Title:   Reservations for Two
Author:   Candy Apple
Author Email:   blair_lady@yahoo.com
Rating:   MAO
Pairings:   J/B 

Status:  Complete
Date: 12-4-02
Category:  Drama, Romance
Author's website:   https://www.squidge.org/~candy_a
 

Possible spoilers follow 

 
>----------------------< 

 
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, Jim and Blair and the denizens of Cascade are not
mine.  I'm just taking them out for a little ride.  No infringement intended, no
money being made.  Trust me on that one. <g>

Author's Notes:   Well, this one's been a long time in the works.  To all the folks
who so kindly asked me when this would be finished, or in more general terms,
where the heck I was for so long, thanks for asking. ;-) The song lyrics are also not
mine.  "Reservations for Two" was performed by Dion*e Warw*ck, and "After
All" was performed by Ch*r and Peter C*tera. 

Story Notes:   Plenty of h/c in this piece, lots of endearments and affection.  A
little supernatural stuff, but hopefully nothing that'll make you leave the lights on.
<g>

Summary:    A weekend trip unearths some horrible repressed memories for Blair
of his past with Vince, and leads Jim and Blair to believe that Watson may have
had even more skeletons in his closet than they originally knew.

Warnings:   Reference to past sexual abuse/assault, violence, endearments,
William Ellison as a nice guy, lots of romance.

Web Version: https://www.squidge.org/~candy_a/thesetwo.htm
                                             
*********************************************************


RESERVATIONS FOR TWO

by

Candy Apple

**************
It's been so long
Since I last saw you
We're always running
No time for loving

Let's take some time out
To know each other again
You know I miss you
You're my best friend

I don't wanna lose you
You're the one I'm living for
I need you here beside me
Can't be without you anymore

Let's make reservations for two
This is just between me and you
There will be no standing in line
'Cause, baby, tonight you're mine
**************

Jim's head jerked up again, and he was acutely aware of the two concerned eyes
focused on him.  It was the second time he'd nodded off at the dinner table, and
the first time he'd been home to eat dinner in over three weeks.  Two young
women had been strangled near the Cascade Plaza Center shopping mall, and all
indications pointed to a serial killer.  Detectives were working nearly around the
clock following up leads and dozens of worthless tips in the hope of finding that
needle in the haystack--the tip that would lead them to the killer.  

"Do you want to turn in?  I can clean up down here," Blair offered, but was
greeted with a sullen grunt in response.  "You're dead on your feet, Jim.  Why not
get some sleep?  You don't get any time off, and it's not safe for you to be this
worn out on the job--"

"Sandburg, I really don't feel like being mothered right now, all right?  I've had a
shitty day, and I just want to relax."

"Sorry," Blair said, hurt and a bit annoyed at the same time as he went back to
picking at his own meal.  Finally he put the fork down and picked up his plate,
carrying it to the sink.  

"What's this about now?  Am I being punished?"

"No--but I don't plan on sitting there and letting *you* punish *me* for your lousy
day."

"Nobody's punishing you.  Damn it, Chief, do I have to be all sunshine and light
every goddamned minute around here?"  Jim stood up, sending his chair back with
a loud slide.  Something in that movement startled Blair, and the glass he was
rinsing slipped out of his hand and shattered in the sink.  

"Hands were greasy, I guess," he explained, his voice not quite as steady as it had
been.  He washed the allegedly culprit hands with soap and water and then started
picking the shards of glass out of the sink carefully, tossing them in the
wastebasket.

"Blair--"

"I'm fine."  Blair dried off his hands and used a paper towel to carefully pick the
rest of the smaller pieces out of the sink, and then rinsed it thoroughly.  "Why
don't you watch the news or something while you finish eating?"  Blair turned on
the small screen TV that sat at one end of the counter.  

"I don't want to watch the news.  Look, I'm sorry I jumped you."

"Not a problem."

"Yes, it *is* a problem.  Obviously.  You're upset about something."

"You're right.  You shouldn't have to be all sunshine and light all the time, and I'm
nagging at you.  We're both tired, so this is probably a good time to drop this
subject."

"I didn't mean to upset you."

"I'm not a fucking mental patient, all right?"  Blair shot back.  "Quit using your
psych ward tone with me.  I'm fine."

"I didn't know I was doing that."

"I don't want to do this, Jim.  We're chewing on each other because we're stressed
out, and there's no point in it.  Let's just give it a little breathing space, okay?"

"Okay.  Whatever."  Jim picked up his plate and glass and carried them to the
sink.  

"I'll do the dishes.  You're wasted, man.  Go relax."

"I'm sorry I upset you."  Jim rested his hands on Blair's shoulders and kissed the
back of his head.  "And I don't think you're a mental patient.  I never did."

"I know.  I'm sorry too."  Blair turned around and accepted the hug that waited for
him.  "It was the chair."

"What?"

"When you pushed your chair back so fast.  For just a split second, I had my back
to you...Vince always pushed away from the table that way.  More so when he was
pissed off about something."

"I'm sorry, honey.  I mean it.  This case is just..."  Jim shook his head, still holding
Blair.  "I had to meet with the second victim's parents today, and they wanted
details.  I don't know why people want to torture themselves that way."

"They have to know what their loved one went through, I guess.  It's important to
know what happened, even if it's painful finding out."

"When this is over, we'll go somewhere.  Just the two of us.  Get away from here
for a while.  Sound good?"  Jim pulled back, resting a hand lightly on either side
of Blair's face.  

"Sounds great.  We need some downtime."

"Yeah.  We'll think of something."  Jim kissed Blair's mouth quickly and then
headed toward the kitchen doorway.  "I think I'll take you up on that R'n'R if you
don't mind taking care of this stuff."

"Nope.  I'm fine.  Go ahead."

Blair finished up the dishes while Jim settled into the TV room with the remote
control.  By the time Blair arrived to join him, he was snoring steadily on the
couch.  Sinking into an overstuffed chair, Blair put his feet up and stared at the
game on the TV.  They both needed to get away, to relax...

As he dozed off himself, he began to think about the possibilities of going
somewhere remote, and quiet, just the two of them...  He drifted off to sleep with
a large smile on his face.

********

"You're still not even giving me a *hint* where we're going?"  Blair wheedled,
smiling at Jim.

"You'll see soon enough.  We'll be there in a half hour, sweetheart.  I wanted to
surprise you."

"I'm gonna be surprised, I promise."  Blair had no sooner said that than he noticed
something familiar about the terrain.  There was something in this route that was
giving him a sense of deja vu, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.  "Jim, have
we been here before?"

"Here, or where we're going?"

"Either one."

"I don't think so.  Why?  Look familiar?"

"Yeah.  Like I've been down this route before.  Maybe I have.  I used to drive out
to some weird, off-beat archaeological dig sites around the area when I was an
undergrad."  Blair leaned back in the seat and fought the urge to nod off. 
Hopefully, he could curl up with Jim in a nice big bed somewhere and they could
both sleep some solid hours together and then enjoy the rest of their retreat, rested
and refreshed.  

By the time Jim slowed down the truck and turned off the main road, at the sign
that read "Lakeside Resort", Blair was wracking his brain to determine when he'd
been here last.  His brain was not forthcoming, and guarded its information
jealously.

"What do you think, Chief?"  Jim asked as they pulled up to a cabin which served
as the resort office.  "Our own cabin, electricity, heat, hot and cold running water,
provisions, a full service kitchen--just you and me and the trees."  Jim watched as
Blair sat there in silence, staring out the windshield of the truck.  "Blair, what's
wrong?"

"Nothing.  Sorry, man.  Guess I'm just winded.  This looks great.  A cabin sounds
perfect."  Blair forced a smile, not wanting to deflate Jim's enthusiasm about his
surprise.  From the uneasy smile he got in return, the damage had already been
done.

"I'll go get our key and sign us in."

"Okay."  Blair sat in the truck, the winter air seeming colder now.  He pulled his
jacket more tightly around himself and pulled his gloves on hands that were pale
and icy to the touch.  He nearly jumped out of his skin when Jim opened the
driver's door and got back in.

"What's the matter, sweetheart?  Your heart's pounding like a jackhammer."  Jim
looked truly worried, and Blair hastened to assuage his fears.

"I must've dozed off and you startled me when you got back in."  He smiled again,
trying to put more heart into it.  "So where's our cabin?"

"Down this road about half a mile, then to the left, about another half mile."  

"This was a nice idea, Jim.  Don't worry about me.  I'm just overdue for some
sleep."

"Me too, sweetheart," Jim agreed, sighing as he started up the truck.  "I'm glad we
caught that SOB, because frankly, I don't think I could have handled another week
of looking for him."  The killer had kept the cops on the run for almost six weeks,
before surrendering somewhat uneventfully when cornered in his own apartment. 
Six weeks of grueling work concluded rather unimpressively and without incident. 
Still, the killer was behind bars, and that was the important thing.

"So who's minding the store?"  Blair quipped, knowing that Jim, Megan, Joel,
Rafe and Henri had all pulled more double shifts than they wanted to count while
hunting for the killer.  All were lined up and waiting to take vacation.

"Megan, Rafe and Henri.  Joel and I have seniority," Jim added, grinning.  "Here
we go," Jim said, nodding forward toward the small wood cabin ahead of them.  It
was rustic, isolated and quiet.  The cabin looked cozy there among the trees with
the little tendril of smoke curling out of the chimney.  "They started a fire in the
fireplace about a half hour before our anticipated arrival time.  Pretty neat, huh?" 
Jim said, smiling.   He was obviously pleased with their destination, and Blair
should have been also--it was just what he'd envisioned as the perfect kind of
break to restore them.

And still he hated it, and dreaded nothing more than going inside the small
structure.

They unloaded the truck and made their way to the door.  Jim unlocked it, and
together they moved the two travel bags and the carton of supplies into the living
area.  Jim closed the door on the cold afternoon outside, and the cabin was warm
and toasty by comparison.  

And frighteningly familiar.  

"You want to tell me what's eating you, sweetheart?"  Jim asked gently.  Blair was
standing in the living area, which was one big open room that contained a
grouping of chairs and a couch near the fireplace, a table and chairs, and the
kitchen.  Through an open door was the bedroom and bathroom, upon which Blair
seemed to have fixed his gaze.  

"Jim...I think I'm gonna be sick.  My stomach hurts."  Blair sat on the arm of the
couch, holding onto the back of it.

"You don't feel feverish."  Jim felt Blair's forehead, then slid an arm around his
shoulders.  "We only had sandwiches for lunch, nothing spicy.  It's not your side
again?"

"No, I'm nauseous, and I feel crampy."

"Why don't we lie down a while?"

"Not in there."

"The bed's in there, honey."  Jim smiled in confusion, still rubbing Blair's back
lightly as he stood close to him.  

"Can we rest on the couch?  Please?  I don't want to go into the bedroom."

"Blair, look at me.  What's the matter?"  Jim crouched in front of his seated lover,
taking a gentle hold of his shoulders.  

"I don't know.  I'm afraid of going in there.  Please, Jim, I don't understand it but I
don't want to go in that room!"

"Okay, okay."  Jim moved up and gathered Blair into his arms, both men standing. 
"Shhh.  It's okay.  We'll stretch out here a while, enjoy the fire.  Sound good?"

"What's wrong with me?"  Blair moaned into Jim's shoulder, hanging on tightly.

"I don't know, sweetheart.  I don't know why you're scared, but I hope we can find
out.  For now, let's get a little rest, huh?"  

"Okay."

"Think your stomach'll be all right?"

"Better now.  I think so."

"I need to use the john.  Why don't you put the refrigerator stuff away, and then
we'll crash on the couch a while."  Jim smiled as Blair nodded at that suggestion,
moving away to comply.  "Chief?"

"Huh?"

"You need the bathroom?"

"No."

"We've been in the truck for hours."

"I don't need it, Mom."  Blair tried to force a smile, make the remark sound light-
hearted.

"Blair, you know you can't hold it for two days.  I understand if you don't want to
sleep in the room, but what about the bathroom?  It's off the bedroom.  I'll wait
outside the door for you if you want."

"Jim, dammit, I'm not going in there.  I can use the weeds out back."

"You're going to piss in the weeds rather than *walk through* that room?  I don't
understand this, Chief.  We've never even *been* here before."  Jim froze, pinning
Blair with an intent look.  "*We* haven't been here before, but what about--"

"No!  I...I don't remember anything about coming here."

"But you're afraid of the bedroom."

"I thought you were gonna let go of this so we could rest a while."

"I am.  You're right.  I'm sorry.  I'll be out in a few minutes."  Jim retreated into
the bedroom, and Blair watched him go, not sure what was shaking him more--the
odd snatches of memory and familiarity about this place, or not having Jim's
complete loving care to deal with the feelings. 

 Jim was being as patient as anyone could expect--he was being *more* patient
than most people would be under the same circumstances.  The fact he was
running on empty for sleep and relaxation, and now was being hit broadside with
a new trauma from Blair wasn't helping.  

And times likes these were when Blair realized just how much of a concerted
effort Jim made not to ever lose his temper or yell when he was pissed off or
frustrated.  Blair couldn't control his reactions to those behaviors--they always
evoked fear in him, even if it was something only Jim could detect.  That was an
ingrained reaction he would probably never overcome, and Jim never wanted to
be the one to cause it. 

Blair put the perishables away and went out on the back porch to take care of
nature's call.  The awful, sickening realization that he'd been here with Vince was
taking its hold of him, its icy claws wrapping around his soul and squeezing hard,
the way Vince's oversized hand used to close around his wrist until he expected
the bones to snap...

Feeling his stomach convulse violently, Blair hung over the railing and vomited.

"Blair?"  Jim was out the back door in a flash.  "Come back inside, sweetheart. 
Lie down on the couch."  He put his hands on Blair's shoulders and was startled
when the smaller man flinched away.

"I want to go home."

"We just got here."

"I want to go home.  Now."  Blair gripped the railing on the porch until his
knuckles went white.  

"All right."  Jim reached up to pat Blair's back, but given his earlier flinch, he
aborted the gesture and turned away, walking back inside.  Blair could hear him
re-packing everything that had just been put away, and he cursed Watson for
bedeviling him from beyond the grave.  

"I'm sorry," he said to Jim as he stood in the open back door that led into the
cabin.

"No need.  It's not your fault."  Jim's words were tight and controlled.  Blair had
never seen Jim quite so close to the edge of losing his patience, and true to his
nature since living with Vince, Blair felt compelled to test the waters just that
extra little bit to reassure himself things were safe.

"I know you're pissed off at me, and I'm sorry."

"I'm pissed off that you won't level with me.  I'm not pissed off that you're upset." 
Jim was stuffing things in the box now, his demeanor becoming less and less
amenable.  

"I don't remember...I don't know why I'm afraid of that room."

"Obviously Watson brought you here and probably did something..."  Jim cut
himself off before he said something that would upset Blair more than he already
was.  

"I'll, uh, put our stuff back in the truck."  Blair walked hastily through the living
room, avoiding another glance into the bedroom, and carried the two travel bags
back to the truck.  By the time he'd put the tarp over them, Jim was back with the
carton of food, which he put in the back with the bags.  

"Here."  He handed Blair a bottle of spring water.  

"Thanks," Blair took it, and held onto it, grasping at the little sign of comfort from
Jim.  He wanted nothing more than to grab onto Jim and hide in the folds of one
of those bear hugs Jim was so good at, but at the moment, he felt there was more
"bear" than "hug" in Jim's mood.

The ride back into Cascade was made in strained silence.

