just to *scare* Sandy."

     "Sandy?"  Starsky parroted.

     "Don't you start," Blair snapped back at his father, who just
chuckled a little evilly.

     "Apparently, Dominic went off the deep end after Irene
committed suicide.  He became obsessed with revenge fantasies,
according to one of the goons we hauled in.  Rudy apparently suggested
Slater, and helped spring him from the looney bin, figuring that he
would deal with Blair in a manner that would suit the old man," Simon
explained.  "But like always, Slater had his own agenda."

     "Slater was a killing machine.  During one of his interviews at
Cabrillo State, his doctor asked him what his favorite pastime was as a
child.  He responded 'killing things'.  Then he laughed.  But the thing
was, when you heard that laugh, you knew it was insanity.  He wasn't
joking."  Hutch shuddered almost visibly.  "He was pure evil.  The
worst kind of psycho.  Using him for a 'job' would always be an ill-advised 
choice.  He'd go off on a tangent, just like he did here."

     "But that's not all bad, because it threw us all of for quite a
while," Starsky added.  "See, we all were hunting Slater, and when the
bodies kept piling up, it made it less and less likely that it was
something exclusive to Blair.  It started to look like Slater was just up
to his old tricks, and was toying with his latest victim. When he was
confronted with the cops at the University, and he told you he had a
message for you," he directed at Jim, "that was probably going to be
when he said something about Irene--when he got old man Mantego's
point across about his daughter.  Which is why I was so upset when he
was shot.  I had a gut feeling we were *this close* to hearing what the
origin of all of it was."

     "This must be the new Cascade Police sub-station," the doctor
joked as she entered the room, Jim's chart in hand.  

     "Is that our cue to hit the road, doc?"  Starsky asked from his
perch against a windowsill.

     "No," the middle-aged woman reassured, smiling.  "It's *his*
cue to hit the road," she said, pointing at Jim.  "Your blood pressure is
stabilized, your last EKG was normal, and the nurses have all promised
to take me to dinner if I release you now."

     "Come on, doc, I wasn't *that* bad of a patient," Jim protested. 
After several disbelieving looks, he rolled his eyes.  "I asked once or
twice about getting out of here, but..."

     "I want you to get plenty of rest for a couple of days, and if you
have any unusual symptoms, either get in touch with your family
doctor or come to the emergency room.  I would recommend a follow-up 
doctor visit in a week or so, just to double check.  Your system took
quite a few jolts, and I want to be sure everything's back to normal."

     "Thanks, doctor.  I'll make sure he takes care of himself," Blair
replied, thinking that dispensing with all their well-meaning friends
would be his first order of business.  

     "I think that's it.  I just need you to sign this," she said, handing
Jim a clipboard, waiting while he scrawled a signature on the form and
handed it back to her.  

     "Free at last," Jim sighed, smiling a little and very blatantly
winking at Blair.  "Simon, you said something earlier about having
brought me some clothes?"

     "We should all be going," Megan spoke up, moving toward the
door.  Most of the other cops followed until only Starsky and Hutch
remained.  Simon offered to wait out front and give them a lift home,
then headed out to the parking lot to get his car.

     "We're going to head back to the hotel.  I'm going to shove this
guy into bed for a few hours."

     "Sex maniac," Starsky teased his partner.

     "Prick," Hutch shot back.

     "Smart ass," Starsky countered, heading for the door of the
hospital room.

     "Moron."

     "Are you guys always this romantic?"  Blair asked, laughing.

     "This is sublimated foreplay.  We can get away with it in
public," Starsky retorted, taking a hold of Hutch's arm and pulling him
toward the door.  "Come on, blintz.  Let's give these guys some privacy
before they go nuts.  We'll see ya tomorrow downtown.  Report time," 
Starsky concluded.

     "See you then.  Get some rest," Jim advised.

     "Take your own advice, hot shot," Starsky responded as the
other two men left the room.

     "Finally."  Jim let out a long sigh and closed his eyes.  

     "You feel up to going home?"  Blair asked, concerned.

     "Yup.  Just a little winded."  Jim pulled himself up wearily and
with Blair unpacking the bag of clothes, started to get dressed.

********

     "Next year, we do something really special for our anniversary," 
Starsky announced, picking a fat tomato off his salad and feeding it to
Hutch as they sat on the bed, an overburdened room service tray
between them.  He grinned as Hutch made it a point to suck the
fingertip provocatively.  

     "I'm just relieved we got through this one alive," Hutch replied
honestly, evaluating his partner's appearance.  "You look tired, babe."

     "I *feel* tired.  Between running around and living on
painkillers, I think I could sleep for a month.  I just had to see this
through, y'know?"

     "You've been taking more than the prescription calls for on the
pain pills, huh?"  Hutch took another drink of wine, glad to see that his
partner was at least drinking water instead of alcohol.

     "Yeah, well, whatever it takes.  I'm gonna miss my kid, but I'm
ready to head home and sleep off this whole fucking case."

     "Tomorrow, you're going to the doctor.  No excuses."

     "It wasn't my fault the whole Mantego thing came together this
afternoon."

     "You think Sherman is a dead issue?"  Hutch asked, yawning.

     "Well, my guess is he skipped town.  Now we know he wasn't
the one masterminding the bit with putting Jennifer's body in the loft."

     "I figure it was probably some of Mantego's muscle, under
Dominic's direction," Hutch mused, picking up one of the shish kabobs
and pulling a large piece of beef off the end.
     
     "Probably."

     "You think Ellison's all right?  He took a pretty good torture
session with Mantego."

     "He was shaky and he's going to be real sore for a few days, but
I think he'll be okay.  Let's face it, getting repeated electric shocks to
your body isn't good for a person, but I guess if he got through it this far
without buying it, he's probably okay.  Probably get a few muscle
spasms that'll send him into orbit."  Starsky sighed.  "Did you see how
Blair headed straight for the basement, no questions?  Man, he slid
through those cops like a little greased pig."
     
     "Does that surprise you?"

     "Not in the least."  Starsky leaned forward and kissed his
partner's lips.  "I'm tellin' ya, babe.  When I'm feelin' better..."

     "Maybe we could borrow Dobey's fishing cabin for a weekend."

     "If you're lookin' for the best way not to get any for a year, that
would be it."

     "Probably wouldn't work anyway.  Dobey's there 95% of the
time now anyway," Hutch responded, laughing.  "Although I do still
like to see you parading around in red long johns now and then."

     "I can do that at the Ritz-Carlton, in the honeymoon suite."

     "Is that a hint?"

     "Yeah.  It means that dinner at Huggy's Steak & Ale isn't going
to cut it this year."

     "He just put all that money into remodeling the place, Starsk. 
All new booths, that big screen TV--"

     "Hutch."

     "And he always brings free champagne to the table for our
anniversary."

     "Hutch."

     "There's a good dancefloor there," Hutch persisted, purposely
pushing his partner's buttons with his conservative proposal for
celebrating.

     "You know, you can get one hell of a case of blue balls in a
year's time, blondie," Starsky stated calmly, leaning back against his
pillow, watching Hutch with a smug expression.

     "Maybe I'll call information for that Ritz-Carlton number. 
Never too early to make your reservations."  Hutch smiled sweetly.

********

     Jim walked through the door of the loft, every muscle in his
body protesting the fact that he was moving at all.  He'd heard horror
stories about electric shock torture, and was now convinced every one
of them was an understatement.  He knew as it was, he'd gotten off
easily since all they'd been using was the cattle prod.  If Mantego had
been as well equipped as some sadists, he'd have had a generator handy
to get some real voltage cranking through his captive.  But if your
captive dies in the middle of torture, that takes all the fun out of it. 
This way, Jim had been kept very conscious until the very end, aware
of every jolt of pain throughout his body.  Dialing it down took
concentration, and several shocks into the experience, he didn't seem to
have the ability to consciously dial anything anywhere.

     He collapsed on the couch with a groan, and watched through
slitted eyes as Blair locked the door behind them and made his way
toward his lover.  As much as Jim despised the thought of moving, and
seriously questioned whether having another body pressed against him
was going to feel all that great, he raised his arm along the back of the
couch, motioning to Blair with a couple fingers to come to him.  The
other man was there in a heartbeat, gently cuddling against Jim, head
on his shoulder.

     "Simon told me what Dominic Mantego did with Jennifer's
body."

     "I feel so sorry for her parents," Blair said quietly.  "They've
been through so much, and then to think their daughter was finally
being laid to rest and then something like this happens...shit, she's
*evidence* again."

     "Simon said he would do his best to expedite the process this
time out.  It was pretty ridiculous that her body wasn't released for two
weeks the first time.  Then we give it to a phony undertaker...but
technically, Mantego's old man was co-owner of Willow Ridge Funeral
Home, so he could show up in an honest to God hearse with all the
right paperwork to pick her up."
     
     "How do you feel?"

     "Like every muscle in my body hates me.  My back is killing
me, and I'm not even mentioning my arms."  Jim let out a long breath. 
"I feel about 95 years old."

     "Would a massage feel good?"  Blair asked.

     "I don't know.  I feel like I have a tuning fork for a spine and
somebody just banged on it."  Jim could still feel his heart doing an
occasional little flutter, but mentioning that to the doctor would have
kept him in the hospital overnight.  With the possible exception of
being re-hung in Mantego's basement, he couldn't come up with a much
less pleasant thought.

     "Maybe soaking in a hot bath would feel good."

     "That's worth a shot," Jim responded, kissing Blair's forehead. 
"Lousy timing on this whole thing, huh?"

     "None of that matters now.  I'm just so glad you're okay."  Blair
took a shaky breath.  "I wish I'd shot Mantego myself," Blair said, his
voice quivering.

     "You don't mean that, sweetheart."

     "Yes I do.  For what he did to you."

     "Could have been worse."

     "Not without killing you, it couldn't."

     "People have been tortured with electric shock a lot worse than
I was and lived.  He wanted to get back at me for killing his old man. 
And that really *was* an accident.  We struggled for the gun and..."  
Jim sighed.  "He was a sick old man.  Losing his daughter drove him
over the edge."

     "Mantego was no sick old man.  He was just sick, period." 
Blair ran his hand lightly over Jim's chest, then curled his arm around
his lover.  "Let me know if I hurt you."

     "You won't, sweetheart."  Jim made the effort of squeezing
Blair closer.  "I wanted to love you awake, treat you right...after what
we shared.  That's the one thing I can't forgive old Dominic, robbing us
of that."

     "Jim?"  There was a little pause.  "Everybody knows.  I mean,
everybody.  Simon, Rafe, Megan...and some uniformed guys."

     "Knows what, baby?"  Jim carded his fingers through Blair's
hair, moving his head so his nose was close to it, inhaling the scent of
Blair's shampoo and Blair himself.

     "About us."  
     
     The fingers stopped dead in their tracks.  Blair's breathing
paused with them.  

     "How?"

     "I was upset...I didn't think.  I called for help--I called Simon,
after I found Jennifer's body.  I was wearing my robe, because I'd just
come downstairs to look for you.  But the bedroom was still all messed
up, clothes everywhere..."

     "And I had a load of champagne and strawberries with me, not
to mention the card and the rose."  Jim stared up at the ceiling and let
out a long breath.

     "I'm *so* sorry.  I never would have said anything to anybody. 
But I lost it when I found Jenny's body, and I was freaked out, and I
called for help.  It didn't occur to me until the cops got here that I had
screwed up royally."  Blair paused.  "Rafe gave me the rose and the
card.  He didn't put it in evidence."

     "Good."  Jim was lost in his own thoughts, and didn't even think
there would be any double meaning in that seemingly innocent word. 
He was glad Blair had the card, and had been the only one to read what
was private between them.  He hadn't meant to make it sound as if he
were relieved to have escaped the shame of someone reading how he
felt about Blair.  He wasn't delighted to have been outed involuntarily
and in such a degrading manner--with his co-workers trudging through
his sex-ravaged bedroom--but he didn't blame Blair for any of it.  He
was just too damned tired to explain his thought patterns.

     "I'm sorry, Jim.  I never meant for this to happen.  For
everybody to find out.  I'm *so* sorry."  There was a long pause.  "If
it...if it would be easier...If you want me to...I could...  I'll move out if
you want."

     "Where the hell did that come from?"  Jim snapped out of his
stupor and pulled back to look at Blair, who was wiping at tears that
were leaking out of his eyes.

     "I know how humiliating this is for you.  I'm *so* sorry.  I never
wanted to ruin your life like this.  It's all my fault.  I should have
cleaned things up before I called, and I forgot, and I know apologies
are no good to you now when I messed everything up like that already,
but--"

     "Hey, hey, come on, Chief.  Slow down."  Jim caught the pained
face in both hands.  "You were in shock and you did exactly what you
should have done--called the cops.  Cleaning up the loft first would
have lost valuable time and also disturbed evidence.   You did the right
thing, sweetheart."  Jim leaned forward and kissed both damp eyelids. 
"I love you with all my heart, Blair.  I didn't want us to have to work
out our relationship with all eyes focused on us, but now that they are,
we'll just have to work around it.  But it's not your fault.  And I'm not
ashamed of you or of the fact that we made love.  It's just that it
was...private.  I'm a very private person, Chief.  Big surprise there,
huh?"  Jim asked, smiling as Blair chortled a little.  "Don't beat yourself
up for needing some help, or for being scared.  I don't really want to
think what Jennifer looked like after a couple weeks in the drawer. 
And she was a friend."  Jim's gentle tone and the loving caress on the
side of Blair's face prompted a few more tears.

     "I can't get that picture out of my head."

     "I know."

     "Not Jennifer.  The picture.  The one I got in the mail."  Blair
watched as Jim frowned.  "You didn't know about that one?"

     "Simon didn't mention it, no."

     "Me and my big mouth."  Blair slumped against Jim's shoulder
again, snuggling close.

     "What was it?"

     "It was an 8x10 of...of you...dressed up in a suit...and...and you
were in...in a casket.  It looked like you'd look if..."  Blair shuddered
and tightened his hold on Jim.  "I can't say it."

     "You don't have to, baby.  I know what I'd feel like looking at
something like that of you.  I hope the old fucker's burning in hell."  He
rubbed Blair's back in slow strokes.  "Damn him.  I found the casket. 
In the attic.  I got out of the room I was locked in by climbing into the
attic through the closet.  It was under a tarp in there.  The doctor said I
had some traces of a heavy sedative in my system even now, so I must
have been zonked on drugs."  Jim shook his head.  "So that's what he
meant about mahogany looking good on me."