********

Jim managed another surreptitious look at Blair as the two of them sat on opposite
ends of the couch, watching a rented movie.  Blair's body language was a study in
isolation: his knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them, his body pressed as far
into the corner of the couch as humanly possible.  Jim had finally broken the
silence as they got back into Cascade and suggested picking up the movies.  Blair
had agreed, and had helped select them, though he'd deferred to Jim's choices on
both.  Jim wasn't sure if it was apathy or some kind of throwback fear that
accompanied what was obviously a traumatic memory.

All Jim did know was that he didn't feel welcome in Blair's personal space, and
that Blair didn't want to talk about it.  Not even to let Jim know the direction the
memories were going, or why he was so upset that just the thought of going into
the bedroom at that cabin made him throw up.  Sighing, Jim interrogated himself
silently if he was really angry at Blair, or if he was angry at Watson.  

That answer was always easy.  Unfortunately, handling it was not.  

The urge to go pull Blair into his arms and soothe away the hurt, whatever it was,
nagged at him.  Still, the image of Blair flinching away from his touch back at the
cabin reminded him that Blair needed to make the first move.  Blair needed
autonomy over his body and his space, and the last thing Jim would do was
intrude on that.

********

Blair chewed at his bottom lip, and wondered when the overpowering nausea
would subside.  He dismissed the possibility he was coming down with something
because of the fragmented images that were swirling through his mind.  This was
not a nausea born of the flu or of bad food or stress...it was nausea born of terror,
and what lay beyond the now somewhat tattered barrier of his memory terrified
him more than he could say.

"Let's call it a night, Chief."  Jim flipped off the television, and Blair barely
noticed its absence, except for the dimming of light in the room.  That and the fact
he was expected to face sleep...and with sleep would come dreams.  

"If you don't mind, I think I'll stay up a while and read.  I'm too...*wired* to
sleep."

"Okay."  Jim rose and headed for the door of the TV room.  "Blair?"

"Yeah?"  Blair looked up, relieved not to see anything but fatigue reflected in
Jim's features.  

"I'm not mad about the trip.  I'm just...I'm worried."

"Don't be.  I'll be okay," Blair added, forcing a little smile.  

"You sure you want to stay down here and read?"

"For now, yeah."  Blair got up and followed Jim out of the room, heading toward
his study while Jim paused at the foot of the stairs.  

"Come up in a while, huh?"

"I will.  G'night, Jim."  Blair looked at Jim a long moment and then retreated into
his study, leaving the door slightly ajar.

"Goodnight, cuddlebug," Jim responded, a bit too softly for Blair to hear before
trudging tiredly up the stairs to their bed, alone.

********

Blair jerked awake, his hand on his stomach, feeling the oppressive nausea again,
and the cramping.  He shifted in the big easy chair, and was momentarily startled
to see a large figure in the door of the room.

"Didn't mean to scare you, sweetheart.  I just got a call from Simon.  There's a
problem with the case.  I'm going to have to head downtown."

"You want company?"

"I want you to go upstairs and get some sleep.  I'll be home in a couple hours,
most likely."

"Okay."  Blair sighed, then got out of the chair and started toward the door of the
room.  Jim moved aside to let him through, but he paused, the two men only
inches apart.  "You're not mad at me about yesterday?"

"No, not at all, Chief.  We're going to get to the bottom of this when I get home." 
Jim took a hold of Blair's shoulders, giving in to the need to touch.  He felt Blair
stiffen a moment, and that was all it took for him to move his hands back to his
sides, and head toward the kitchen to go out the back door to the garage.  "Get
some sleep, Chief."

"I will," Blair called after him sadly, knowing he'd stiffened with unease when Jim
stated so emphatically that they'd get to the bottom of his memories.  It was that
he'd been afraid of, not Jim's touch.  He desperately wanted and needed that, but at
the same time, he was afraid to let down his defenses too much, because if he did,
the memories might take over, and whatever was still hidden under all these
layers, he didn't really want to uncover.

********

Bill Ellison pulled up in front of Jim's and Blair's house about ten o'clock in the
morning.  It was a sunny winter day, a real rarity in Cascade.  He had to chuckle to
think that Jim's luck ran like his own--take a couple days to get out of town and
the weather turns nice in the place you're leaving.  He'd agreed to take in the
morning paper and the mail while Jim and Blair were on their brief vacation, so
now he picked up the newspaper and added it to the handful of mail he was
carrying while he unlocked the front door with the key Jim had left with him a
couple days earlier.  

It was a toss up who was more startled--Blair, standing midway up the staircase in
his ratty old robe, or Bill, standing in the entry way staring back at him when he'd
expected to be entering an empty house.

"I'm sorry, Blair.  Jimmy asked me to take in the mail and the paper--"

"It's okay," Blair said, coming down the stairs now.  Bill frowned at the pale
complexion and the almost unsteady gait.  

"Are you all right?"

"I've been sick all morning."  Blair took the mail and the paper from Bill.  "I don't
think I'm contagious...it's...I'm...it's not..."  Blair gestured uselessly with his hand. 
"I don't know what it is."

"Is Jim here?"

"No, he got called in."

"So that's why you're still home."

"We got to the resort, and I...I...I got sick so we came back."

"Then you're sick, but you're not?"  Bill frowned, confused.  

"You want coffee or anything?"

"Not necessary.  Does Jim know you're sick?"

"He knows something's wrong."  Blair laid the mail on the table in the hall near
the stairs.  "God, my stomach hurts," he muttered, holding onto it and leaning on
the table.

"My car's right out front.  We'll grab a coat for you and I'll take you to
emergency."

"No.  I'm gonna be sick again."  Blair looked around a little frantically, one hand
clamped over his mouth.  Bill grabbed the vase off the table, unceremoniously
dumped the straw flowers out of it on the floor and made the winning catch just in
time.  "I'm sorry," he croaked, grateful that there was an arm around his waist
helping to hold him on his feet.  

"I raised two kids, Blair.  This isn't the first time I've been dangerously close to
being splattered.  At least *you* hit the container."  Bill smiled as that brought a
weak chuckle out of Blair.  "Can you make it upstairs?"

"If I take it slow, yeah."  

"Then let's get you back into bed."

"I ruined the trip for Jim.  I feel so bad about that."  

"You didn't pick out being sick.  It happens to the best of us."  Bill steered Blair
down the hall and into the bedroom.  Keeping his robe pulled tightly around
himself, Blair got under the covers, shivering as Bill drew them over him, and
then added the bedspread on top.  "Rest.  I'm going to call Jimmy and--"

"Wait a minute.  Could you...do you have a minute?  I really...I need to talk to
somebody."

"Sure.  I'm just going to grab a glass of water from the bathroom, and I'll be right
back."  Bill disappeared across the hall and soon returned with water and a
washcloth.  "You don't have a fever, but you did dribble," he joshed Blair, wiping
off the younger man's chin and then blotting his face.  "Take a few sips.  If you've
been at this all morning, you'll get dehydrated."

"Thanks."  Blair swallowed a little water, then flopped back on the pillow.  "You
do okay."

"How do you mean?"  Bill responded, smiling as he set the glass and cloth aside.  

"As a nurse.  You said Jim learned it from Sally.  But you do okay."

"Let's just say that Sally hung in there for the duration better than I did."

"Yeah, but I bet she wasn't any faster with a flower pot."  Blair smiled and then
winced, curling up again, holding onto his stomach.  "It hurt..."  He closed his
eyes briefly, and strugged to catch his breath over the cramps.

"What hurt?"  Bill was confused by the past tense.  

"Whatever happened...that I'm trying to remember.  God, I'm so scared...I don't
wanna know what it was."  Blair felt the tears leaking out of his eyes and didn't
even try to stop them.  "I had a...some sort of memory...*thing* when we got to
the cabin.  I was up there with...with Vince.   I don't know what happened there,
but it...it hurt, and it was awful."

Bill felt a cold sickness in the pit of his own stomach, wondering what Blair could
have experienced that was so horrible he didn't remember it, and that could cause
a physical manifestation like this.  Whatever it was, this healthy, resilient young
man was flattened out in bed, writhing with stomach pains and prone to violent
vomiting for no apparent reason.  

"Do you remember anything?"  Bill went back to bathing Blair's face, since the
action seemed to soothe Blair, and it gave him something to do that felt...*useful*.

"I remember going there, and being afraid...Vince said he had something special
planned, and I was so *afraid*.  Beyond that there's just this jumble of images that
I'm...they flash in my head like scenes on a video tape that you're fast-forwarding,
and I'm afraid to...to slow them down.  Does that make any sense?"

"Sounds logical."

"Really?"  Blair smiled a little.  "I thought I was nuts."

"If you slow it down a little, do you see anything specific?"

"If I think about it too much, I get sick.  I know that sounds neurotic, but that's
how it goes."  Blair shifted in the bed again, his stomach still bothering him.  

"Then maybe it's better if you concentrate on feeling better before you try to tackle
this."

"Jim says he's not mad about the trip.  I wouldn't blame him if he was.  I know he
wants me to tell him what I remember.  I just...I don't want to remember it.  I want
it to go away."

"Jimmy repressed the memory of finding Bud all those years ago, and it wasn't a
good thing for him."  Bill tried not to dwell on his own role in that repression, but
he knew it was something he'd never quite escape, no matter how many years
passed.

"No, I know."  Blair looked over at the chair in the corner of the room.  "Are you
on your way somewhere?"  Blair's question caught Bill a bit off guard, because he
actually had been due to meet a couple friends for an early lunch.  Figuring they'd
eat without him, and Blair would insist he leave if he knew Bill had plans, Bill
shook his head.

"That's the nice part of being retired.  Nobody sets my hours but me."

"Could you...maybe wait until I go to sleep before you leave?  I know it sounds
stupid, but...I'm having a really bad day here."

"Is Jimmy due home pretty soon?"

"Probably.  You don't have to stay."

"No, I don't mind at all.  I just thought maybe you'd like me to call him."

"I don't want to drag him out here until he does what he has to do at headquarters. 
There was a problem with the strangler case.  I don't know yet what it was."

"Hopefully they'll have it straightened out soon.  I've got all day, so just relax.  I
see there's a current 'Newsweek' on the chair over here, so I'll just sit here and read
a while.  Yell if you need something."

"I will.  Thanks, Dad," Blair said a bit weakly, managing a little smile.   "I'm glad
you came over," he added.

"So am I.  Now get some sleep.  You need it."  Bill patted Blair's shoulder and
then moved over to sit in the chair, which Blair could still see easily by simply
opening one eye.  

********

As Jim headed back toward the house, he hoped the hours he'd been gone thanks
to the contrived story about "problems with the case" had given Blair a chance to
get some rest and maybe to feel ready to open up a little more about what was
going on.  After so long of Blair opening up to him, crying on his shoulder,
sharing every hurt and fear with him, this felt like isolation.  This time, Blair had
put walls up around himself, flinching when Jim touched him and refusing to even
allude to what was bothering him.  

Jim cursed himself as he pulled up in front of the house and spotted his father's
car parked there.  He'd asked him to pick up the paper and the mail, and forgotten
to call him the night before to let him off the hook for that duty.   As for Blair, so
much for his uninterrupted rest and space.

He walked in the front door and was startled to see his father straightening the
dried flower arrangement in the vase on the table by the stairs.  It was not a mental
image he'd ever expected to see.  There was another faint, familiar odor in the air
as well...

"Dad?"

"Jimmy, I'm glad you're home.   Blair's upstairs."

"What's up with the flowers?"  Jim frowned, sensing his father's tense demeanor,
and finding Blair's sleeping hearbeat as he extended his hearing.  

"Blair's been sick this morning.  Apparently he'd been sick to his stomach all
morning, and when I got here, he had another violent bout of stomach pain and
vomiting.  He doesn't want a doctor and he didn't want me to call you home."

"I'll go check on him."

"He's sleeping.  He just dozed off about twenty minutes ago.  He needs the rest."

"There might be something more serious wrong with him if he's having severe
stomach pain."

"I think a lot of it's psychological, the way he talks about it.  It's as if he knows it's
psychological."

"So why are you redoing our flower arrangement?"  

"The vomit wasn't psychological and the vase was handy."  Bill looked at the
now-ratty decoration.  

"Don't quit your day job, Dad."  Jim shook his head and started back toward the
kitchen, with Bill behind him.  "You want anything?"  he asked as he grabbed two
spring waters out of the refrigerator.

"Water's fine.  I was going to make coffee, but I thought the smell might bother
Blair."  Bill accepted one of the bottles and opened it.  

"I'm going to go up and look in on him--"

"Jimmy, leave him be.  He just went to sleep.  This has something to do with that
jerk he was living with before."

"He told you that?"

"He doesn't remember anything specific.  Whatever it is, he's too afraid to
remember it."  Bill frowned, shaking his head.  "You don't suppose that guy did
something violent...*sexually* that he could have repressed...?"  Bill looked
uneasy with even making the suggestion.

"As much as I hate to call it that, Blair and Watson were in a relationship, Dad.  A
sexual one."

"I realize that.  But there's a difference between that and...  If he was beating Blair
it just stands to reason he might have been violent in other ways."

"I thought you asked Blair questions about his ordeal with Watson."

"I asked him a few general things, but nothing specific.  I wouldn't do that, Jimmy. 
I'm not interested in upsetting him or prying into his private life."

"Sit down a minute."  Jim pulled out a chair and sat at the kitchen table as his
father followed suit.  "The final incident that sent Blair into emergency surgery
was the result of a violent beating..."  Jim took a swallow of his water.  "And
rape."

"I didn't know," Bill said, looking stunned.

"We kept it out of the papers--it's amazing how hard that was to do with a male
victim, but we managed.  You know, it's a given with rape cases that we don't
publish names in the press.  But in Sandburg's case, because it was a domestic
violence case and it involved two men, we really had to watch the press like
hawks."

"He's...okay?"

"You mean are we okay?"  Jim clarified.  "If you mean physically, other than
getting a bad kink in his side once in a while, he's fine.  In terms of our
relationship, we're fine.  Emotionally and psychologically, I think it's been an
ongoing process.  I thought he was approaching a full recovery there too, until
this."

"Maybe there was another incident he didn't tell you about."

"Apparently.  But the last time wasn't an isolated occurrence."  Jim ran a hand
over his face, then took another sip of his water.  "I didn't think this would be so
hard to say...I guess I never talk about it to anyone but Blair."  Jim paused, then
looked his father in the eyes.  "Blair was raped and sexually tortured by Watson
more than once.  A friend of mine in Vice looked at the case file and said that
Watson was the perfect profile of a sexual sadist.  He derived his pleasure from
Blair's pain, not from the act itself."  Jim looked away, staring out the window.  "I
never shared that particular assessment with Blair, though I suspect he knows
better than anyone else."

"Dear God," Bill mumbled, joining Jim in staring out the window, equally
uncertain what to say next.  

"What scares the shit out of me now is that Blair *remembers* all of that--every
horrific, graphic, sickening detail of every...*session*.  So what is so bad that he's
repressing it?"  Both men looked back to have eye contact then, and Bill shook his
head.  

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm really happy to know that you shot that son
of a bitch dead.  Saves me the trouble of cleaning up your grandfather's hunting
rifle."

"My only regret was that I couldn't do it with my bare hands and a couple of crude
implements.  The Chopec have some interesting weaponry for various purposes
that..."  Jim leaned back in his chair and fought back the threat of tears, turning to
his anger instead.  "I've had more than one fantasy of replaying Watson's death
scene--and it never ends as quickly and humanely as a bullet in the brain."

"He complains about his stomach hurting, and whatever happened, he mentions
that it hurt--and that he's afraid of remembering it."

"He's told you more than he's told me then."

"He needed to talk to someone."