     "How did they get to you outside without you hearing them?"

     "Nobody's infallible, Chief."  Jim hoped Blair wouldn't press
him on this point, but of course, he did.

     "But you would hear anyone coming up behind you."

     "I was thinking about something else."

     "Jim."

     "I was focused on you, okay?  I wanted to know if you were still
sleeping, and you were when I got back to the parking lot.  So I was
standing there like a lovesick sap with my rose listening to you snort in
your sleep.  But that doesn't make it your fault.  It makes it mine for
being an idiot."

     "You're not an idiot."

     "Believe me, when I came to in that frilly bedroom, I seriously
questioned it."

     "I always thought that it would be me who got hurt because of
one of your cases, or someone out to get you.  I never thought you'd be
hurt because of me."

     "Irene was a sick girl, sick and obsessed.  A stalker.  You
handled it the best way you could.  If she hadn't killed herself when she
did, she'd have probably done it later, when something else didn't go
her way."  Jim sighed heavily.  "You said something about a hot bath?"

     "I'll go get it ready."

     "Only if you join me."  Jim smiled at Blair's surprised
expression.  "I couldn't get it up if you danced naked on the kitchen
table for me.  I just want us to be close.  Sound good?"

     "Sounds like heaven," Blair said quietly, kissing Jim's mouth
lightly and heading into the bathroom to start the water.

     By the time Jim hauled himself off the couch with a loud groan
and made his way slowly back to the bathroom, Blair had a warm tub
of water waiting for him.  The younger man wordlessly worked at
unbuttoning Jim's shirt and dispensing with it, carefully pulling the 
t-shirt out of Jim's jeans and easing it over Jim's head as he forced
protesting muscles in his arms and shoulders to cooperate.

     "Do they hurt much?"  Blair asked softly, running remarkably
gentle fingers close to one of several reddened areas of skin that were
contact burns from the cattle prod.

     "Luckily I had a layer of clothing between me and the prod. 
Could have been a lot worse.  I don't think these'll even scar."

     "That wasn't what I asked," Blair responded, leaning forward
and planting a feather-light kiss on the red splotch near Jim's navel.  "I
know you couldn't have dialed things down for long."  Blair obviously
hadn't accepted Jim's dismissal of his suffering with the simple
statement that he'd "dialed it down".  He knew Jim and his sensory
abilities too well to accept it.

     "I lost the ability to concentrate on a hell of a lot at a point, and
the pain got pretty unbearable.  I passed out because my senses were
overloaded on it.  It's like I still feel it...reverberating in my insides."

     "Relax and let me take care of you, lover," Blair said softly,
caressing Jim's cheek.  "We can work on dialing it down now that you
can think straight.  Get you relaxed to sleep.  Hopefully get rid of the
last of those palpitations you're having."  Jim leaned into Blair's hand
and closed his eyes.  He could feel the worst of the tension draining out
of his agonized muscles just by placing himself in Blair's capable
hands.  That Blair had even known Jim still felt unsettled in his chest
made him trust his lover that much more to know how to make things
right again.

     Once Jim was undressed, Blair stripped quickly and got into the
tub first, guiding Jim to get in next and lean back against him.  After
sliding down a bit so the back of his head rested comfortably on Blair's
shoulder, Jim closed his eyes and let Blair take over.  The warm water
was easing the cramping of his muscles, and Blair's soothing voice and
gentle caresses with the warm, soapy sponge he held lulled Jim nearly
to sleep.

     "It's time to focus on the dial, my heart," Blair said in a bare
whisper, just enough of a voice that Jim could discern it.

     "My heart?"  he repeated quietly.

     "My heart, my soul, my reason for living," Blair responded,
kissing Jim's temple.  "My everything."  Blair's smile came through in
his voice.  "Picture the dial now.  It's too high.  All you have to do is
reach over and turn it slowly down.  Slowly.  Just take a hold of the
knob and turn down the pain.   You're in control," Blair said, keeping
his voice in a low monotone.  He could feel the tense muscles in Jim's
body relaxing in the warmth of the bath tub and the security of Blair's
arms.  "The pain doesn't have power anymore.  You have the power. 
You just turn it down slowly."

     "Feels better," Jim murmured, letting out a long breath.  "It's
working, Chief."

     "Sure it is.  You just needed to relax.  Let's finish up your bath
so we can get you to bed.  I need to change the bandages on your
wrists."

     "Just when yours are all healed up," Jim said, holding one of
Blair's hands to examine the wrist that only bore a couple of faint pink
reminders of the damage from the handcuffs.  Soon, even that would be
gone as the new skin blended with its surroundings.

     Blair did his work with bandaging Jim's wrists carefully but
quickly, and the two men headed for the stairs, hand in hand.  Jim
tossed his robe aside and stepped into a pair of boxers while Blair
turned back the bed, then located his own boxers for the night.  Jim fell
into the bed with a grunt, and let Blair cover him.  Even that seemed
like too much of an effort.  

     Absently, he noticed that all the sheets were fresh and the bed
had been neatly made.  A part of him mourned losing the experience of
waking up in the sweaty mess of soiled sheets with his equally sticky
lover after their first time together.

     Blair slid into his side of the bed and moved over close to Jim
without touching him right away, giving the other man time to get
comfortable.  Jim reached over and took Blair's hand, lifting it off the
bed where it was resting, kissing it and holding it against his face.

     "Missed you," he said quietly, watching a little smile curve
Blair's lips.  

     "Missed you more," he countered, grinning now.

     "Not possible," Jim retorted.  He watched as Blair's face
became serious again. 

     "If somebody had cut out my heart, I wouldn't have missed it as
much."  Seeing the anguish just the memory was bringing to Blair's
eyes, Jim made the effort to shift onto his side, and pulled his lover into
his arms.

     "I'm here now, Chief.  And I'm not going anywhere without you
anytime soon."  He squeezed Blair tightly against him, using Blair's
presence to shut out the memories of his ordeal with Mantego and his
goons.   "I love you."

     "I love you too.  Oh, God, Jim, I didn't even realize how much
until I...I thought you were gone for good."

     "How are you feeling, baby?  I know it's late to ask you, but are
you okay?  Was everything okay after...?"

     "I'm fine.  I could feel it, but you took good care of me.  I was
okay.  I just was so miserable to feel it fading because I didn't think
we'd ever make love again, and when my body couldn't remember it
anymore..."  Blair took in a shaky breath and gave up on talking.

     "I was gone when you needed me the most."

     "You didn't have any control over that."

     "I know.  But that didn't make it easier for you."

     "I wasn't tortured," Blair said quietly.

     "Yes you were, sweetheart.  Just not physically."

     "I don't want to be the reason you get hurt...ever again.  What if
what we're starting here...if it finds some way to hurt you?"

     "Losing you would kill me.  I can stand being hurt a little if
that's what it takes to keep us together.  You're stuck with me, Chief. 
Until I croak.  When I'm a senile old man, I'll still be chasing you
around the loft with my walker."

     "Shaking your fist at me because I left wet towels on the floor
in the bathroom," Blair added, smiling now from his hiding place
against Jim's chest.