"I left so he'd have some space."  Jim exhaled loudly.  "We went up to the resort,
we got into the cabin, and he wouldn't go in the bedroom, not even to walk
through it to use the bathroom.  He got sick to his stomach, with the cramps and
stomach pain again, and so we came home.  He flinched whenever I touched him,
and he didn't want to talk about what he was remembering.  He slept down in his
study in an easy chair rather than come to bed.  I figured he'd be tired, and maybe
if I left for a while, he could get some sleep, and then we could talk."

"It's the talking he seems afraid of.  He compared it to scenes in fast motion that
he doesn't want to slow down to look at."

"I'm glad you stopped by here today.  I'm sorry I didn't call to let you know you
didn't have to pick up the paper and the mail.  I forgot with..."  Jim gestured
vaguely upward, as if toward the second floor where Blair slept.

"Not a problem.  Actually, I'd prefer cleaning up vomit to having lunch with Dick
Edwards and Mike Hanson," Bill said, chuckling a little as he stood.

"I appreciate you spending some time with Blair...talking to him.  I should have
been here.  It just didn't seem to be what he wanted," Jim said as they walked
toward the front door, Bill picking up his coat from where he'd tossed it over the
banister.

"If you two need anything, give me a call.  Let me know how he's doing, okay?" 
Bill started out the door, then paused.  "Tell Blair I hope he feels better."

"I will, Dad.  Thanks again."  

Jim closed the door and looked at the staircase.  Blair was stirring a little, but still
asleep.  Returning to the kitchen, he pulled out a new bottle of spring water, and
headed upstairs to check on Blair.  As soon as he pushed the bedroom door open a
bit, he could feel two bleary eyes upon him.  

"Jim?"  

"Hey, sweetheart."  He moved closer to the bed and set the water on the night
stand.  Sitting on the edge of the bed, he hesitated to touch Blair, not sure if he'd
feel that automatic flinch again.  "How're you feeling?"

"Sick," was all Blair said in response.  He freed a hand from the covers and curled
his fingers around Jim's hand, holding on tightly.  "I'm sorry about yesterday."

"You don't have to apologize, Chief."

"I didn't mean to flinch away from you, and I didn't mean to ruin the trip, and--"

"Blair, sweetheart, slow down.  None of this is your fault.  I'm not angry."

"Hold me a while?"  Blair asked, still clutching Jim's hand like a lifeline.

"As long as you want, honey."  Jim kicked off his shoes, and shed his jeans and
the plaid shirt he wore, getting into bed with Blair in his boxers and t-shirt.  He
began to spoon around the smaller body when Blair turned over and buried his
face against Jim's chest, wrapping his arms tightly around him.  In a moment, tears
were flowing.  "I've got you now, baby.  It's okay.  Just let it out."

"I don't want to remember, Jim.  I don't want to know," Blair moaned miserably
against Jim, still holding on fiercely.  "I remember the fear.  I remember pain.  I
remember feeling so...*violated* by what he was doing..."  Blair choked out. "It
made me sick to my stomach and when I started to get sick I was choking on it...I
was on my back...I felt like I was getting stuffed from both sides until I'd blow up
with the vomit in my throat and the...the...*water* down there...and it was
cold...God, Jim, it was *ice cold* and it burned at the same time and there was
something in it."  Blair was almost hyperventilating now, and Jim tightened his
embrace, rubbing Blair's back slowly, massaging his scalp with his other hand.

"Shhh.  Breathe for me, Chief.  Come on.  Try to breathe for me.  It's okay, baby." 
Jim kissed Blair's hair, and as he always did when he was listening to one of
Blair's more traumatic memories, he tried to be clinical in his thinking about what
Blair was saying.  He tried to analyze it as if he were an impartial third party.  It
was at moments like these that he understood multiple personality disorders
perfectly.  Sometimes things were so horrible that you almost had to step outside
yourself to deal with them.  

Blair was still breathing unevenly, shaking and sobbing in his arms. //Watson, you
son of a bitch, one of these days I'm coming straight down to Hell and drag you
back with me so I can kill you again.//

"Shhh.  I'm right here, baby.  It's over.  It's all over.  You're safe now.  He's gone,
Blair.  He can't touch you ever again."  Jim rested his head against Blair's, rocking
them a little.  "I love you, cuddlebug."  Blair seemed to relax a little at the
endearment, and yet cry a bit harder.  

"I was so scared."

"I know, baby.  I know."

"I thought he was going to...I thought it would...rupture inside me."  Blair shook
his head.  "It hurt so bad, Jim, and my stomach... there were these cramps, and it
felt like nothing I ever felt before.  I was so scared."

"He hadn't given you an enema before that, huh?"  Jim asked gently, wanting to be
sure he was understanding the situation correctly.

"No.  I didn't know how it was supposed to feel..."

"It's not supposed to feel like that, baby.  That was torture, honey.  The cold water
made you cramp up so badly."

"He told me that he...he said he was gonna kill me.  I thought that's how he was
going to do it--that I'd...that it would be like blowing up on the inside," Blair
sobbed.  "He wouldn't let me go...he wouldn't untie me...and pretty soon, I started
getting sick to my stomach."

"He threatened to kill you?"

"He took me out to the resort, and he...he said he had something special
planned...and he...he tied me up..."  Blair let the words trail off.

"It's okay.  Take your time, sweetheart."

"I can't do this.  I can't talk about it."

"Okay.  Let's take a break, huh?"  Jim fell silent a while, just holding Blair and
patting him a little, crooning the occasional word of comfort until the crying
eased, and Blair lay there in his arms, limp and exhausted, barely able to breathe
around the congestion from the prolonged sobbing.   "Time to give me a honk,"
Jim teased, covering Blair's nose with a wad of Kleenex.  To his delight, Blair
almost chortled at the humor, and did give him a weak honk.  He wiped Blair's
face with the Kleenex and tossed it aside, moving to reach the water sitting on the
night stand.  He rose up on one elbow and encouraged Blair to do the same,
convincing him to swallow a few gulps.

"My stomach still hurts."  Blair lay back down against Jim, head on the larger
man's shoulder as Jim shifted to his back, cuddling Blair close.  

"You were sick most of the morning, weren't you, sweetheart?"

"I tried to go to sleep.  Then I started having cramps, and then I started vomiting
until there wasn't much left anymore."  Blair wrapped his arm more tightly around
Jim's body.  "I'm so glad you're home."

"Me too, baby."

"Is everything okay?  With the case?"  Blair looked up at Jim, who answered
honestly.

"Everything's fine."  He hoped Blair would let it got at that.  When he was feeling
better was time enough for the whole truth.

"Good." 

"Feel like you could sleep a little?"

"I'm afraid to close my eyes.  I don't want to...there's something, Jim.  Something
else...I can't remember."

"Vince never threatened to kill you before that night, did he?"

"Never.  He threatened everything else...but not that."

"Everything he did to you then, scared you more."

"I never knew which one was going to be the last."  Blair shivered and huddled
against Jim, who stroked his back in long, easy motions.  

"It was a horrible trick to make you more afraid, sweetheart."

"When it was over, I remember lying there...I was crying because he didn't finish
the job."

"Oh, Blair."  Jim shifted onto his side again and pulled Blair tightly against him.  

"I wanted it to be over.  Really over.  Toward the end, I just...I wanted him to
finish the job and quit...*hurting* me.  I didn't want to be afraid anymore," Blair
explained in a broken voice.  "I got through that night...because I kept promising
myself...that at least...it would be the last one."  Blair shook his head.  "But he
didn't do what he said, and then he just laughed about it...and he said he...he
wasn't going to...do that...*yet*."

"Listen to me, cuddlebug."  Jim tightened his hold on Blair.  "That son of a bitch
is dead and buried.  He can't hurt you anymore.  And anything you remember can't
hurt you because you *survived* it.  You lived it, and you came through alive. 
And you want to know what else?"  Jim smiled at the inquiring little mumble out
of Blair.  "You not only lived through it, got away from him, and rebuilt a
successful, healthy life for yourself, but you faced down those old demons and
took all his power away from him.  You took back your passion, your lust, your
sexuality and you let yourself be the amazing, sexy, incredible lover you are.  All
the things he made seem horrible and scary and grotesque...you faced that, and
you made them beautiful again."

"But I've still got something wrong with me.  There's this *hole* in my memory. 
Jim...I'm scared that if I look into that hole, I'm gonna fall in and never get back
out again.  I'm afraid...I feel like I could go crazy...I mean...if this is so bad I
can't..."

"Think about it this way, Chief.  You're safe to go ahead and look into that hole,
lean into it as far as you have to, because I'm holding onto you, and there is
nothing, and no one, that's going to make me let go.  You aren't going to fall
anywhere.  And whatever's in that hole, do you really think it's something you and
I can't face together?"

"I don't know."

"I do.  Don't worry about what's in the hole.  It might be ugly and terrible, and I
don't mean it won't hurt to face it, but we'll win.  I *know* that."

"What could be so terrible...I remembered everything else..."

"I don't know that, sweetheart.  But whatever it is, we'll get through it."  Jim
kissed Blair's forehead.  "Come on.  Relax, honey.  Try to go to sleep for a while. 
I'm right here."

"You're my lifeline, Jim."  Blair squeezed his arms more tightly around Jim's
middle.  "My strength."

"I feel the same way about you, Chief.  You always have been."

"I don't feel very strong now."

"I know.  But between the two of us, we're strong enough to handle this."

"Don't let go, huh?"  Blair clung impossibly tighter onto Jim's body, and Jim
returned the pressure.  

"Never in a million years."

********

When Blair rallied the next time, he was too warm, and a little stiff.  The equally
warm body that held and sheltered him was still there, the big arms still wrapped
firmly around him.  He looked up, and two cool blue eyes met his, then crinkled
into a smile.

"Hey there, sleeping beauty," Jim teased, patting Blair's back.  

"How long was I out?"

"A few hours."

"Oh, man...I didn't dream at all."  Blair loosened his hold a little, and so did Jim,
though they stayed in each other's arms.  "You didn't let go, even while we were
asleep," Blair said, smiling up at his lover.

"Not when you needed me to hold on."

"Your dad must think I'm a total headcase."  Blair shifted and Jim released him,
and both men sat up in bed.  "Barfing in the vase, going on about my memories. 
God, I'm so embarassed."  Blair dropped his face into both hands.  "I can't believe
I made a scene like that with him."

"Blair, I...I told him a little more about...how things were with the asshole."  Jim
refused to use even Watson's last name.

"You'd almost have to, or the guys in the white coats would probably have been
here by now." 

"He didn't look at it that way.  He was worried about you--and he thought it was
pretty amazing that you survived all that and put your life back together."  Jim laid
a hand on Blair's back and rubbed gently.  "He wasn't critical at all--he just wanted
to know if you were okay.  I told him I'd give him a call later."

"Must be those pains I had in my stomach were...like physical manifestations of
my memories...  My stomach hurt so badly that night, and I had the awful
cramps..."

"He probably overfilled you and then didn't let you void it when you should have,
and it made you vomit."

"All I remember was the...degradation I felt."  Blair looked down and shook his
head sadly.  "You know, he'd made me cry, he'd made me beg, he'd made me get
in all sorts of horrible...*positions* and do things that...that still make me want to
go puke in the toilet... but it was like that night, he managed to take away the last
little shred of...of *dignity* I had left--control over my own body functions.  I
mean, that's pretty basic stuff, man.  There's not much more embarrassing than
puking on someone unless it's...unless it's not being able to control...your other
functions either..."  Blair shrugged, raising his head again.  "I probably hated him
more at that moment than at any other moment of all the time I was with him."

"He took you up to the resort for that purpose?"

"That...and there was something else.  See, at first he acted like he was taking me
on a vacation.  It was Spring Break, and while it was still cold, the weather was
halfway decent, and he said he'd gotten this cabin, and we'd go up there and relax,
and maybe even do some fishing, and cooking out.  At that stage, I didn't enjoy
doing much of anything with him, but the whole way he approached me...he was
good, Jim.  Really, really good.  He was all sincere and friendly, and he got off my
back for a few nights--it was like he lulled me into this false sense of security,
letting me have a taste of not being afraid of him.  I mean, I was always nervous,
and wondering what he was going to do next, but he was just so...*laid back*. 
There were a couple nights he went out with some guys from the wrestling team,
stayed out of my hair until like, two in the morning, and when he did get home, he
didn't want anything.  He just went to sleep."

"You mean he was almost normal for a couple of nights."

"Essentially, yeah, he was.  I should have figured he was up to something.  But
things hadn't escalated with us to the all-time horrible level yet.  I mean, things
were always bad, but they weren't at their peak yet.  So when he just...*calmed
down* and then took me on this trip, I thought, well, maybe he's trying to make
amends for being such a horse's ass all the time."

"Did you think he was going to stop hitting you because he calmed down for a
while?"

"Not really."  Blair sighed.  "Looking back, I was stupid to even delude myself
that there was any real change in his pattern of behavior.  I wanted to believe that,
I suppose.  I was already afraid to just walk out...but I guess I still should have
spotted one of his stunts a mile away."  Blair rubbed a hand over his face and back
into his hair.  "God, I was stupid."

"You weren't stupid, Chief.  Don't say that."  Jim slid his arm around Blair and
leaned his head against the rumpled curls.  "You were trapped, scared,
confused...but never stupid."  Jim kissed the side of Blair's head.  "Not my nutty
professor."  That made Blair laugh a little, and he leaned into Jim, grateful for the
moment of levity.  "How would a nice warm bath feel, huh?"

"Not as good as a nice warm shower we could take together."

"Sounds like a plan to me."

After sharing a shower, both men dressed in jeans and favorite old shirts to go
downstairs.  Since they were on vacation for the next couple of days, both figured
they might as well take advantage of the relaxation, even if the trip didn't pan out
as planned.  

"Park it at the table and I'll make us something," Jim said to Blair, who smiled at
the thoughtfulness and sat at the table with a bottle of water, working on
replenishing his fluids after his earlier bout of sickness.  "How's the belly,
sweetheart?"  Jim asked, looking in the refrigerator.

"Still a little fluttery, but better."

"Scrambled eggs and toast?"

"You don't mind having breakfast in the middle of the afternoon?"

"I missed it this morning," Jim retorted, smiling as he took out the eggs and set
them on the counter.  "Sit."  He pointed at Blair when he started to get up, and
Blair dropped back into the seat with a grateful smile.  "You had a rough morning. 
Take it easy."

"Your dad...he was okay with...knowing what happened with Vince?"

"I don't know as I'd say he was okay with it.  His exact response was that he was
happy I had shot the son of a bitch dead because it saved him the trouble of
cleaning up Grandpa's hunting rifle."  Jim smiled and shook his head.  "Like it or
not, Chief, you've been adopted.  Welcome to the jungle that is the Ellison
Family."

"He wasn't...grossed out?"

"If you mean was he grossed out *by you*, no, honey, he wasn't.  He was angry
that you'd been hurt that way, and grossed out by the fact you'd suffered so much. 
But he was still very much worried about you, and his primary reaction was one of
rejoicing that the asshole is six feet under."

"I thought he'd kind of figure things out when I mentioned that Vince made tapes."

"You told him about those?"  Jim frowned, surprised, as he turned away from
stirring the eggs to look at Blair.

"Only in real general terms.  He put two and two together that you had destroyed
them for me.  I didn't say so in so many words."

"I guess he figured it was just something kinky, not necessarily violent."  Jim
shook his head.  "You don't have to keep worrying about what my dad thinks
about you, Blair.  I can save you the trouble.  He loves you like another son."

"I think we get along well, but--"

"I know him, Chief.  That's alternately been a curse or a blessing, but I know him. 
Quit worrying that he's going to look you over and throw you back.  You've been
reeled into this family, for better or worse.  One thing I know about my dad--one
thing I always knew...  If someone messed with Steven or me, he messed with
them.  He might have been tied up with something else most of the time, but let
one person screw with either one of us, and he was all over them like their worst
nightmare.  If Watson were still around, I'd have had to work fast to get the drop
on the old man in dealing with him."

"It really means a lot to me that your dad likes me--that he's okay with us...our
relationship."  Blair smiled.  "It seems really weird to call somebody 'Dad'...but it's
a good weird."

"You want anything in your eggs, sweetheart?"  Jim asked.

"Not today.  Just plain.  Kinda soft for me."

"Gotcha."  Jim worked on the eggs, and tossed the toast in the toaster.  "You had a
lot to do with getting things smoothed out with my dad and me.  He knows that
too."

"You guys were on your way anyway."

"Yeah, but you pushed us in the right direction every step of the way."  Jim dished
up a plate of soft scrambled eggs, leaving his own portion in to get a bit firmer. 
He added some barely buttered toast to the plate and set it in front of Blair.  

"Thanks," Blair said, staring at the plate on the table.  "Thanks for loving me so
much," he added, quietly.

"The pleasure's all mine there, Chief," Jim said cheerily, dishing up his eggs and
joining Blair at the table.

********

The leather straps that held his wrists in place were starting to bite into his flesh
now.  This was his first real taste of official bondage, and so far, all it had done
was scare the hell out of him.  But none of that was front and center in his mind;
instead, it was the excruciating pain in his guts causing the tears to leak out of his
eyes.  Even risking Vince's rath and emptying himself without permission wasn't
an option.  He was plugged tightly, and the most he could accomplish was a bit of
leakage that seemed to amuse Vince more than anger him.  

"Look alive there, Blair!  No nodding off on me now," Vince taunted, as if Blair
could have the blessing of unconsciousness when he was waiting for his insides to
explode from the pressure.  He let out a little sob as he uselessly flexed his legs,
held open, bent at the knees, by more leather restraints.  The skin that would be
torn off his lips when the tape was removed from his mouth was the least of his
concerns now, but the sealing of his mouth had robbed him of the tiny relief that
crying or begging for mercy might have provided.  Instead, he whimpered
ineffectually as the pain swelled inside him, and tugged on the restraints as the
fear mounted, wondering what would come next.

"Got a little something to show you here."  Vince was hunched over the television,
which he'd positioned so Blair could see the screen between his parted knees. 
"Thought you might like to see what's in store for you tonight."  Watson climbed
up on the bed and leaned in close.  "You're not the first one I've killed, and you
won't be the last.  Just the one I make last the longest...and beg the hardest."

********

Blair's scream sliced into Jim's sleeping brain like a razor, and before he could
react and reach out for his lover, the younger man was out of the bed and crawling
backwards on the floor as fast as he could go toward the corner of the bedroom.  

"Blair!"  Jim got out of bed and then paused, not just sure what to do to get a hold
of Blair without scaring him.  The first thing he did was turn on the dim lamp on
the night stand.  "Honey, it's Jim.  You're home, baby.  Come on, look around
you."  Jim got on his hands and knees, but stayed a good distance away.  

Blair covered his head with both arms and screamed again, curling inward on
himself until he was a human ball in the corner, no vital part exposed.  

"Blair, sweetheart, come on, look at me.  Listen to me.  Listen to my voice.  It's
me.  It's Jim.  Watson's dead and gone, baby.  He's gone.  He can't hurt you."  Jim
moved a little closer, snatching a blanket off the bed as he went.  In his tank shirt
and boxers, Blair had to be as cold as Jim was in just his boxers.  

"Leave me alone," Blair moaned miserably.  "Stop it...I can't stand it anymore,"
Blair sobbed.  "Please...please...kill me..." he whimpered, shivering in the corner
where the two walls met. 

"Blair, it's me, Chief."  Jim waited, then noticed a little stilling in the trembling. 
"That's right, *Chief*...it's me, Jim.  You're home.  You're safe.  He's gone, baby. 
Long gone," Jim added, noticing that the familiar nickname had seemed to quell
some of Blair's resistance.  "C'mere, Chief.  It's Jim.  I'm here now.  I'm going to
protect you, but you have to come to me."  Jim moved up so he was within arm's
reach of Blair.  "I love you, Chief," he said softly, waiting as Blair finally looked
out from behind the arms shielding his head and face.  His eyes were wilder than
Jim had ever seen, and he didn't immediately move into Jim's arms.  

"He...killed him..."  Blair stared at some point past Jim, as if he were transfixed
with horror.  The expression made Jim look behind him, even though he knew
he'd find nothing there.  Blair was staring at the television set where it stood on
the small stand in the corner of the room.  "He...killed him..."  Blair's arms came
down from protecting his head, but his hand went up to his throat, and his eyes
widened.  "He...there was a...collar...leather..."

"Who did he kill, Chief?"  Jim asked softly, wondering if this was some other
reminiscence of some sick game Watson had played with Blair, or if Blair was in
fact referring to a murder.  

"There was...a man...like me...younger I think..."  Blair continued to stare at the
dark screen of the television.  "His hair..."  Blair pulled on a clump of his own
curls.  "Long, and his face..."  Blair moved the hand that had rested on his neck up
to his face and felt his features, much like a blind person might.  "Just like me..."

"Did Watson kill someone, Blair?"  Jim asked directly, not sure how to draw out
the answers without panicking Blair again.  The terror of the dream and the
memories it had brought had already been sufficient to drench Blair in sweat and
cause him to wet himself.  

"Someone...like me.  He said...he picked me...because I looked like...Danny..."

"Danny...?"

"The guy on the tape," Blair said, his arms wrapping around his knees as he stayed
huddled in the corner.  "When he looks at me, he thinks of Danny...  My blood is
Danny's blood..."  Blair started rocking there in the corner, his eyes still fixed on
the television.  

"Chief, come on, snap out of it.  Blair, it's Jim.  You are not with Watson."  Jim
took a hold of Blair's shoulders and stilled the rocking motion.  "Watson's gone,
sweetheart.  It's just you and me.  In our home.  Safe.  That was a long time ago. 
Come on, Blair, take a good look at me."  

"I remember," he whispered, shaking his head.  "Vince liked to fuck me because I
reminded him of the last man he killed..."  Blair closed his eyes.  "And when I
screamed, it reminded him of Danny screaming.  And when I bled, it was like
watching Danny bleed..."  

Jim guided Blair's unresisting body into his arms and held him close, rocking with
him there a moment before working on pulling him up to his feet.  He walked him
toward the bed, seating them both on the edge of it, wrapping a blanket firmly
around Blair's shoulders.  Then he pulled the smaller body tightly against his.  

"Was Danny on the tape, Blair?"

"He told me that he had something really special in mind for us, that he wanted to
surprise me," Blair said quietly, his voice almost chillingly even and calm.  "He
was taking me to a resort for Spring Break, so we could get away and relax a little. 
I thought it sounded really nice."  Blair's respiration became a bit more rapid then. 
"We cooked out when we got there, and then...he started something on the couch,
and then wanted to go to bed.  So we did."  Blair's body started trembling slightly. 
"I never was tied up before."

"This was the first time he used any kind of restraints?"  Jim asked gently, still
holding Blair close.

"I was afraid of him when I could move...but when I couldn't...  He brought out
these leather straps and he said he wanted to try a game...a sex game..."  Blair
shook his head.  "I said I didn't go for that, that I didn't like the whole S&M scene,
and he didn't like that answer."  Blair's breathing became shaky and a fat tear
rolled down his cheek and plopped into Jim's chest, right beneath the spot on his
shoulder where Blair's head rested.  "He used some sort of wrestling move to hold
me down...it seemed like he had four or five hands, because he kept finding ways
to hold me down and tie me at the same time.  I was so... scared."

"I know, sweetheart.  I know."  Jim slid his hand into Blair's hair and massaged
his scalp.  "You're safe now, baby.  Remember you're safe."

"When he had my wrists tied, he told me I better behave myself because he was
going to do what he wanted to anyway."  Blair took in a couple of sharp, shaky
breaths.  "I knew he wasn't kidding, so I...I...let him tie my legs the way he wanted
them."  Blair started to cry then and Jim rocked him slightly, patting his back.  

"You didn't have a choice, baby.  You were tied up.  You couldn't fight him.  You
didn't *let* him do anything, remember?  Remember that we talked about that
before?"  Jim asked gently.  He felt Blair nod.  "Not fighting isn't consent, honey. 
I understand that.  It's okay."

"Sometimes...*I* don't understand it," Blair said, still crying.

"I know."

"I need to get cleaned up," Blair said, seeming to become acutely aware of his
sweaty, wet state.

"You want some help?"

"Not...right now.  Okay?"

"Fine, sweetheart.  Let me get some fresh underwear out for you while you wash
up, huh?"

"Okay."  Blair nodded and rose, a little unsteadily, and walked across the hall into
the bathroom, pushing the door around about two-thirds of the way.  Jim could
hear the water running, and gathered up fresh boxers and a tank shirt for Blair,
then paused when he heard Blair's voice.

"Jim, would you get out my sweats?"

"Sure thing, Chief."  Jim stashed the lighter weight underwear and pulled out
Blair's favorite old sweat pants, socks and a t-shirt.  He pulled on his own gray
robe and headed across the hall, waiting outside the door with his armload.  "I've
got your stuff, sweetheart."

"Thanks."  Blair reached out the door, not really trying to conceal his nakedness,
but not seeming to want to share his space at the moment either.  "I'm sorry I...is
the bed wet?"

"Doesn't seem to be.  You wouldn't have to apologize even if it were.  It's not your
fault."

"I feel really stupid."  Blair came out of the bathroom and walked across the hall. 
Jim closed the bedroom door behind them and once Blair had crawled back up on
the bed and pulled the covers over his lap, Jim got in next to him, both of them
propped against the headboard.  

"You want to tell me the rest?"

"My memory's kind of spotty in places.  I just...needed a break when I got up and
went in the other room."

"We can shelve this discussion until later."

"No, I need to get through this."  Blair chewed his lower lip.  "It's really
humiliating...to talk about...you know, what he did...  I don't want to talk about
that."

"You don't have to, honey.  I got the picture from what you said earlier.  You don't
have to go into more details unless you want to."

"Before he got started, he tied me up--he used the leather straps that the cops
found...I'm surprised they didn't trigger anything when Beverly started trotting out
her inventory, but they didn't.  But then, that wasn't the last time he used them, so
I guess I buried everything that happened out there at Lakeview deeply enough
that it took going out there to bring it back."  Blair took in a shaky breath.  "The
tape was what I couldn't remember.  He tied me up, and then he told me that the
tape was a preview of what I could expect, and that...that I wasn't the...first person
he had...*killed*, and that I wouldn't be the last."  Blair swallowed and closed his
eyes.  "He said, 'just the one I make last the longest, and beg the hardest.'"  

"Son of a bitch," Jim muttered, pulling Blair against him, needing the contact as
much, probably more, than Blair did himself.  He had been trying to let Blair have
his space, keep his account as unemotional as he could, but Jim just didn't have it
in him not to hold Blair and try, way too late and long after the fact, to make the
pain of what Watson did, better.

"I think...I think he did whatever he did there...at Lakeview.  The room in the
video looked like the one we were in.  It was running while he was...when he put
the..."  

"When he was filling you," Jim said quietly, holding Blair close and rocking a
little.  There was a nod against his chest.  

"I was begging him to stop, and he kept telling me to be quiet, to watch the movie. 
I couldn't.  I didn't see much of it then.  I started to cry because the pain was so
bad...and I was scared.  Really scared."

"What was happening in the movie, sweetheart?"

"When he was done with me...at least for right then...he sat on the bed and
watched the movie, like we were just watching the late show.  He was so
damned...*casual* about it."

"You mentioned a guy named Danny."  Jim felt Blair's body stiffen at the
reference.  "It's okay, Chief.  You don't have to do this if you're not ready."

"Danny was the guy on the tape.  He was on the bed, like me, tied up.  He
had...long hair...he looked like me, Jim.  He was a little smaller, I think--
skinnier...but even when the camera got close to his face, he looked like me." 
Blair paused, the side of his face still resting on Jim's chest, his arms fastened
around Jim's middle while the other man held him tightly, stroking his back.  "The
tape got really noisy and chaotic...and I was in pain...I didn't see all of it because I
was crying and my eyes were kind of foggy...but this guy...Danny...was
screaming, and begging Vince to stop doing something...I...I think he raped him,
and after...after..."  Blair pressed his face against Jim's chest.  "He had...another
strap...and he wrapped it...around the guy's throat...and he...he killed him, Jim." 
Blair let loose with sobbing then, and Jim cradled him there in his arms, letting
the horror wash over him of what Watson truly was.

A sexual sadist.  A rapist.  An abuser.  

And this wasn't the first time he'd killed...

A serial killer.

A monster the likes of Bundy or Gacy.

And this man had held Blair prisoner for months.  Tortured him, violated him, and
terrorized him.  Exposed him to witnessing something so horrible that his mind
obliterated it for years.

How many corpses were out there, attributable to Watson?

Did he then take lovers who bore resemblances to his victims?  Or did he choose
victims who resembled his lovers?

And the question that tormented Jim now as he rocked his sobbing lover: had Jim
himself destroyed the answers to all of these questions when he destroyed the
videotapes in Watson's storage unit?  He knew some of them were of Blair, but he
hadn't watched all of every one.  Would there be crimes forever unsolved because
of the destruction of those tapes?

As Blair shuddered and clung to him, Jim held him closer, kissing his hair and
murmuring soothing little love words in his ear.  Stacked against making some
little part of Blair's pain go away, did any of those questions matter to Jim?  Could
the answer to any one have been worth Blair's humiliation if those tapes had been
examined by the D.A.?  Never.  

"Shhh.   I've got you now, cuddlebug.  It's okay.  It's all over."

"How...could I...forget?"  Blair managed.

"Oh, sweetheart," Jim said with a sad, ironic smile.  "You're asking *me* how you
could repress something?"  Jim's smile widened a little as he felt Blair actually
smile a little at that himself.  "You told me, when I was trying to remember what
happened with Bud, that I had a terrible thing happen to me--you wanted me not
to be so hard on myself.  Remember your own advice, professor.  He was torturing
you, and you were afraid for your own life, and what you saw...all of it, your mind
just shut down."

"Danny...Jim, that poor guy is still...out there somewhere.  Or... or if he's been
found, nobody knows what happened, and it's my fault."

"It's not your fault.  It's Watson's fault.  Everything that happened is his fault,
baby."

"The tapes...you burned his tapes--for me."

"Listen to me, Chief, and I want you to listen well.  Not one single element in all
this is your fault.  Watson committed the crimes.  Watson made the tapes. 
Watson exposed you to something so frightening and upsetting that it blanked out
your memory of it. *I* destroyed the tapes.  You didn't ask me to do that--as a
matter of fact, you were nervous as a cat about my even going near his house or
the storage place.  I made the decision to destroy that evidence, and you know
what?  I'd do it again in a heartbeat, even knowing what I know now."

"But we can't ever prove--"

"Watson's dead.  As appealing a thought as it is to be able to drag him back out,
and execute him again, it's not possible.  So what have we lost?  Evidence to tie a
dead man into some unsolved homicides?"

"What about their families?"  Blair shook his head.  "If he had done that to me and
left me out in the woods somewhere, wouldn't you want to know where I was?"

Jim squeezed Blair impossibly tighter, surprised that his own throat was closed at
the thought.  

"Don't..."  He buried his face in the soft curls.  "Don't even suggest that."  Jim felt
tears seeping out of his own eyes.  He knew Blair had come close to death with
Watson, but the very thought of the warm, living, clinging body in his arms being
drained of its bright life force and left, ravaged, dead and abandoned in a cold
stand of trees tore his guts out in a way he never would have thought possible.  To
think that this beautiful, living man was used as a stand in for a murder victim to
give a killer his thrills made Jim's blood run cold.  