     "I was thinking more of the magic moment after I've just taken
my viagra, and I feel like a horny teenager again."  Jim smiled as Blair
snorted inelegantly, laughing out loud at the concept of an elderly Jim,
empowered by viagra, trying to chase his slightly less elderly partner
around the couch.
     
     "Who do you think will be reminding you when to take it?" 
Blair asked, still smiling, stretching up to kiss Jim quickly.

     "No, Chief, I think you'll probably just have a pump installed
next to the bed so we can both take a couple hits when things start
sagging."

     "Wonder if we could actually go through our golden years with
blue-tinted vision 24 hours a day?"

     "Gold is overrated.  We'll just call them the 'blue years'."  Jim
bestowed one of his best smiles on Blair, who watched it like it was a
miracle in progress.

     "You have the most beautiful smile in the world," he said
honestly, running his hand gently over Jim's face while he was still
smiling.  

     "You're biased."

     "Nope.  I've been all over the world.  I should know.  Yours is
the best."

     Jim caught Blair's hand and kissed it.  

     "Saturday night, we're going out."

     "We are?"

     "We are.  A date.  We're going somewhere totally overpriced for
dinner and order the best stuff on the menu, then we're going to do
*something*...I don't know what yet.  Is there anything cultural going
on?"

     "Uh, I think there's a concert at the U Saturday night--a string
quartet from the music department.  They're really very good."
     
     "You can get tickets?"

     "I have free ones in my backpack.  They always give out some
free ones to faculty and staff, and Dr. Miller didn't want his, so he gave
them to me."

     "Okay, we do dinner, then the concert...then...whatever."  Jim
smiled again, and kissed the end of Blair's nose.  

     "Whatever?  You're going to try to score, huh?"
     
     "How're my chances?"  Jim responded, wondering if he had
ever loved Blair as much as he did at this moment in time.

     "You have to tell me you love me first," Blair replied, grinning.

     "That's easy.  I'll love you for the rest of time, sweetheart."

     "Me too," Blair responded, moving in close to Jim again,
nestling in strong arms.  "I think your chances are beyond good."

********

     Jim struggled to get air into his lungs, trying to overcome the
agonizing pull on the considerable system of muscles in his shoulders
as his bound position stretched them to the limits of their endurance.  A
groan came from someone...it must have been him.   There was
something he was supposed to do...to remember...that would make this
better, but his entire body was still vibrating and shuddering from the
last jolt, hot wires of pain shooting through his muscles...and now it
wasn't Mantego's goons anymore wielding the cattle prod, but a leering,
whitish, bloodied Slater.

     "Gonna make you pay, Ellison.  You owe me.  Time to pay up."

     Jim jerked awake with a start, letting out a sigh of relief at the
familiar surroundings of the bedroom.  Flopping back on the bed, he
smiled and rolled over to reach for Blair.  He found his hand to be
submerged in a puddle of blood as he stared into his lover's glassy,
lifeless eyes.

********

     Blair barely braced himself on the edge of the bed to stop from
rolling off onto the floor.  Jim had to have flung him away in his sleep,
the larger man now sitting straight up, breathing like a jackhammer,
sweating profusely and staring into the shadows of the bedroom wild-eyed.  
His entire body was trembling.

     "Jim?"  Blair whispered carefully.  The other man's head
whipped around to look at him.  Even without enhanced senses, Blair
could see Jim's eyes grow even wider at the sight of him.  "Jim, hey, it's
okay.  It's just me."

     "Bl...Blair?"  he gasped, as if the pure shock of seeing Blair was
enough to rob him of his capacity to speak.

     "It's okay, love.  It was a nightmare."  Blair ventured a little
closer, and took a hold of Jim's hand.  The other man snatched his hand
away and looked at it, palm and back.  "Jim, what is it?  What's
wrong?"

     "Blood..."

     "Hang on, lover.  I can't see as well as you can in here."  Blair
got up and turned on the lamp on the dresser.  The pallor of Jim's skin
took him by surprise in the light.  He grabbed a spare blanket from the
shelf in the closet and wrapped it around Jim's shoulders.  His lover
was very close to being in shock.  "Jim, come on, look at me. *See*
me.  Everything's okay.  You're safe.  There's no blood, see?"  He sat on
the edge of the bed, and took a hold of Jim's hands, turning them back
and forth to illustrate his point.

     "You...are you real?"  Jim asked hesitantly.

     "Of course I'm real," Blair replied gently, taking Jim's hand and
raising it to his own face, holding it there.  "Feel that?  That's real."

     "I woke up and you...oh, God, Blair..."  Jim looked away, the
fingers of the hand near Blair's face contracting to grip a few curls
tightly.

     "It's okay, Jim.  It's over.  It was just a dream."  Blair moved up
on his knees on the bed and pulled Jim against his chest, caressing the
soft, sleep-rumpled hair.  "Everything's okay.  We're safe.  We're
together.  It's all over."  He found himself rocking a little and he spoke
the soothing words.

     "You were dead.  I saw you," Jim managed before losing his
battle against tears.

     "It's okay, lover.  Just let it out.  I've got you.  I'm very much
alive and plan on staying that way for a good long time."

     "I didn't...I couldn't remember how...to...to control it...and then
it was Slater...and I thought it was all a dream...and I woke up, and then
I rolled over...and you were...there was blood...and you..."

     "Shhh.  It's all over now.  I know you're hurting and that
probably is disturbing you while you're trying to sleep.  Just think of
Slater as nothing more than a really bad pulled muscle, huh?"  Blair
smiled as Jim chortled a little wetly against his chest.   "Mantego was a
Charlie horse--"

     "More like a horse's ass," Jim responded shakily, still smiling a
little.

     "That's the spirit.  It's okay for you to be shaken up a little here,
man.  You went through hell.  Your poor body's just trying to assimilate
all the horrible stimuli it's suffered in the last 24 hours.  And given your
sentinel abilities--I can't even begin to imagine what your brain and
your whole nervous system is trying to sort out in terms of
overstimulation of a very negative kind."

     "God, Blair, when I thought you were dead...I *saw* you dead. 
You don't understand.  I *saw* it.  I looked right into your eyes..."  Jim
shuddered violently, and Blair held him tighter, pulling the blanket
close around his armload.

     "Jim, look into my eyes now.  Come on, don't be afraid.  Look
right into my eyes."  Blair waited as the other man finally complied. 
"See.  Just like always."

     "The most beautiful eyes in the world...even bloodshot," Jim
quipped, reaching up to stroke Blair's cheek.  Blair claimed Jim's
mouth in a deep, prolonged kiss.  

     "I'm alive, lover.  And I plan to stay that way.  Ready to lie back
now?"

     "Yeah, I guess.  I don't feel any better no matter where I go."

     "How about you let *me* hold *you* for a change?"  Blair
climbed back into the bed, on his own side, and motioned to Jim to lie
down with his head on the smaller man's shoulder.  When Jim was
settled, Blair brought a hand up to stroke Jim's hair.   "How's that?"
     
     "Feels good.  Smells good too," Jim said, planting a little kiss
on the flesh under his lips.

     "You're not too shabby yourself," Blair replied, holding Jim
close and planting a kiss on his forehead.  "Go to sleep, lover.  Let me
watch over you for a change, huh?  Let everything shut down and
unwind."  Blair paused a moment.  Jim was relaxed, but still not
sleeping.  "If you can't sleep, and you want to talk, just start talking.  If
I don't answer, pinch me someplace fun."

     "Love you," Jim muttered, his words already sounding a bit
fuzzy with approaching sleep.

     "Love you too."

********

     Most of the next day was a blur of filling out forms and typing
up reports.  Ignoring his body's protests to everything he was putting it
through, Jim drove through the day with a dogged determination, tying
up all the loose ends of the multi-pronged Mantego/Slater case.   IA
would still do their perfunctory review of the shooting of Dominic
Mantego, but Simon was confident that nothing more would come of
that than an acknowledgment that it was an accidental shooting brought
on in a struggle which was self-defense.

     Starsky and Hutchinson only made the appearance necessary to
complete their portion of the paperwork, and to work out the
technicalities with the IA departments of their home PD and the
Cascade PD relating to Hutch's shooting of Rudy Mantego.  Again, the
shooting had occurred under circumstances that made any other course
of action ineffective.  Starsky would have been shot by the suspect an
instant later if Hutch hadn't acted as quickly and effectively as he did.

     Despite the fact that Jim felt like something the cat not only
dragged in, but pulled through several knotholes on the trip home, he
suggested treating their guests to a final dinner out before their return
to LA, which Hutch had wasted no time scheduling for the next day. 
While Starsky regretted missing out on spending more time with his
son under less stressful circumstances, he knew only too well that he
had pushed himself as far as he dared without going home for some
real rest and follow up medical care for his gunshot wound.

     By the time dinner rolled around, the guest list had swelled to
include Simon, Rafe, Brown, Megan, Rhonda and Serena.  Taking over
a long table in the back of Tony's, the group ordered a plethora of
Italian food and feasted happily.  It was a much-needed break to share
an evening with friends that didn't include talk of serial killers or drug
lords.  

     "Must have been quite a surprise finding out you had a son up
here in Cascade," Simon said to Starsky, feeling comfortable to
mention it since both Starsky and Blair had been very open about the
whole situation from the start.  

     "It was a big surprise finding out I had a son anywhere," Starsky
responded, smiling.  The rest of the group chortled a bit, including
Blair.  "But it was a good surprise.  Never figured my kid would be a
college professor," Starsky added, smiling at Blair with obvious pride.

     "Not yet," Blair amended.  "Still a lowly grad student, I'm
afraid."

     "Soon though," Starsky responded, not dissuaded.

     "Hopefully."

     "If we ever give him a day off to get anything done on his
dissertation," Simon commented, digging back in to his spaghetti.

     "So what's next for you two when you return to LA?"  Megan
asked Hutch, who had been quietly watching the conversation
involving his partner.

     "Some time off.  The man of steel over here needs to recuperate
for a while, even though he seems to think he can stop speeding bullets
with his body and keep going.  And we do have to finish the book, so
I'm hoping we can get a brief leave of absence from the PD for that."

     "You wouldn't object if we kept you in mind to consult on
future cases?"  Simon asked.

     "Not at all," Starsky replied immediately.  "Give me a great
excuse to visit my kid."

     "You don't need an excuse for that," Jim spoke up.  "I know
Blair would like it, and if we're not locking horns on a case, I could
deal with it myself," he added, smiling slightly, then became a bit more
serious.  "While we have you all here, there's something I think you
should be hearing directly from Blair and me.   You probably already
know anyway after the way things came together on this case, but if
anybody has anything to say about it, good or bad, I think this is the
right time for it, while we're among friends here."  He paused for a
breath.  "Blair and I are together.  I mean, *together*.  We're not
planning on posting a wedding announcement in the 'Cascade Herald'
anytime soon, but we're life partners now as well as working partners." 
Jim picked up Blair's hand and laced their fingers.  The younger man
was staring at him, stunned into silence.  "I know that's a concept that
might not set well with some of our friends, and I'd just as soon throw
all the cards on the table now and deal with it.  It's probably inevitable
that certain people are going to give us a bad time about this, and that's
fine.  It isn't going to change anything.  But I want to know where our
friends stand, and most of them who matter are at this table."

     There was a long silence, while most of the guests looked from
one to the other a bit nervously.  

     "I think it's delightful," Megan spoke up, raising her wine glass. 
"I think we should all drink a toast to the happy couple," she said
pleasantly, but assertively.  Starsky and Hutch, of course, had glasses in
the air immediately, and Rafe, Brown and Serena soon joined them. 
Simon was a bit more hesitant.

     "Simon?"  Blair prompted, watching the other man a bit
nervously.

     "On a personal level, I have no problem with any of this.  I'm
happy for you both.  But you have to realize that I'm not exactly a
representative of the entire Cascade PD, or the administration.  I don't
like to be a wet blanket, but my drinking to you as a couple here,
among friends, is no guarantee I can smooth the path with the brass or
your co-workers."

     "I don't expect that you will," Jim responded.  "I want to know
if we have your *personal* support."  He watched as the captain picked
up his wine glass and raised it to match the others.

     "You always have that."

********

     "It's been great meeting you both," Hutch said, as he shook
hands with Jim and then Blair.  "You'll come out to LA soon?"

     "I, uh, wondered about...Thanksgiving," Blair shot out,
immediately looking nervous, as if he feared having stepped over some
boundary.

     "That's a great idea," Starsky responded.  "Hutch does a mean
turkey.  Even if he does make me shove the wet bread up its butt." 
Starsky grinned and the other men laughed.  "I'll call you in a couple
days, and we'll set it up, huh?"

     "Sounds great."  Blair paused, noticing that Jim and Hutch had
gravitated toward the nearby window, discussing something about the
planes that were visible from that vantage point.  "I'm gonna miss
having you around all the time."

     "Same here, kiddo.  Don't be a stranger.  I want to hear from
you once in a while."  Starsky produced a card from the pocket of his
jacket.  "Okay, here you've got my work number and my e-mail
address.  On the back I wrote our home phone number, the cell phone
number and the pager number.  Now you've got no excuses."
     
     "You'll call me sometimes too, right?  I'll e-mail you all the
numbers tonight.  I totally forgot about you not having them already."

     "Sounds good.  You think you could get some time off over
Hanukkah this year?  I'd love to take you to New York to meet your
grandmother."

     "My grandmother?  I didn't know I *had* one."  Blair smiled
happily.

     "Oh, you've got one all right.  All 88 ornery years of her.  She's
a terrific lady.  Always wanted a grandchild too, and never got one. 
My brother, Nicky--your uncle--" Starsky paused and then sighed. 
"He's doing time for dealing.  After my dad died, he just...went
downhill.  He was younger than me, and he got in with a bad crowd."

     "Too bad," Blair said sincerely.  

     "Well, you've got cousins out the wazoo, which could be a good
thing or a bad thing."  Starsky laughed.  "My ma lives with my cousin
Sarah and her husband and their girls.  So you'll be meeting quite a
group if you can make it to go."

     "I'll make it work," Blair said, wondering how in hell he'd do
that during the wind-up of the fall semester before Christmas break. 
"Do you think they'd freak out if Jim and I showed up together?"

     "Hutch always goes with me.  They've cut their teeth on us, so I
think they can cope with the two of you."