"I'm sorry."  Blair's voice was muffled by Jim's body, the smaller man almost
smothered and crushed by the intensity of the embrace.

"No, I am.  That just hit me kind of hard, sweetheart."  Jim loosened his hold a
little.  "Hope I didn't hurt you."

"I don't mind having hug bruises," Blair said, squeezing Jim this time.  "But Jim,
Danny...and if he wasn't the first...there are maybe people out there who want
to...to bury their son or their brother or their friend and they don't know what
happened to him."

"Here's what we'll do."  Jim took a deep breath, forcing his brain to click back into
cop mode.  "We'll run a check on missing persons that fit your description who
would have come up missing just prior to or immediately following you getting
together with Mr. Wonderful.  If we find anyone who fits the profile, we'll look
into it.  Okay?"

"Every time he...was with me...I turned him on because he was thinking about this
guy...he *murdered*.  Oh, God, Jim, I just feel so fucking...*sick* inside. 
So...*crawly*.  It's so damned...twisted.  When he made me scream it was because
he wanted to think about when he killed that guy.  I can't...Jim...how do...how can
I handle this?"  Blair asked helplessly, his voice breaking again.  

"You don't handle it. *We* do."  Jim stroked Blair's hair and kissed his forehead. 
"It was *his* problem, Chief.  Not yours."

"It makes me so...sick."

"Watson said he'd killed before--there could be more than just the guy on the tape. 
Probably *were* others.  Killers like that...they get off on the crime itself--on the
killing.  So the turn-on would be to recreate memories of that incident.  Watson
was a sick SOB, honey.  It wasn't your fault, and you have nothing to feel dirty or
bad about."

"I knew he was capable of doing all the awful things he threatened to do to
you...to my mom...I was too afraid of him to run away from him.  Afraid of what
he'd do.  God, Jim, now I know why I was so afraid.  I *knew* what he'd
do...what he was capable of."

"You did the best you could with an impossible situation.  And you took the pain
yourself instead of putting your mother or me or anyone else you cared for at risk. 
You wouldn't even let Elaine next door drive you out of state when she offered--
you put her safety above your own."

"Safety."  

"What?"  Jim frowned at the odd little word.

"Oh, my God, Jim...  I...I'm so sorry."

"Honey, what's wrong?"  Jim hooked a finger under Blair's chin and brought the
flushed, wet face up a bit so he could look into Blair's troubled eyes.  

"The first time we made love, I told you that Vince always used protection."

"Right."

"I was wrong.  Oh, God, Jim...that night...when he...  He did me bare--no condom. 
I know I was scared about that too when I realized what he was doing...  It was the
only time, but...if he had been HIV positive, it would have been enough, and then
you would have been with me, without protection, and then--"

"Blair, it's okay.  Listen to me."  Jim took the pained face in both hands.  "It's been
years.  We're both still fine.  Watson's autopsy showed no signs of the HIV virus
even at the time of his death."

"But I gave you the wrong answer.  You trusted me to make love with me without
protection and I gave you the wrong answer.  Jim, if anything had been wrong..."

"Nothing was wrong.  And you gave me an honest answer, Chief.  You told me
what you thought was the truth.  You can't ask more of someone than that."  Jim
pulled Blair back against him.  "Besides, given the way Watson treated you, I
knew there was a risk that he was less than careful and considerate of your safety,
and given the fact that so many times were...violent or painful, I knew there was
also a risk that you *thought* you were giving me the right information, but that
maybe there had been a time that wasn't totally safe."

"When am I gonna screw up so bad that you won't love me anymore?  Because I
keep throwing this...*shit* at you from my past, and you keep...*dealing* with it."

"About the same time you decide that I'm not worth the effort and walk out on
me," Jim responded calmly.

"I'd die first."

"Then you've got your answer.  Actually, I'd probably love you even then, because
I don't think that's something I could turn off even if you dumped me."

"You're my life, Jim.  I could never dump you."

"Okay, you little dingbat, then quit worrying about when I'm going to toss you out
with last week's pizza boxes, okay?"  Jim kissed the top of Blair's head
unnecessarily loudly, and smiled at Blair's little chortle.  

"We have to tell somebody about what he did...about the murder."

"First we have to find out who 'Danny' was--see if we can match him up with any
missing persons.  Also, we need to backtrack--I want to know if this was a one
time shot were he got carried away or if he killed more than once.  We know he
killed Keith Park, but that was a different kind of killing--it was a murder of
necessity."

"And what he did to Daren Clayton...that was based on the fact he was going to
leave."

"Right.  So what we would have to do, as I see it, is take a look at the lovers we
know about, and run their descriptions through the missing persons database, and
see what pops up.  We don't know if he chose his victims to look like his lovers--"

"Or his lovers to look like his victims..."  Blair shuddered.  "He said that I
reminded him of Danny."

"Right.  But we still don't know the timing on that tape he showed you, so we
have no way of knowing if he already knew you when he committed that crime, or
if he chose you because of your resemblance to the victim.  There's nothing in his
background about a guy named Danny that he lived with or had a significant
relationship with."

"I could call his mother."

"Watson's mother?"  Jim frowned.  Blair nodded.

"She might know if Danny was someone Vince had a relationship with."

"Okay.  If you feel up to doing that."

"Maybe later today."

"Would you like me to wash your face, sweetheart?"

"That'd feel really good."

"Okay.  I'll be right back."  Jim gently released Blair to lie on the pillows and went
to the bathroom to get a damp washcloth and a glass of water.  When he returned
he bathed Blair's face and washed away the traces of what had been a horribly
draining emotional ordeal.  "You know how much better you're going to feel when
you've rested a little?"  Jim said, smiling.  "No more ghosts, sweetheart.  They're
all out in the light.  They're all gone."

"I'm so tired," Blair said honestly, his eyes drifting shut as Jim soothed his face
with the cloth.  

"You need sleep.  Lots of it."

"Don't leave me, okay?  I can sleep on the couch or something if you want to get
up early, but don't leave me up here alone," Blair said quietly, never opening his
eyes.

"I'll be right here, cuddlebug.."  Jim leaned down and kissed both eyelids, smiling
as Blair smiled a little at the attention.  Sliding back into bed, he gathered the
lethargic body against him, tucking them both in and finally relaxing.  He had a
horrible turmoil to sort out from a cop's point of view, but as a man, all he could
feel was relief for Blair, and for himself, that what had been a horrible, cancerous
secret that festered inside of Blair's subconscious, had finally been extracted,
exposed and confronted.  

"Jim?"

"Hmm?"

"Love you."

"Love you too, Chief."  Jim rested his hand gently on Blair's head.  "Shut down
the brain, professor.  Go to sleep."

Within moments, Blair was breathing evenly against Jim, snuggled up to him, arm
fastened possessively around Jim's body.  Jim let himself relax then, seeing the
first signs of dawn in the shadows of the room, relieved they were still on their
little vacation, though it had taken such a bizarre turn.  At least they could rest
without interruption.  He reached to the night stand and turned the ringer off so
the phone wouldn't disturb them.  

//Watson, you son of a bitch, I'm going to get you out of his life yet.  You can't
keep your hold on him forever.  Don't look now, but I think it just slipped.// On
that thought, Jim closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, Blair tucked safely in his
arms.

********

It was on the tip of Simon's tongue to welcome his favorite team back from their
vacation and to tease them about being rested--figuring that those two locked up
in a lakeside cabin for two days would probably do anything but rest--when he
took a good look at both of them.  Their vacation seemed to have taken a worse
toll on them than the strangler case Jim had just wrapped up before taking the
time off.

"Simon, there's something we need to talk over with you," Jim said, closing the
door.  No "Captain", no "Sir"--*Simon*.  It had to be personal.

"Coffee?"  Simon asked, gesturing toward the pot as the other two men sat at the
conference table.

"Thanks," Blair responded, and Jim nodded.  After serving the coffee, Simon took
a seat at the table, across from Jim and Blair.

"Blair remembered something about Watson...something that could still be
significant now.  I plan on following up on it, but I thought you should be aware
of it," Jim said, pausing to take a drink of his coffee.  Though he left out the
details of Blair's ordeal that night, he simply said that he had been "assaulted" by
Watson in one of the cabins there, and that he'd been shown the tape, and what he
remembered about the tape.

"Apparently I...*repressed* the whole thing.  I knew there was some reason I was
*so* afraid of him..."  Blair shook his head.  "Now I know.  My subconscious
knew what he was, what he was capable of..."

"Are you thinking those tapes were part of the batch that--"  

"Yes, probably," Jim interrupted Simon's statement.  "Unless he destroyed the
tape or tapes--we don't know that this 'Danny' was the only person he killed.  He
may have destroyed the evidence at some point, but I can't picture it."

"I thought you looked at the tapes, Jim."

"Only a few of them, and only a few moments.  Once I could see the pattern...all
the tapes I found were tapes of Blair.  If I'd seen another person, I'd have checked
it out.  But I didn't check them all.  Frankly, I really didn't have the stomach for
it."

"Well, fortunately, Watson's six feet under, so we don't have worry about
prosecuting him.  Borden's dead, so even if he were an accomplice at some point,
that doesn't much matter now either."  Simon ran a hand over his face.  "What
does matter is if we have unsolved homicides, missing persons or unidentified
corpses somewhere."

"That's why I plan to run a check on the missing persons database and see if
anyone matching Blair's description is still missing, or was missing and was found
murdered, but the case is still open.  The victim on the tape looked like Blair.  I'm
thinking if there were other victims, maybe they looked like Watson's
other...partners."

"Sounds like a logical plan of action.  See what the computer comes up with. 
Also, you might want to talk to Sanders in Missing Persons.  Once in a while he
handles a kinky homicide rather than dumping it in our laps.  He might have an
open file that matches up."

"Will do.  Thanks, Simon."

"Blair--you're holding up all right?"  Simon asked, noticing Blair's somewhat pale
coloring.

"Actually, I feel a lot better now.  It's just been a rough couple of days," Blair
responded honestly, smiling a little.

"If you need help holding down the fort at the DVU, you let us know.  We'll get
you some extra help until this is cleared up."

"I will.  Thanks, Simon."

Simon finished his coffee, watching the two men walk out to Jim's desk and settle
in there, sharing the small space like always.  No matter that Blair was head of his
own department now.  No matter that Jim liked his neat orderly space all to
himself.  The two of them never looked as efficient--or as content--as they did
when they were climbing all over each other in that confined area.  

So much had changed in the last several years...and yet, nothing had really
changed at all.  Simon chuckled at that thought as he went back to his own
paperwork, briefly envious of Ellison having such a beloved pest bumping into
him and messing up his desk. //Love does make fools of us all,// he thought, still
smiling as he went to work.

********

"I think we've got him.  I just have to call up a photo," Jim said, and Blair moved
closer to look at the screen with him.  "Daniel James Harris, 25, caucasian, brown
hair, brown eyes, 5'6", 150 pounds, disappeared in November--just a couple
months before you moved in with Watson."

"We started going out in December, so actually, it would have been right before
he approached me the first time."

"Ready?"  Jim asked, and Blair nodded solemnly.  He hit the Enter key and waited
as the photo downloaded.  As soon as part of the face was visible, he heard the
gulp behind him, and Blair's vitals all reflected his distress.

"That's Danny," he managed, staring at the screen.

"You okay?"  Jim turned away from the screen, sliding his arm around Blair's
shoulders as the other man turned away also, facing out into the bullpen instead of
at the computer.

"It's a real shock...seeing his face again."  Blair sat there a moment, then covered
his mouth and bolted out of the room.

"Jim--is Sandy okay?"  Megan asked, pausing in front of Jim's desk.

"The guy Blair was with before we got together--"

"Vince Watson.  Sandy mentioned him--only briefly."

"We just found out he murdered someone.  We suspected he'd killed a former
lover in Tacoma, but we didn't have proof.  But this one...this was a missing
person--"

"Oh, my God."  Megan looked over his shoulder.  "He looks just like Sandburg."

"Yeah.  I better go check on him."  Jim rose from his chair and started for the
door.

"If you need any help on the case, or if Sandy needs some help with the DVU--let
me know, okay?  I can always put in a few extra hours."

"Thanks, Connor," Jim responded, smiling slightly before continuing on his way
to find Blair.  He found him holding onto the sink in the men's restroom just down
the hall.

"I guess I wasn't as steady as I thought."  Blair looked up at his own reflection,
which was a sort of pasty greenish white.

"This is hell to get through, Chief.  I know that.  But you know about it now.  It
can't lurk in your subconscious and haunt you there."  Jim stood behind him,
placing a gentle hand on his back and rubbing lightly.  "So much for breakfast,
huh?"

"I guess trying to get food down me right now is pretty useless."

"Try to relax, baby."  Jim started kneading the tense shoulders gently.  "God,
you're tight as a bow string."

"I can't help it."  Blair shook his head.  "I just want to know where this guy is, if
his family knows...Jim, I had this rolling around in my head for...*years*...."

"We know who he is now.  I just have to call up the rest of the information on his
case, and then we'll talk to the detective who worked the case and see what he
knows.  He's listed as still missing, so apparently his body was never found.  We
*will* find him, Chief, I promise."  Jim stopped massaging and just held onto
Blair's shoulders.  "C'mon, I'll buy you a milk in the break room."

"Buy me a new stomach, and you've got a deal."

"Blair, I know this has been a...hellish thing to remember.  But it's a memory. 
Those pains in your stomach--"

"Are all in my head.  I know.  It's not pain anymore.  It's just... nerves.  I can't
relax until we get to the bottom of this."

"Then we better get on it.  But you still need to work on keeping some food in
you.  You won't be any good to work on this investigation or the DVU or anything
else if you keel over.  Got it?"

"Yeah, I got it," Blair said, smiling.  "Thanks, Mom."

"Smart ass.  Come on."  Jim guided Blair out of the restroom with an arm around
his shoulders.  

Once Blair was settled in the chair with a small carton of milk, Jim called up the
file on Daniel Harris.  There had been a number of false leads on the case, all dead
ends.  The detective initially involved was now retired, and the case was
essentially shelved.  After all, Daniel Harris had been missing for almost four
years without a single valid lead on his whereabouts.  His next of kin was his
father, whose last known address was in Tacoma.

"I wonder," Jim pondered aloud, looking at the information on Harris' father.

"What?"

"If Watson hooked up with Harris in Tacoma, and followed him back to Cascade. 
Maybe Daniel Harris is the reason Watson even came here in the first place."

"I think the job at Rainier was the reason."

"Yeah, but what made him think to apply here?  Could be coincidence, but it
would be interesting.  Isn't there something arrogant about killing someone, and
then moving to his hometown?  Most killers flee the scene of the crime, so to
speak."

"Man, that's so twisted--and so like Vince's thought pattern--that it's scary."

"Harris' father lives in Tacoma, but Harris had a local address.  In fact, Warren
Street is near the campus--there's a lot of student housing there."

"Oh, man, you mean he met and murdered a Rainier student and then got a job at
the U and moved here?"

"Think about it a minute.  Watson taped the murder.  From an evidence
perspective, that's about as arrogant and risky as you can get.  He moves to
Cascade, gets a job at the U, and picks out a boyfriend who looks like his last
victim."

"God, that's sick," Blair said, shaking his head.   "And vintage Vince.  He loved to
push the envelope.  I mean, even the way he treated me--he loved it that the
neighbors heard it and called the cops and he could keep me in line enough so I
wouldn't press charges.  It gave him this feeling of *power*."

"Exactly.  Hiding takes away your power.  When you can do something right in
front of everyone that's supposed to be illegal, and get away with it, it's a rush if
you're a power freak.  You're damn close to omnipotent then--you can mock the
law, mock the rules...do something so outrageous as to kill someone, and then
come back and hide in plain sight."