     "I don't think I could have handled what happened with Jim on
my own...not to mention some of the, uh, personal stuff.   I'm really
glad you were here."

     "Me too.  If you ever need anything, just pick up the phone. 
Understood?"

     "Yeah, you too," Blair responded, smiling.

     "If he doesn't treat you right," he began, inclining his head
toward Jim, "I want to hear from you."

     "No danger of that," Blair responded, still moved to know his
father was that solicitous about his welfare.  A female voice on the PA
system interrupted them.

     "Flight 18 for Los Angeles is now boarding at gate 3..."

     "I guess that's us," Starsky said, hesitating a minute before
pulling his son into a hug with his good arm.  Blair returned the
pressure.  "Be good.  Stay behind Jim and keep your head down, hear
me?"

     "I'll do my best.  I'm really gonna miss you."

     "Ditto, junior."  Starsky took a deep breath and pulled away. 
Resting a hand on the side of Blair's face, he smiled.  "You were one
hell of a nice surprise, Blair."

     "You too," Blair responded, finding his throat closed up more
than he expected.

     "We better get going, babe," Hutch said softly, coming up
behind Starsky and resting a hand lightly on his shoulder.  "Blair--it
was great meeting you.  We'll hammer out the details on Thanksgiving
real soon."

     "I hope we get more of a chance to get to know each other over
the holiday."

     "I'm sure we will."

     "Hey, it's been an experience," Jim spoke up, smiling a little.

     "It has," Starsky replied, reaching out to shake left hands with
Jim, since his right arm was still in the sling.  "Be good to him,"
Starsky said quietly, with a penetrating gaze that seemed to bore into
Jim's soul.   Ellison had little doubt that one squeak out of Blair would
see his father on the first available flight to Cascade, and if he was
pissed enough, he wouldn't even need to wait for the plane.

     "I will.  He deserves the best," Jim responded, draping an arm
around Blair's shoulders.  Blair mirrored the gesture with an arm
around Jim's waist.

     "I got that."

     "We'll call you about Thanksgiving," Starsky said as they
started moving away.

     "Have a good trip home," Blair called after them.  With a
couple waves and one or two backward glances from Starsky, they
disappeared into the hustle of passengers.

     "Goodbyes suck, don't they, sweetheart?"  Jim squeezed Blair's
shoulders, noticing how sad his lover looked.

     "Yeah...there's just so much to catch up on, you know?  He
wants me to meet my grandmother over Hanukkah.  I didn't even know
I *had* one!"

     "We'll have a chance for a good visit over Thanksgiving," Jim
said, steering his partner toward the exit.

     "Would you come out to New York with me in December if I
can get a few days off to go?"
     
     "I'd probably go with you most anywhere, Chief."   Jim kept a
tight hold on Blair's shoulders and managed to drop a fast kiss on his
temple without missing a beat as they headed out for the parking lot.

********

     Starsky sighed contentedly as he listened to the sounds of the
water from his resting place on the deck.  Eyes closed, dressed in his
rattiest old shorts and a tank shirt, he had napped off and on in the
chaise lounge since late afternoon.  The sun was setting now, and he
noticed he was starting to feel a slight chill in the air.  Before he could
stir to go find warmer clothes, he felt something warm being lowered
onto his prone form.  Forcing one eye open against its will, he spied his
partner, solicitously arranging the blanket around him.  Happy that
Hutch hadn't spotted the open eye, he waited for just the right moment
and goosed his oblivious partner.  The other man lurched with a start
away from the lounger and glared down at his devilish lover.

     "Sorry, babe.  You know what those white shorts do to me."  He
waggled his brows, delighted to see a flush creep into Hutch's fair skin. 
"Sling comes off tomorrow."

     "Yeah, but you're still going to have to watch out for your
incision."

     "I don't have stitches in any of the important parts," Starsky
countered, yanking his partner down into the large, padded wood deck
lounger.

     "What if I'd landed on your incision?"

     "You didn't, did ya?"  Starsky retorted, not fazed in the least. 
"Get comfy."  He held up the blanket until they had shifted around to
accommodate each other comfortably.  

     "How much longer are we going to do this, Starsk?  How many
more times do we have to wait vigils at hospitals and...worry about the
risks of seeing one of us killed in the line of duty?"  Hutch let his head
rest on Starsky's shoulder.  "We've got so much living yet to do, babe.  I
don't want to lose it.  Not now."
     
     "We're not usually in the middle of as much heavy action as we
were in Cascade."

     "We're on a task force tracking serial killers, Starsk.  That's not
exactly low-risk work."

     "Make a deal with ya."

     "Oh, God.  Do I want to hear this?"

     "We stay on the task force for another five years, and then we
retire with no complaints."

     "Try offering a deal you can keep, Gordo," Hutch retorted,
feeling a little of the tension drain out of his body as he rested against
his lover.

     "Okay.  So I'll still complain."  Starsky let out a long breath.  "If
you really aren't happy working anymore--"

     "I'm fine with working.  It's the life and death risk I don't like
anymore."

     "Our biggest risks most of the time are paper cuts, blondie." 
Starsky stroked the silky blond hair on his shoulder.  "When I'm ready
to go back to work, we'll take a long hard look at where the risks are,
and see if we can compromise on some changes, huh?"

     "Sounds reasonable."

     "And, of course, you'll fare much better in the negotiations if
you're providing the other side with numerous sexual favors."

     "Pervert."

     "Would you mind if I invited Naomi to join us for
Thanksgiving?"

     "No.  Blair would probably get a real bang out of that--both
parents in one place."

     "That's what I was thinking.  I mean, I don't expect to go back
and re-create all the stuff he didn't have as a kid, but I think it would be
nice to do it at least once."

     "No problem," Hutch said through a yawn.

     "You were pretty stressed out the last few weeks, huh?"  Starsky
rubbed his partner's back in long, slow strokes.

     "I don't think I relaxed until now.  Came way to close to losing
you, babe."
     
     "I'm too ornery to die.  You told me that yourself after
Gunther."  Starsky sought his partner's lips and they shared a prolonged
kiss.  

********

     "You look great," Blair said, grinning as he shrugged into his
topcoat.  Jim was dressed in a gray suit with a white shirt and tie,
topped off with his long black topcoat.

     "I had to put on something good so I'd look okay next to you,"
Jim responded, taking a hold of both Blair's hands and smiling softly
down at him.

     "Oh, man, you have all the lines down, don't you?"  Blair
replied, chuckling a little.  His own dark blue suit and black shirt were
covered with a gray topcoat they had found at the mall the previous
day, having concluded that Blair didn't have what he needed for their
date that night. At Jim's request, Blair's hair was free of the pony tail
he'd planned to put it in for the evening.

     "With somebody else, it would be lines.  With you, I mean it." 
Jim leaned forward and their lips met in a brief kiss.  

     "I love you, you know."

     "I love you too, Chief.  But if we don't get a move on, our
reservations are history."

     Seated at an ornately set table at the Skyline Room, the two
men toasted champagne and watched the lights of the city twinkling
below from their vantage point many storeys above it.

     "You must've sold a kidney to get a window table on short
notice," Blair commented, taking in the view.

     "The owner is a friend of my dad's.  I called in and when I
mentioned 'Ellison', suddenly I could get any table I wanted.  I didn't
mention that the first name wasn't William," Jim concluded, clearing
his throat and smiling a little.  