"I vaguely remember hearing something about a student disappearing...but you
know, sometimes kids leave college and take off...we've had a few at Rainier in
the time I've been there, but not many that the cops checked out seriously.  I don't
know if Daniel Harris is the one I'm recalling.  Whoever it was, I didn't know him,
so at the time I didn't think much of it."

"The logical next step here is to do some searching in the woods surrounding the
Lakeview Resort.  See if he disposed of the body out there somewhere."  

"What about his father?  Shouldn't we contact him first?"  Blair took another gulp
of the milk.

"Well, there're two schools of thought on that."  Jim leaned back in his chair.  "On
the one hand, we have evidence--your memory--that Danny was murdered.  We
have no body, though."

"But I saw him die," Blair whispered emphatically.

"I know, Chief."  Jim sighed.  "I was just thinking that it might be a neater
package to present to his family if we had finally located the remains as well."

"I think they should know right away, before another day passes.  They've waited,
what?  Four years now?  Jim, that's pure hell!"

"Yeah, I know.  Okay, we'll try this phone number and see if we can arrange to go
up and see his father.  Do you feel up to being part of this, or would you rather I
just take a ride up there and hook up with someone at the Tacoma PD?"

"I want to go."

"Okay."

Jim dialed the number on the computer record, and was greeted with a woman's
voice after a few rings.

"Is Johnathan Harris there?"  he asked.

"Just a moment," she responded.  Then he heard a shout of "Johnny!  Telephone!" 
before the woman returned and informed him that it would be just a minute.  

"Hello?"

"Mr. Harris, this Detective Ellison with the Cascade Police.  I'd like to make a trip
out to talk with you regarding your son's case.  Would tomorrow be convenient?"

"Danny's case?  Did you find him?"  he asked.

"No, sir, we haven't, but there's a new development I think you should be aware of
that I'd like to discuss with you in person."

"Tomorrow's fine," he responded.  "Is he dead?"  he persisted.  Jim debated how
to reply, and then figured honesty was the best approach.

"We have some new evidence that indicates he is, but we don't have proof yet, at
this point."

"Save yourself a trip, Detective.  What did you find?"  The man's voice was rough,
but still strong.  

"A witness who recalls seeing a videotape involving a man he identified as your
son.  The content of the tape indicates that Daniel died during the events that were
filmed."

"The son of a bitch *taped* it?" the other man demanded, the understandable
anger, laced with grief, heavy in his voice.

"We can't positively identify your son because the eyewitness was in a distressed
state when he was shown the videotape, and we haven't yet commenced a search
for your son's body--which is my next step."

"You know where it happened?"

"Again, we have some evidence it occurred at a resort in the mountains.  I'll be
working with the local authorities there to organize a search, probably
commencing at first light tomorrow."

"I'd like to know where my son died," the voice was softer now, I bit shakier.  

"If we find anything, I'll call you as soon as I'm notified."

"I'd like to talk to your witness."

"He isn't able to tell you anything more than what he's told us, sir."

"How did he see the tape?  Who had it?  Where is it now?"

"Jim, let me talk to him," Blair interrupted, holding out his hand for the phone. 
Jim hesitated, then handed it over.  

"Mr. Harris?  My name is Blair Sandburg, and I work with Detective Ellison, and
also with the Domestic Violence Unit here at the PD.  I'm the witness who saw the
tape involving a young man I believe was your son."

"When?  Who had it?"

"I saw the tape a little over three years ago."  Blair paused.  "I repressed the
memory...I was...going through a traumatic experience at the time, and I repressed
that too, until recently.  The man who showed me the tape is dead, but I have no
doubt he was more than capable of killing someone.  Your son...I...there was a
really strong resemblance between Danny and me," Blair concluded.  "I'm sorry,
but I don't know where the tape is or what became of it, but I can tell you the man
who is responsible is also dead now."

"Who was it?"

"He wants to know who," Blair said to Jim, covering the mouthpiece with his
hand.

"Tell him.  Not like Watson's going to sue us for defamation."

"His name was Vincent Watson.  He was a wrestling coach at Rainier, but he got
that position shortly after...after Danny.  I didn't see the tape until the following
April.  He was facing charges of aggravated assault, sexual assault and attempted
murder at the time of his death."

"So there's nobody left to arrest?"  the man sounded defeated now, and Blair
couldn't blame him.  Vince was good at reducing people to that state--both in life,
and from beyond the grave.  

"Not unless there was some other accomplice who is still alive, but that's pretty
unlikely.  
I'm really, really sorry--not just about Danny, but that it was...*locked up* in my
memory until now."

"I've waited four years to find out what happened to Danny.  He was a good kid--
reliable, got decent grades, drank a little on the weekend but nothing wild.  His
mother died when he was twelve, and he pretty much raised his little brother and
sister.  I had to work, and the damnedest thing is, he *wanted* to do it.  You
know?  Most kids, they get mad if you give 'em responsibility.  He wanted to
help..."  There was a sound of swallowing and a couple of sniffs.  "Thanks for
coming forward.  You'll call back when...you find anything?"

"As soon as we know anything."

"Thank you."  And with that, the line went dead.

"Damn."  Blair handed the phone back to Jim.  "Vince must've just grabbed this
kid and killed him for sport.  His father never mentioned anything about
recognizing Vince's name as one of the people Danny hung out with--and it
sounds like they were pretty close."

"Watson probably killed guys he didn't know very well, and got his jollies by
hooking up with similar guys.  But killing someone you know is riskier than
killing a stranger--there's more evidence to tie you to one than the other."

"You heard his side of the conversation, right?"

"At a point I tuned in.  I figured I should know.  I feel like we should have done
this in person, but with an address this old in the file, I didn't want to waste the
drive up there if he'd moved."  Jim leaned back in his chair.  "I guess he wasn't
that surprised, after all this time."

"Yeah, but it's got to be awful news no matter when you get it, even if you really
know that's how it's going to end up."

"I'm going to make some calls, get a search team organized."

"I better go spend some time in my office.  I haven't gotten beeped or anything,
but since I'm not on vacation after all, I think I'll go get caught up on some stuff."

"Okay.  I'll come by and get you later for dinner."

"Sounds good." 

"Chief?"

"Yeah?"  Blair paused before heading out the door.

"We'll find Danny."

"I hope so," Blair responded a bit dismally, then turned and left the bullpen.

********

A search party comprised of local law enforcement in the two counties nearest the
Lakeview Resort began work at first light, combing the woods surrounding the
resort.  Blair had made a statement for the file, minus a few intimate details,
putting his recollection of Daniel Harris's murder on official record.  Jim spent
most of the day supervising the effort in collaboration with the county sheriff.  

Blair, unable to come to grips with another visit to Lakeview just yet, spent his
day at the DVU, returning phone calls and working on a grant proposal which he
planned to submit to a number of area foundations.  He didn't hold out much hope
for success, since the primary focus of his grant request was to establish a shelter,
treatment program and support group for male victims of domestic violence,
sexual abuse and rape.  He had the sinking feeling that the conservative board
members on many of these philanthropic organizations would have little interest
in paying out good money to help a group of people who might include a
significant number of homosexual or bisexual men.  Not that all male victims of
these crimes were in fact gay or in male-male relationships, but some were, and
those who weren't would still be lumped into a single category and stereotyped by
people with prejudices.  Fervently hoping he was taking a dismal view of the
inherent goodness in philanthropists, he made a few more revisions to his opening
paragraph.

"Blair?"  Stacey, his student intern from Rainier, tapped on the open door of his
office.  

"Yeah?"  Blair pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.  

"There's a client here who needs to talk to you.  His name is Alan."

"Okay, thanks, Stacey.  You can send him in."  Blair saved the document and got
up, walking around his desk and heading toward the two chairs he'd set up in the
corner of the small office for more casual consultation with clients.  

"You're Dr. Sandburg?"  The young man who stood just inside the door after
Stacey closed it behind him looked a bit surprised.  He was taller than Blair--
probably a little over six feet--with blond hair, blue eyes and a nice build.  

"That would be me.  But call me Blair, okay?  My Ph.D. is in Anthropology--just
so you know I'm not a doctor or a psychiatrist."  Blair held out his hand, and the
other man shook it.  "You want to sit down and fill me in on what brought you
here?"  Blair gestured toward the chairs.  Alan shrugged.

"Yeah, I guess."  He appeared to be in his early to mid-20's, and his manner was
very soft-spoken.  He sat in one chair while Blair sat in the other.  The visitor
looked distinctly uncomfortable, both physically and with the visit in general.  

"You want coffee or water or anything?"  Blair offered.

"No, thanks.  I, uh...don't exactly know if you can help me.  I guess I'm looking for
referrals."

"I'll be glad to help any way I can.  Referrals for...?"

"I'm having some problems with my girlfriend."  

"What kinds of problems?"  Blair prodded, his tone neutral.

"Something weird happened...  I know it's not a big deal or anything, but
I'm...uh...I guess I'm feeling really freaked out by it."

"Did she hit you?"  Blair asked gently.  The other man's head shot up, his
expression a bit stunned.

"I thought you'd ask me if *I* hit *her*."

"Did you?"

"No."

"Was I right the first time?"

"Sort of."  Alan wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans.  "She didn't hit me exactly." 
He took in a deep breath.  "We...we were playing around, and she..."  He
swallowed hard.  "This is really hard."

"Take your time.  If it helps any, I do understand how hard getting the words out
can be."

"I don't think you do."  He got up and started pacing.  When he'd arrived at the
window, his back to Blair, he finally spoke again.  "We were playing a game.  It
was her idea.  She wanted to try, uh, you know, this thing with restraints."  He
shook his head.  "I figured, hey, why not--you know, no big deal if she gets off on
tying me up."

Blair felt his own stomach churning a little at the words.  Talking restraints wasn't
high on his list at the moment, having only recently come to grips with his own
terrifying memory.  

"What happened?"  Blair prompted.

"I figured she was gonna go into some sort of teasing routine, you know, because I
couldn't get at her.  I just...I just read her totally wrong.  She, um, had this thing..." 
He took in a couple of shuddering breaths, and Blair could see his body trembling
slightly.  

"It's okay, Alan.  Just take your time.  You want some water?"  Blair offered.

"Yeah, I guess so."

Blair went to the pitcher of ice water he kept on a short lateral file cabinet near his
desk, and poured a glass for his visitor.  He handed Alan the water, and returned
to his chair, understanding that sometimes it was just too hard to look another
person in the eye when you said the words.

"Thanks," Alan said quietly, taking a couple gulps of the water.  "She put
this...leather thing on my dick..."

"To keep you from coming?  A cock ring or a strap?"

"A strap with a cock ring, I guess.  I feel like such a dork.  I didn't even know they
*made* a thing like that."

"Just because you haven't tried out the common S&M toys doesn't make you a
dork."  Blair took a sip of the water he had poured for himself.  "I got introduced
to them in a less than voluntary way myself," he added, and Alan turned his face
sideways slightly, to get a look at Blair out of the corner of his eye. 

"Your girlfriend did some weird shit to you too?"

"My boyfriend, actually.  This jerk I lived with.  A whole lot of weird shit.  But
this isn't about me."  Blair paused.  "You're not alone, Alan.  The same survey
research that says that in the United States, a woman is seriously assaulted by her
partner every 15 seconds also found that a male is seriously assaulted by *his*
partner every 14.6 seconds.  Various studies put the number of male domestic
violence victims anywhere from 400,000 to over 800,000 per year.  The trouble is,
guys don't feel comfortable reporting it.  So it seems like it doesn't exist."

"Man, that's wild.  I don't know anybody else who ever got hit by his girlfriend."

"I bet you do know someone, but it's a good bet he didn't tell you, or didn't report
it.  The point is, Alan, you're not alone, and you're not weird, and this isn't the
only time something like this has happened.  It's happening all the time, right as
we speak.  So take your time, and relax, and tell me what happened, so I can
figure out how to help."

"I broke up with her after...you know, the next day.  She just left for a study trip to
Belgium."

"I think you skipped something between the cock ring and breaking up with her,"
Blair observed, and Alan actually snorted an ugly little laugh.  

"You noticed."  After another deep breath, he continued.  "She put that thing on
my dick and it felt like it was gonna pinch it off.  Hurt like a son of a bitch, and I
told her to get it off me, but she just laughed and said she was in charge."  He ran
a hand back through his hair.  "I figured, well, you know, my dick hurts, and I
don't like this, but you know, she's getting into it.  I figured she'd just tease me a
little and then we'd do it."  He leaned against the window frame, still looking
outside.  "She had this...big fake cock thing.  A...dildo?"  He looked back at Blair
as if to confirm he had the right term.  Blair nodded.  "I could've stopped her if I'd
kicked her.  But that would've been the only way, tied up like I was."  He
shrugged.  "I was afraid I'd really hurt her.  My dad used to slap my mom around,
and I always promised myself I'd never hit a woman.  I'm bigger than she is, and if
I'd let her have it, she could've really gotten hurt.  I just couldn't do it."  

"So she used the dildo, but you didn't want her to?"

"I told her to leave me alone, to untie me, that I changed my mind.  I told her the
cock thing she had on me hurt, that I didn't want to do it anymore.  I tried
everything to reason with her, and...she just jammed this thing into me really hard,
and..."

"Alan, it's okay.  Take your time.  If you need to take a break, we can do that too,"
Blair said quietly.  "Reliving it again sucks in a big way, but you need to get
through it."

"I could feel it tearing me up, and I knew I was bleeding.  Damn..."  He rested his
forehead against the wall and fought hard not to sob, finally losing the battle.  

"You're doing fine, pal, just fine," Blair said, walking up behind him but not
touching him.  "When did it happen?"

"Night before last," he managed, working hard to rein in his emotions.

"Have you been to see a doctor?"

"What am I gonna tell a doctor?!"  he shouted back through barely controlled
tears.  "That my girlfriend stuck a fucking plastic *warhead* up my ass?!"

"I'll go with you.  I can set up an appointment with a doctor I've referred other
assault survivors to--he's worked with people who've had similar experiences.  All
you need to do is let him check you out and treat you if necessary.  I'll be glad to
relate to him what you've told me, if I have your permission.   I can be there for as
much or as little of the appointment as you want me to be."

"I think something's really messed up inside me.  It keeps bleeding," he confessed
quietly.  "I feel sort of sick, and I...I don't know what to do.  I feel like an idiot. 
God, if the guys at work find out about this..."

"Alan, listen to me.  Your health is the number one concern here.  The guys at
work don't need to know anything more than the fact you're taking sick leave."

"I don't have any sick leave.  I'm hourly, and I work at Tony's Gym.  I'm a personal
trainer there.  We don't make much money--I mean, I'm more like a sparring
partner and punching bag holder and boxing coach.  I haven't been able to get a
real job in my field around here.  And my mom's still with my dad and I know if I
leave Cascade, that situation's gonna get worse...  I don't have any sick leave.  If I
take off work, I've gotta have a good excuse, and then I don't get any money."

"First step is a visit to the doctor.  If you let something serious go, it could make
you very ill, or worse.  Will you need a doctor's note to miss work or is it just the
pay that's a problem?"

"Mainly the pay.  Tony, the owner...he's pretty cool, and I never missed a day
before this."

"Listen, call Tony right now and tell him you're ill, and you're running a fever, and
you can't go in to work.  That'll set the stage for something that will keep you
home a few days.  Once you do that, we'll go to the doctor, and we'll take it from
there.  It's going to be okay.  You're not alone with this thing anymore."

"You want me to file a report, right?"