     "Any chance they'll send your dad the bill, too?"

     "That'd go over well," Jim responded, laughing a bit as he
scanned the menu.  "Lobster?"

     "Yes, Oyster?"  Blair replied sweetly.

     "For dinner, smart ass."  

     "Sounds great.  They have a filet mignon and lobster dinner."

     "Sounds even better."  Jim motioned to the waiter, who took
their order.

     Dinner was a delicious, though obscenely expensive
experience.  Relaxing and talking about everything under the sun, the
two men barely noticed the passage of time before finding themselves
running late for the concert.  

     Jim was more than a little surprised to be dragged into a pre-concert 
reception to mingle with the faculty and staff, as well as a few
of the University's more prestigious donors.  Blair happily introduced
Jim as his partner, and left everyone to draw his or her own conclusions
what that term meant.  Blair obviously had quite a few friends on
campus, as Jim found himself bombarded by new names to remember
after a lengthy succession of introductions.  Happy to find a niche with
a member of the criminal justice faculty while Blair was appropriated
by a rather ample socialite who was intent on describing to him her
recent trip to India, Jim didn't mind the gathering of predominantly
academics.  The professor he was visiting with had started out as cop
and gotten his Ph.D. much later in life.  The two men had to be
interrupted from swapping war stories when it was time to move into
the auditorium.

     The music was quite good, though the confining seating had
Jim twisting in place before long.  He finally ran his arm along the
back of Blair's seat, and was nothing short of stunned when the younger
man caught his dangling hand and laced their fingers, bringing Jim's
arm very obviously around Blair instead of innocently on the seat.

     "We should have sat in the back row so we could make out,"
Blair whispered.

     "This is okay with you?"  Jim flexed his fingers a little.

     "More than okay," Blair whispered back.  "How about you?"

     "Perfect."  Jim paused, then leaned in to whisper again, "Do
they sell CDs of their music?"

     "After the show.  You like it that much?"

     "It's fine, but mostly I thought it would make a good souvenir of
our first official 'date'."

     "I always thought there was a romantic hiding under that cool
exterior," Blair said, squeezing Jim's hand.

     "He was just waiting around for you to show up."  Jim smiled as
Blair pulled their joined hands over so he could kiss the back of Jim's. 
"Somebody might see us, sweetheart," he admonished gently.

     "Good.  Then they won't be as shocked when I aim for your
mouth next time."

     Blair was on his good behavior throughout the rest of the
concert, though he never did release Jim's hand.  They stopped to by
their souvenir CD in the lobby and then made their way across the
parking lot to the truck.  The November night was cold but clear, with
a myriad of stars twinkling above, and a large moon casting a blue-white 
light over their surroundings.

     "Tonight was really perfect," Blair said, smiling as he fastened
his seat belt.

     "Was?  You ready to go home already?"  Jim prodded.

     "Well...not exactly.  I thought that's where we were going."

     "Eventually.  I still have the matter of that surprise we had to
postpone."

     "I don't suppose asking for a hint would help any?"  Blair asked. 
Jim just grinned wickedly.

     "Not at all."  Starting up the truck, Jim headed out of the
parking lot and toward his destination.

     "You know, Jim, I'll come across without you driving out in the
country and faking an empty gas tank," Blair joked as they drove away
from Cascade down a rural road.

     "Patience, Chief.  We're almost there."

     "Almost *where*?  Jim, we're in the middle of *nowhere*!"

     "See, there's the road right there," Jim said, as if the sight of the
dirt road that led into a field and then back into the trees should answer
all of Blair's questions.

     "Why are you taking me into the woods in the middle of the
night?"  Blair asked, not sure what Jim had in mind, and more and
more certain he didn't like the way it was headed.  Their last excursion
through the woods at night had been less than enjoyable, and he'd been
dressed for it then.

     "Will you relax, Chief?  You're gonna love this."

     "Do you have some kind of kinky tree fetish you haven't
mentioned?"  Blair looked around at the enclosing foliage with unease.

     "My only fetish is sitting in this truck with me.  I promise I
won't suspend you upside down from a tree and do bad things to you. 
Okay?"

     "Actually, I'm a little disappointed," Blair quipped back.  

     Jim drove through the trees until they emerged into a clearing,
and a dazzling view of the water and the city lights, topped off by the
infinite sky full of stars and the bright moon.

     "Wow," Blair commented, taking in the scenery.

     "Told you you'd like it.  Come on."  Jim turned off the truck's
engine and opened his door to get out.  Once Blair was out of the truck,
Jim pulled the small CD player he'd smuggled along with them out
from under the seat and plugged it in to the truck's cigarette lighter
after turning the key far enough to give it battery power.  He hit the
button, and the soft, romantic sounds of instrumental piano music
wafted into the night air as he turned the volume high enough for it to
carry to where Blair was standing several feet away, taking in the view.

     "Music?"  Blair asked, smiling, eyes widened a bit with
surprise.

     "Can't dance without the music."  Jim moved toward his lover
and took both his hands.

     "Dance?"

     "Yes, dance.  Do you mind?"  Jim asked sincerely, seeming a
bit nervous now, as if he'd selected a completely inappropriate activity
with which to surprise Blair.

     "Mind?  Jim...the music...the-the view...tonight...it's all perfect. 
It's like some kind of fantasy."

     "I think we've lived through enough reality to have earned a
little fantasy, don't you?"  Jim raised both of Blair's hands to his mouth
and kissed the back of each one.   "I never wanted to do something like
this for anyone else, Blair.  Just you.  Only you."

     "Nobody's ever done anything like this for me before.  I mean,
I've been on dates where we've done the old 'let's go look at the stars'
routine, but no one's ever given me all of Cascade, the water, the moon
and the stars.  Nobody's ever treated me the way you do, Jim. 
Sometimes I'm just...stunned by it."

     "Guess you're going to be spending a lot of years stunned then,
sweetheart.  I know it's not realistic to promise a flawless, smooth
future, but I want you to be clear that you're the most important thing in
the world to me, and there isn't anything I wouldn't do for you."

     "I feel the same way," Blair said, his voice a little strained.   "I
love you so much.  When you were missing...I didn't want to live
without you."

     "Same here, Chief."  Jim smiled, then leaned forward to kiss his
lover thoroughly.  Blair's arms wrapped around his neck and his around
Blair's waist.  He hoisted the shorter man off the ground until their
heads were level with one another.  Drawing back breathless, Jim
smiled at the loose curls that the breeze was sending into Blair's eyes. 
Releasing his lover, he reached into his coat pocket and brought out a
hair band.  "I thought that might get to you after a while."  He kissed
the tip of Blair's nose and then gathered the soft hair with both hands
into a loose pony tail and bound it at the back of Blair's neck.

     "You thought of everything," Blair said, further surprised by
Jim's thoughtfulness on this one small point.

     "I thought of you.  Same thing in my book," Jim responded,
kissing Blair's forehead and pulling him into a close embrace.  

     The two men clung to each other in their own little paradise,
letting their bodies sway slightly to the music under the watchful eyes
of a million stars.

     "You have any blankets in the truck?"  Blair asked from the
spot where he was nestled against Jim's chest.  