"What your girlfriend did was sexual assault, pure and simple.  I would love it if
you'd file a report and press charges.  But my helping you isn't contingent on
whether you do that or not.  If you choose to, I'll be present when you make your
statement and I'll be your contact person for any of the future hearings or legal
activities that follow.  If you want to let it go, I'll still help you any way I can."

"You aren't going to file a report with the police department?"

"All that goes in my report about our visit is a general statement that a man came
to see me with a sexual assault situation at 3:00 this afternoon.  That's something I
keep track of for budget and client caseload management purposes, and also for
assembling statistical data I use to apply for grants to keep the department
running.  But your name or the details of our interactions aren't recorded or
reported anywhere unless you file a police report *voluntarily*."

"Okay.  I guess you better call that doctor.  I don't...I don't..."  Alan looked at him
for a moment and then collapsed before Blair could reach out to break his fall. 
Dropping to his knees beside the prone man, Blair checked his pulse and found it
rapid, the man's skin almost clammy to the touch.  He rushed to the phone and
called for an ambulance.  He stuck his head out the door of the office and hollered
to Stacey.  

"Call Jim downstairs and ask him to come up.  The ambulance is on its way.  He
passed out," Blair said, nodding back toward the office before returning to his spot
on the floor near his fallen visitor.  

He could hear Stacey making the call to Jim, and then she rushed into the room.  

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Just go down to the main entrance and escort the ambulance guys up here."

"You got it."  She ran from the office and raced to the elevator.  

"Alan, come on, try to wake up for me, okay?  Everything's going to be all right,"
Blair reassured, taking a hold of one limp hand.  

"Chief?  What's going on?"  Jim strode across the office and crouched by where
Blair was kneeling next to Alan.

"I think he's probably bleeding internally.  I don't know for sure."  Blair
swallowed.  "He was...sodomized with something."

"His pulse isn't sounding too good, Chief."  Jim pressed his fingers against the
pulse on the man's throat.  "I hope you told 'em to hurry."  He pulled one eyelid
up, then the other.  "Go get something to cover him with.  He's going into shock."  

Blair hurried over to the little straight chair in the corner where he had a couple of
throws folded neatly.  He was never sure if he'd be seeing clients who had fled
their home situation on a cold day with no time to grab a coat, or clients with
small children who ended up napping in one of the overstuffed chairs.  The throws
always came in handy.  

He returned to Alan and covered him, but Jim pushed him aside suddenly with a
muttered curse.  He started CPR.  

"Take over!"  he directed Blair, who took over the pumping motion over the man's
heart while Jim went to work on mouth to mouth.  

"He's not breathing at all?"  Blair asked, horrified at the turn this situation had
taken.  

"Nothing.  No heartbeat.  Keep it up," he directed Blair, going down for another
effort at mouth to mouth.  Finally, to their relief, the man on the floor took in a
shaking breath, though it was shallow and unsteady, and Jim sat back on his heels,
relieved.  "There's a pulse. It's weak, but he's back with us," Jim stated.  

Just then, the paramedics rushed inside, and Stacey went back into the hall to give
the personnel from the neighboring offices a generic explanation for the
commotion and to encourage them to go back to work and leave the hall clear for
the ambulance attendants to get through.  Blair always marveled a bit at the petite
young woman's assertive manner--and her effectiveness at telling a bunch of
veteran cops what to do.  Despite her deceptive appearance as a sweet, quiet little
redhead with glasses, if Stacey went out to clear the hall, it was a good bet it
would be, in fact, clear when she was finished. 

With oxygen and IV's attached, Alan was loaded onto a gurney and removed from
the office quickly, the EMT's moving at a sprinting pace toward the elevator that
was being held open for them.  

"We'll follow them with the siren," Jim said, catching Blair's arm before he could
go any further.  Mostly, he wanted to keep Blair with him so that if the young man
died in the ambulance, Blair wouldn't have to deal with it alone.  But another little
part of him wanted the reassurance of Blair's presence.  His lover had come too
close to being where this injured man was.

"This is ridiculous," Blair ranted as they called for the other elevator.  Thankfully,
it came quickly and they stepped into it.  "All of this because he was afraid to
report it.  Not because he was afraid of the person who did it--his *girlfriend* did
it!  But because of what he was gonna go through, how embarrassing it would
be...  Damn it, Jim, this sucks!  Look at all the support groups and the...the..."

"Blair, calm down."  Jim took a hold of Blair's shoulders.  "Tell me what
happened, sweetheart."

"I can't.  It's not mine to tell.  I've said more than I should have.  It's up to him if he
files charges.  That's the deal."  Blair slid his arms around Jim for a quick hug
before the elevator opened.  "I'm glad you're here."

"Me too, honey."  He returned the pressure.  "Come on.  We'll give them a police
escort."

As they followed the ambulance, the second set of lights and siren seemed to help
the traffic part even more quickly.  Both men were a little puzzled as the
ambulance slowed a bit, then began traveling at a fairly normal speed through the
city streets.

"What's with them?!"  Blair demanded, gesturing at the slower moving
ambulance.  Jim had a sick feeling what was wrong, but with the noise of the
sirens, he couldn't open up his hearing to know for sure.  He figured either the
patient had died en route, and all that was happening now were routine required
resuscitation efforts, or that they were in the midst of trying to do CPR and needed
more stability in the ambulance than their prior pace had provided.  

"We're almost there, Chief," Jim said evenly, steering the truck into the emergency
drive behind the ambulance.  Both of them got out quickly and rushed up to the
ambulance as they were unloading Alan, emergency room personnel running out
the door to meet them.  Standing back not to impede the progress, Jim approached
one of the EMT's as Blair hurried into the hospital behind the gurney, which was
clustered with medical staff as it raced down the hall.

"What's happening?"  Jim asked.

"He flat-lined in the ambulance.  We've done CPR and used the paddles on him,
and he's still down for the count.  The doctor didn't want to call it because we
were so close to the hospital, and the patient's young and otherwise healthy--I
guess he figured he had the best shot at getting revived anybody could have."

"Damn.  What do you think?"  Jim asked.

"I think he's dead," the other man replied honestly, getting into the back of the
ambulance to straighten things up.  Jim hurried into the hospital and found Blair
pacing a little frantically near a closed examining room.

"What'd they say?"  he demanded as soon as Jim appeared.

"They had to do CPR in the ambulance.  It's not looking good, Chief," he
concluded gently.  

"They've got to save him, Jim.  This is just...God, he can't just *bleed to death*
like this because he was afraid to talk to anybody."  Blair dropped into a nearby
couch, and Jim sat next to him, sliding an arm around his shoulders.

"He was afraid?"

"Of the stigma...of admitting his girlfriend basically *raped* him with
this...*thing*," Blair said unsteadily.  "This is what we do to guys who are
sexually assaulted in this society.  Make them hide it so they don't have to feel like
wusses or faggots," Blair spat out the angry, ugly words.  "God forbid we'd admit
that men aren't invulnerable."

Just then, the doctor came out of the room, a look of defeat on his middle aged
features.  

"We did everything we could," he said sadly.  "I'm sorry."

"Damn it," Jim muttered, looking at Blair, who just swallowed hard.  

"Does he have any ID with emergency information on it?"  Blair asked.

"This is a police matter," Jim added, showing his badge.  "It's a homicide
investigation now."

"He was hemorrhaging internally--and externally.  I understand you lost him once
before the EMT's arrived?"

"Yes, but we managed to get a pulse," Jim said.

"He went into cardiac arrest in the ambulance, and he didn't respond to any of the
resuscitation attempted by the EMT's or by our trauma team here.  The bleeding
appars to have been heavy, and fairly prolonged.  His colon was perforated by
something.  He essentially bled to death," the doctor stated flatly.  "Of course, I
realize the medical examiner will have to make that determination, but that's the
result of my examination."

"He was sodomized with an object a couple nights ago, and he didn't report it until
now..."  Blair shook his head.  "I, uh, I'm with the Domestic Violence Unit at the
PD...he came in to see me, and he collapsed."

"Anything you need for testimony, just let me know.  I'll get you a list of the
trauma team, and we'll be available for any questions."

"Thank you, Doctor," Jim responded.  "I do need to see his personal effects for ID
purposes."  

"Right this way," the doctor led the way toward the examining room, and Blair
followed, not convinced he wanted to see the man's corpse, but also feeling oddly
like he owed it to him to see him through the police procedure as he'd promised,
even if it was posthumously.

A sheet, marred with a few bright streaks of red blood, covered the dead man's
lower body.  His face, arms and chest already bore the white pallor of death,
making his blond hair look almost yellow by contrast.  

"Chief, you can wait outside if you want.  These are just technicalities."  Jim
picked up the wallet that had been laid aside on the table near the bed.

"I said I'd be there with him through the whole process if he wanted to press
charges.  I kind of feel like I should keep my word, you know?"  Blair said sadly,
looking down at the dead man.  "So senseless," he whispered, his voice strained. 
"I promise you one thing, Alan.  I'm damn well going to do something about it." 
With that, Blair turned and walked briskly out of the room.  Jim wasn't sure what
the vow meant--Blair was already devoting his life to helping abuse and assault
victims.  Knowing Blair, though, if he vowed to do something, major shockwaves
would be felt somewhere.

********

Jim leaned against the door frame of Blair's home office, watching his lover
typing almost maniacally at his computer keyboard.  Blair had been quiet and
withdrawn during their preliminary investigation into Alan Benjamin's death, his
expression almost unreadable as he sat in Simon's office while contact was made
with authorities in Belgium to put Alan's girlfriend on a plane headed for Cascade,
accompanied by a police guard.

The search party looking for Daniel Harris had come up empty thus far combing
the woods around the resort.  It had been a horrible day, and if the intensity of
Blair's expression was any indicator, it didn't appear to be getting any better.

"It's almost midnight, Chief.  Think we ought to get some shut-eye?"  Jim asked.

"I can't.  Tomorrow is a deadline I can't miss.  I was going to let it go, you know,
with what happened and the memories and everything...I didn't feel like I could
get it together.  But I can't *not* do this now."

"What deadline is it, sweetheart?"  Jim walked into the room and stood behind
Blair, massaging the tense shoulders.  

"The Mills Foundation.  They make grants of up to a million dollars to human
service agencies for developing new programs.  If there's a chance they'd look at
my proposal, I could conceivably start a program for male victims with that kind
of money."

"You already provide services for male victims.  I know that for us, it's intensely
personal, and it seems like this huge need, but there aren't that many out there,
statistically speaking."

"That's the point, Jim.  There *are* that many out there.  Hundreds of thousands. 
Guys getting abused by their wives who are too embarrassed to report it or get
this, if they do report it, the wife cries self-defense and blames the man for
abusing *her*.  Or God help him if he ever gets over his chivalry complex and
hits back.  That's not even touching the issue of gay men who are abused by their
partners.  One in four gay men have experienced some kind of domestic violence. 
In Los Angeles County alone, they fund over two dozen shelters that accept
female victims.  Do you know how many there are for men? *One*, Jim. *One*. 
And it's 80 miles from downtown LA!"

"Sounds like you've got a pretty impressive list of statistics for that proposal."

"A lot of it's survey research, and there are a number of potential inaccuracies with
that particular methodology."  Blair ran a hand through his hair.  "Men don't report
it, Jim.  That's why we don't have any good, solid numbers."  Blair shook his head. 
"Women report it and they're supported by the system, by their friends, by their
families...well, ideally.  I know I'm generalizing and some women don't have a
good support system.  The point is, *society* is in their corner.  We might not do
all we should about it, but we know women are abused, and most people you talk
to are aware of that, and think we should be doing something about it.  With men,
they have the reaction you just did there aren't enough of them out there being
abused to make it worth having a shelter.  That's not even touching the issue of
raising public awareness and educating our society so *men* are encouraged to
come forward and get help.  Look at Alan.  If he'd survived what happened, and
hadn't finally decided to brave it and come in and talk to me, we wouldn't have a
statistic on him.  Does that mean it didn't happen?  No.  So how many other guys
like Alan are out there, with no place to turn?  Even if there was one good shelter
and counseling program in every *state*, guys could come to it.  I don't expect
that they're going to build shelters in the same proportion to what's out there for
women.  But we need *something*."  Blair let out a long breath.  "It doesn't
matter anyway.  I'm so fucking tired the words are running together."

"Why don't we get some rest and you can start fresh in the morning?"

"I want to be in on investigating Alan's case."

"You will be, Chief.   But there's a lot of routine footwork and paperwork to do,
and I can work on that tomorrow.  The girlfriend is en route back here but you
know she won't get in until tomorrow evening sometime."

"Weird how she pulled this stunt and then left the country."

"She's coming back.  Besides, she may not have had any idea she was doing
something as serious as she was."

"He bled to death, Jim.  She had to have a pretty good idea she was doing some
serious damage."  Blair leaned back in the chair and took off his glasses, rubbing
his eyes.  "Bad enough to be looked at funny because you're male, but let your
attacker be a woman and you're really screwed.  Even *you* are looking funny at
this one."

"I just want to keep an open mind, honey.  I'm not looking funny at it because of
the gender of the victim or the suspect."  Jim massaged a little more firmly, and
Blair tilted his head appreciatively.  "You know that."

"Yeah, I know that.  I'm being an ass."

"You're venting.  You're entitled."

"No, I'm not.  I love you, and I'm slamming you for no justifiable reason.  Just
because I feel shitty."

"Apology accepted."  Jim kissed the top of Blair's head.  "Now let's go to bed. 
The search team is going out early in the morning, and we've got a lot of folks to
interview in Alan's case, and you've got a dazzling, brilliant proposal to finish."

"It sucks.  It's flat.  It's full of preachy horseshit and shaky numbers.  They're going
to throw it out."

"Come on.  Enough.  Tomorrow, you tackle it."  Jim pulled the desk chair back
from the computer.  "Hit save, then shut down."

"I think I already did shut down, I mean."  Blair yawned a little and followed the
directions, and when the computer screen was dark again, he slid under Jim's
waiting arm and joined his lover on the trek up to their bedroom.  Already in his
robe and boxers, he was prepared to just crawl into bed.  

"Relax, baby," Jim whispered against Blair's ear as they nestled together in the
bed.  "You need to loosen up a little," he said, kissing the full mouth before
moving downward, rolling Blair onto his back and straddling him, teasing a nipple
with the tip of his tongue.  The nipple responded marginally, but Blair did not. 
"This isn't what you need right now, huh?"  Jim prodded, sitting back on his heels. 


"Sorry.  It's not that I don't appreciate what you're trying to do.  Sex just isn't...it
just doesn't feel good right now."

"I understand, sweetheart."  Jim turned out the light and slid down in the bed,
pulling Blair into his arms.  "Cuddling's okay, though, right?"  he clarified with a
little smile in his voice.

"Cuddling's good," Blair responded, nestling closer.  "I don't mean to keep
chewing on you.  I know you're on my side, and I know you understand what I'm
trying to do.  I just get so *frustrated* sometimes...and I just...explode, I guess."

"You don't think any of these agencies or foundations are going to look at your
proposal and see merit in it?"

"Jim, you're more sensitive to this issue than just about any other man I'd discuss
it with, and your perception is that there aren't that many guys out there in these
situations.  And in one sense you're right, because most of them don't report it, so
the numbers aren't impressive in terms of law enforcement records.  Granting
agencies like to do things that affect big numbers.  If you can show a huge service
population, you're more likely to get money.  I mean, I have a few statistics, and a
few case studies...  I'm trying to write an anonymous case study of Alan into this
proposal...  It's just hard, you know?"

"Maybe it's a little fresh to be writing it.  He just died this afternoon.  I know
you're not reacting to it, but I know something's going on inside."