     "Are you cold, sweetheart?"  Jim responded, pulling back.  Blair
gave him a grin and a roll of the eyes.  "Oh!  Uh, sure, yeah.  I've got
the emergency kit in the back."  Jim kept a hold on Blair's hand as they
made their way back to the truck.  To his surprise, Blair climbed in the
back and started helping him dig through the box of supplies.  

     "I'm betting this is a better surface than the ground," Blair
reasoned, flexing his eyebrows as he started spreading a blanket over
the cool metal of the truck bed.  As soon as it was in place, Jim
climbed in next to his lover and gathered Blair into his arms. "Ever
made love in the back of a pickup before?"  

     "Never," Jim answered honestly, kissing Blair's mouth and
nipping at his full lower lip.  "You?"

     "Nope.  Always thought it would kind of cool though. 
Especially out under the stars... with somebody I loved." 

     "I guess we're going to share a lot of 'firsts' together, huh?"  Jim
said softly, nimble fingers unbottoning Blair's coat and sliding his hand
up to loosen his lover's tie.

     The two men struggled a bit awkwardly to dispense with the
layers of dress clothes, laughing a few times when a limb would get
caught in what seemed like an impossible position, bound in a pesky
sleeve or pantleg.  Finally naked, tucked under a second blanket with
their coats spread on top for warmth, they wound around each other on
their sides and relaxed into sharing long, lazy kisses, hands roaming
over one another. 

     "So what do you think?"  Jim asked in whisper, kissing Blair
again before he could answer.

     "About what?"
     
     "Making love in the back of a pickup," Jim clarified, running
his hands down to grip the firm mounds of Blair's ass, pulling their
groins tight against each other.

     "Oh, man," Blair sighed, arching into the stimulation. 
"Amazing."

     "Phenomenal," Jim agreed, kneading the pliant flesh under his
fingers as he claimed Blair's mouth again, not freeing him until Blair
pulled away to breathe.  Mirroring Jim's position, Blair's hands strayed
down to his lover's firm buttocks, his hips rocking, bringing the two
engorged shafts into a frantic dance.  The friction built until both men
were grunting and groaning out their pleasure.  Blair broke away and
pulled back, stopping the rhythm.

     "Jim...make love to me?"  he asked breathlessly.

     "That's what I'm doing, baby."

     "All the way."

     "I don't have anything for lube, sweetheart."  Jim moved his
hands up to Blair's back, holding him close.  

     "I do."

     "You brought lube with you?"  Jim asked, his eyes widening.

     "Well, kind of.  It's under the seat in the truck."

     "The truck?"

     "Yeah."  Blair swallowed, feeling the scrutiny of Jim's gaze.  "I
kind of had this fantasy about us...you know...on a stakeout or
something..."

     "That can't happen on a stakeout, sweetheart.  You know that."

     "I know...but if we ever did decide to run out of gas on purpose,
I figured we'd need something."

     "So it's under the passenger seat," Jim clarified.  Blair nodded. 
"I suppose you want me to get it?"

     "I hate the cold," Blair retorted.

     "One of these days, I'm going to figure out a way to say no to
you and make it stick."  Jim left the warm haven of the pickup bed and
scurried to the truck, feeling as ridiculous as he looked as he crawled
partway into the truck, stark naked, and rummaged around for the lube. 
With the tube firmly in hand, he rushed back to the warmth of the
makeshift bed he'd been sharing with Blair.  
     "How do you want me?"  Blair asked, not sure what position
would work best in their unusual surroundings.

     "Try on your side, Chief."  Jim settled back under the covers
and spooned himself up to Blair, holding him close, trailing wet kisses
down his neck and over his shoulder.  "Love the way you taste..."  He
went back to action instead of words, and Blair moaned, wriggling his
ass against Jim's groin, tormenting the rigid cock that was sliding
between Blair's cheeks.  "Relax a minute, baby.  Gotta warm the stuff
up a little."  Jim still had the tube gripped in one hand, trying to take
the chill off its contents.

     "Please?  Want you now," Blair moaned.

     Jim flipped the cap off the tube and moved back to squeeze
some out on his fingers.  Satisfied it was warm enough for Blair, he
began slowly stretching and coating the tight passage.  Blair groaned
and moved with Jim's finger, showing no signs of the anxiety and
tension he'd wrestled with their first time together.  

     After thoroughly preparing his lover, Jim coated himself and
pressed against Blair's center.

     "Relax, angel.  Just let it happen," he murmured, stroking
Blair's hip as he spoke.  "Slow and easy," he assured softly, kissing
Blair's shoulder as he pushed past the initial resistance.  "Love you so
much."  Jim pulled Blair closer again, molding their bodies together as
he slid in a bit further, waiting for Blair's muscles to relax at each
progressive stage.  Finally sheathed, he lay there against Blair's back,
panting and stroking his lover's stomach as Blair's breathing calmed
slightly.  "Just relax, sweetheart.  Let yourself adjust, it's okay," Jim
whispered against a curl-covered ear.  He closed his eyes, searching for
the part of himself that could keep control and not start wildly
thrusting.  He reached around and gently grasped Blair's slightly
faltering erection and began pumping it firmly.  

     "Oh, Jim..."  Blair started to move, impaling himself on Jim's
cock in one direction and thrusting into the pumping hand in the other.  
The hot, living bulk inside of him was both pain and pleasure, the lines
blurring impossibly until it all seemed part of pleasure.

     Feeling the incredible sweet pressure massaging his engorged
shaft, Jim started to move with his partner, letting Blair set the pace but
following it with firm thrusts that eventually grazed Blair's prostate,
making him cry out and stiffen. His internal muscles contracted wildly
around Jim, dragging little grunts of pleasure from him as Blair cried
out his name and bathed Jim's hand in his seed.

     Jim's movements picked up, and with a few rapid thrusts, he
froze and shot his completion deep into his lover's body, fastening his
mouth to Blair's succulent neck at the same time, marking him, sliding
his hands up to rub over sweat-sheened skin, wrapping both arms
tightly around him.  Still joined, Jim kissed, nipped and licked at
Blair's neck and shoulder, nuzzling the warm, soft curls that had
slipped out of the loose pony tail.

     "Love you, angel," Jim murmured against the warm, moist
neck.  

     "Love you too...more than I can say," Blair whispered back,
savoring the feeling of being filled by Jim and joined to him. 
Blanketed in that large body, encircled by those long limbs, Blair felt
warmer, more secure, and more loved than he ever had before.  "Look
at the stars," Blair murmured, turning his head so he could look up at
the sky.  Jim kissed his cheek.

     "I am," Jim responded, keeping his gaze firmly on Blair, who
shifted enough to see his lover's face.  "The brightest star in my sky,"
he whispered, kissing Blair's cheek again.  "Center of my life. My
soulmate."

     "I thought I was the one who was good with words here," Blair
responded, grinning.  "Maybe I just can't find any that say enough.  I'm
going to keep looking, though.  Maybe somebody's found a way to say
it in some language."

     "I doubt it."  Jim smiled, pulling Blair impossibly closer and
resting his head against Blair's curls.

     "You're probably right.  Finding those words is going to be right
up there with counting those stars, one by one--impossible, because
they're infinite...like us."

     "Right,"  Jim sighed, smiling, closing his eyes and holding his
mate securely in his arms.