"I just want to scream or throw things, but it won't help.  I feel so much like I have
to make a difference here, like his death has to mean something.  If there had been
something like what I want to start, available here, Alan would probably still be
alive.  Because maybe the day we start bringing the male victims out of the closet
is the day when guys are going to start understanding that it's okay if they're
hurting and need help.  Maybe their stupid friends and relatives who make them
feel like it's not okay can learn something...can learn that their pain is just as
legitimate as any woman's.  That they need help and counseling and sometimes
protection."  Blair sat up and pushed his hair back.  "I was lucky.   Somebody
rescued me and protected me and brought me back to life...because, man, I was on
the edge of dying even before Vince did his last number on me.  Not everybody
has someone like you in his life waiting to save the day."

"My motives were partly selfish."  Jim sat up and pulled Blair against him, resting
the side of his head against Blair's.  "I can't live without you, remember?"

"You saved my life and you protected me and you met my needs--God knows I
had a ton of them...still do sometimes.  No shelter or support group can give
someone that level of love, but maybe it could give them the place to stay and the
protection and the... *legitimizing* of their situation." 

"You want to set up a shelter.  For that you need a house.  Some old place that
needs work shouldn't be too expensive.  Do the basics to get it functional and let
your residents help out with some of the projects if they're able.  For counseling,
your support group would be right there--the residents, and you.  You already
have volunteers from the U helping out with the DVU.  Why not with that project
too?  Don't get too bogged down in the bureaucracy and the grant requests.  I don't
think we need a fortune to do this."

"We?"  Blair turned his head to look at Jim.

"We."  Jim tightened his hold.  "WE will talk more about this tomorrow.   If it
means this much to you, then it's *our* project, and we'll find a way to make it
happen if we have to take out a loan and buy a fixer-upper ourselves.  Now will
you relax and go to sleep?"  Jim kissed Blair's cheek.  

"I love you."  Blair turned and pulled Jim into a crushing bear hug.  It was
returned enthusiastically.  

"You keep talking about giving something back because of what I did for you. 
Maybe it's time I gave something back because I was blessed enough to get you
back in my life.  I love you, too, cuddlebug."  

"Sleep doesn't sound so bad after all," Blair said, smiling as they shifted positions
until they were in each other's arms, comfortable under the covers.  "G'night, Jim."

"Sleep tight, sweetheart."  Jim smiled and hugged Blair close, letting himself drift
into a peaceful sleep.

********

While the truck headed for the PD with Jim at the wheel, Blair was laboriously
scanning the classified ads, circling the occasional "house for sale" square.  

"Finding anything good?"  Jim asked as they pulled up to a stop light.

"Some of this stuff is just too far gone--restoration would cost too much.  And
then there's the issue of location.  I mean, older neighborhoods are great, but not if
we have crack houses on all sides."

"Is there anything worthwhile for us to check out at lunch?"

"There's one on Hanover Street.  It's a fixer-upper, a two story with four bedrooms
and two bathrooms, a basement, and a walk-up attic."

"Hanover's a pretty good street--we don't get many calls over there.  Price in our
range?"

"Yeah, on the lower end of it, actually."  Blair looked up at him.  "Are you sure
about this?  If we take on another mortgage, things are going to be really, *really*
tight."

"Just for a while.  You're going to get grant funding, remember?"

"What if I don't?"

"Blair, we'll have an established facility with an established program with an
established client population.  There're your statistics.  You can cite how many
people are being served and what's being done and what kind of results you're
getting.  You can solicit donations on a regular basis--we'll set it up as a non-
profit, get the license we need for that."

"I know how it could work.  I'm just worried about what's going to happen if it
doesn't.  Then we have to put guys out on the street and close our doors."

Jim drove the truck forward as the light changed.  

"Then we set up a dormitory in the basement at home and put 'em up there.  We
won't put anybody on the street, Chief.  Besides, once they've had a chance to get
some counseling, and get some help with the situation they're in, they'll be moving
on anyway.  That's the goal of shelter, isn't it?  To get people back on their feet
again?"

"You'd really put people up at our place if we had to?"  Blair asked.

"When I committed to doing this, I meant it.  It's not a half-way thing.  It's *our*
project.  That's *our* home--it makes sense we'd use it if we had to."

"I really love you a lot, you know," Blair said solemnly, looking directly at Jim
until the other spared him a look as they pulled up to another stop light.

"You're not so bad yourself, Chief," Jim said with a grin, slipping his hand behind
Blair's head and pulling him over for a fast kiss before the light changed.  

"I think everybody saw us," Blair said a little nervously.

"Bet they're jealous of me, then."  Jim settled back in the seat with a mischievous
smile, leaving Blair to contemplate that thought.

********

Brandy Klosowski was an unremarkable-looking college student with straight
blonde hair and blue eyes.  Dressed in a long sleeved blue knit top and jeans, she
got off the plane with a plainclothes female detective from the Los Angeles Police
Department at her side.  When she'd landed back on US soil, her Belgian escort
had begun the return trip home, and an LAPD detective had taken over at LAX,
traveling on the flight to Cascade.  Jim, Blair and two uniformed officers were
waiting at the gate.

The girl looked scared, and her eyes were badly bloodshot.  In the nighttime
fluourescent lighting of the airport terminal, her coloring was a sickly gray and
she looked at Jim as if he were the devil himself.  

"Ms. Klosowski, I'm Detective Ellison, Cascade Police.  This is Blair Sandburg,
Director of the Cascade PD Domestic Violence Unit.  We're here to take you
downtown for questioning."

"Brandy!"  A woman's voice caught their attention, and the girl looked
immeasurably relieved to see a stout middle-aged woman rushing toward them. 
The two women embraced.  "She's exhausted.  Do you mean to tell me she isn't
even allowed to go home and get some sleep?"

"You must be Mrs. Klosowski," Jim surmised, and the woman nodded.  "Your
daughter is wanted for questioning in the death of Alan Benjamin.  I have to take
her downtown now."

"Is she under arrest?"  Another voice cut in as a taller, more slender woman
dressed in a dark business suit joined them.  She appeared to be a bit older than
Brandy's mother, her graying hair neatly styled.  "Jane Henshaw.  I'm Ms.
Klosowski's attorney."

"We can arrest your client if that's how you'd prefer to play this, Ms. Henshaw,"
Jim said calmly.  "We'd prefer to question her and hear her side of the story first,
but we have enough evidence to proceed with formal charges."

"I don't want to be arrested," Brandy protested.  "I didn't do anything to Alan! 
Honest I didn't!"

"I don't know if you want to get into this here, with your mother present, Ms.
Klosowski."

"Very well," Ms. Henshaw spoke up.  "Brandy, I think it's best if we cooperate
with questioning at this point.  I will be with you, and you will have the right to
refuse to answer any questions."  The attorney watched as her client nodded
solemnly, still clinging to her mother's arm.

"If everything's under control here, I'm catching a return flight," the LA detective
spoke up.

"Thank you for escorting her here," Blair said, extending his hand. "Blair
Sandburg," he added.

"Maria Rivera, LAPD Homicide," she responded, shaking his hand.  About Blair's
age, and only marginally shorter, she was an attractive Hispanic woman with long
dark hair pulled into a simple ponytail.  "Detective Ellison," she nodded toward
Jim, who returned the gesture.  

"Are you sure we can't get you anything?  Your flight leaves immediately?"  Blair
asked.

"Within the hour.  Mr. Sandburg, I'm familiar with your work via the HSPro list,"
she said, smiling.  "You're doing a great job.  When you get your shelter up and
running, be sure to keep me informed.  I'm hoping to get something similar off the
ground in LA."

"Thank you.  Please, e-mail me when you get back to LA."

"We need to get going, Chief," Jim said as Brandy, her mother and her attorney
were escorted by the two uniformed police officers toward the exit.  "Thank you,
Detective Rivera," Jim said, shaking hands with her.  

"She wasn't exactly a hardened felon--it was a milk run," she responded, smiling. 
"Mr. Sandburg, I'll be in touch."

"Blair, please."

"Blair it is.  Good night, gentlemen."  With that, she hurried across the terminal to
another counter, presumably to check on the status of her next flight.

"What's the HSPro list?"  Jim asked as they followed their suspect and her
entourage to the exit.

"Human Services Professionals--it's a mailing list on the 'net for people in social
service jobs all over the country.  There aren't many cops on it, unfortunately, but
Maria's a really perceptive, caring person.  She's dealt with a lot of domestic
situations that have turned into homicides.  She's been trying to get a network of
safe houses going in LA to house male abuse victims."

"She's not too hard on the eyes either, is she?"  Jim grinned, nudging Blair a little.

"She's not really my type," Blair responded, looking up at Jim with a big grin,
open adoration on his face.  Jim worked hard to resist the urge to kiss every inch
of that lovestruck face, settling for a return smile and a silent vow to make up for
lost time later.

Brandy's questioning was a start and stop, slow-moving nightmare until the small
hours of the morning.  The girl was not only jet-lagged and overwrought, but she
was loathe to admit she'd ever even *seen* a dildo, let alone used one on her
boyfriend.  After six hours of on and off interrogation, with rest breaks her lawyer
insisted upon, she finally admitted she liked to engage in sex play using the toys,
and that Alan did not.  She admitted to using the dildo on him but would not
admit that he'd bled or that she'd been rough with him, or that it was anything but
consensual.  

With the DA's blessing, she was formally arrested and charged with criminal
sexual conduct and second degree murder.  Jim had a sinking feeling it would be
bargained down to a low level of manslaughter before the whole ordeal was over.

********
 
"I'm not sure she gets it, even now," Blair said tiredly, pouring two cups of coffee
from a pot of the stuff in the break room that had seen better times.  It was almost
six a.m., and they hadn't bothered to go home after booking Brandy.  "She killed
him."

"I'm not sure if she's really in denial or just covering her ass," Jim said, taking a
drink of his coffee, grimacing at the taste.  

"Ooh, stale coffee and Sentinel tastebuds.  Not a good combo, man," Blair said,
smiling at the horrible face Jim had made.  

"Have I told you lately that I love you?"  Jim said, touching Blair's hair lightly. 
They were alone for the moment, but at the PD, they were never sure for how
long.

"Not in the last few hours," Blair responded, smiling up at him, that look in his
eyes again, the one that had almost melted him at the airport.  "Wasn't there a song
by that name?"  Blair's grin turned a little devilish.

"I do, even if you *are* a smart ass," Jim responded, risking a quick kiss.  Pulling
back, he made another face.  "God, that coffee tastes awful, even on you."

********

The house on Hanover street certainly wasn't going to draw buyers from its curb
appeal.  A completely nondescript old wood-sided house with a slanting front
porch and a gravel driveway, the house blended with its equally nondescript
neighbors.  Many of the homes were neatly kept--though a few looked a bit battle-
scarred--and the neighborhood itself, shaded by a number of large trees, seemed
quite quiet.  

The real estate agent, a portly man in his mid-fifties, did his best to "talk up" the
house's good points--the nearly 2000 square feet of living space, the two full
bathrooms, the large, square rooms--while his prospective clients assessed the
need to completely re-do the interior.  Wallpaper was old, faded and peeling in
spots, carpeting nearly threadbare and window trimmings either grubby or non-
existent.  

The basement proved to be dry and a perfunctory visual inspection of the
foundation indicated it was sound.  The furnace was a big old monster, but it
allegedly still worked.  The walk-up attic contained a plethora of junk and
cobwebs, but it did have a hard wood floor, two decent-sized windows which
were located in the apex of the roof line at the front and back of the house, and a
high enough ceiling for Jim to stand comfortably and walk around the central
portion of it.

"We'll need to get an inspection done," Jim said to the real estate agent as they
headed down the stairs to the first floor.  "I would also want to stipulate in the
offer that the junk in the attic and the junk in the shed out back is to be removed at
the owner's expense.  We've got enough work to do in this place without cleaning
up after them."

"I'm sure we could work something out along those lines.  The house needs a bit
of sprucing up, but it has marvelous potential."

"Sprucing up?"  Blair repeated, his eyes widening a bit.  

"Maybe more than a bit," the man admitted, laughing.  "But the property values in
this area are very steady, you've got lots of nicely kept homes in this block...it's a
solid investment."

"I think we need to sign some papers and get this show on the road to make an
offer," Jim concluded, smiling at Blair, who returned it with tenfold the
enthusiasm.  

********

"You bought what?"  Bill's eyes widened a little as Jim joined them at the table
with the warm garlic bread.   Blair was just finishing divvying up the spaghetti on
the three plates.  As the weather grew colder and wetter outdoors with the
progression of fall into winter, the kitchen was warm and cozy with the smells of
good cooking.  Since it was Sally's night off, Bill had snapped at their dinner
invitation eagerly.  

"Another house," Blair repeated.  "We're going to start a shelter for male assault
and abuse victims.  We'll take people from anywhere, geographically--I'm
thinking of setting up a network with other social service and victim advocacy
agencies across the country via the 'net.  I already belong to a couple of mailing
lists of other professionals who work with abuse victims.  The number of men
who come forward or seek help is smaller, and until we really start a proactive
program of public education and awareness,  just in Cascade alone, we probably
wouldn't serve enough people to keep it up and running.  But if we could be the
center for the Pacific Northwest, that'd be a different story."

"It's a big house, Dad," Jim chimed in.  "There are four bedrooms and an attic that
could be finished to accommodate maybe four beds in a dorm-style bedroom.  We
could put up quite a few guys at once, or when you get a man who has children
with him, we'd be able to accommodate that.  Plus, you need numbers to impress
granting agencies--and you also need to overcome some prejudices, which isn't
easy either."

"Which is the big obstacle I'm facing.  I mean, I'm not doing well competing with
children's programs and women's shelters and feed the hungry programs when it
comes to getting funds.  The PD will pay for a cheesy apartment that puts up a
couple guys in a jam, but the rent went up on even that, and they're looking at it as
a potential budget cut.  Actually, the apartment is used for *any* abuse victims we
need to help out if there's not room in a traditional shelter, or if they need extra
security--which means, of course, if we've put a female victim there, we can't
obviously have her sharing with a man."

"I imagine it's harder to sell this than it is a few heart-tugging case studies of
cherub-faced children in need of teddy bears for Christmas," Bill surmised, taking
a drink of the red wine they'd served with dinner.  

"Any thoughts on who we could talk to that might be receptive?"  Jim asked. 
"The Cascade Community Foundation has a big lump of funds to hand out, I
understand--a deadline at the end of the year or something.  You know anybody
on that board that might be sympathetic?"

"Me," Bill responded, smiling.  "I agreed to be on their board a couple months ago
when Ryan Williams died--you remember him, Jimmy.  He was the guy who ran
the Cascade Press."

"Vaguely.  He was over to the house for a few dinner parties, wasn't he?"

"Right.  Mainly when it was my turn to host something for the Cascade Arts
Council."

"You'd put in a good word for us?"  Blair asked hopefully.

"I'd be glad to.  When you get your proposal together, let me go over a draft of it,
and I'll give you some ideas where to tweak it to give it a little edge."

"Thanks, Dad."  Blair smiled gratefully.  "I'm really running into a lot of brick
walls with this lately."

"I've got a couple other ideas--after dinner, I'll look up some contact names for
you.  Steven finally convinced me to go 'high-tech'.  I have one of those hand-held
computers in my coat pocket," he explained.  "I can't believe I let him talk me into
that."

"You'll have to show me your new toy.  I've been thinking about getting one of
those."

"Oh, good.  Another computer to crash," Jim grumbled, shaking his head.

"Truthfully, if I hadn't known Blair personally--a survivor of an abusive situation--
I probably wouldn't have had as much sympathy for this sort of project either,"
Bill said honestly.  "I probably would have figured they could take care of
themselves--or should be able to."

"That's a pretty common response to male victims--like there's something
*wrong* with them if they need help, or that they're weak, or they feel like society
has such a huge *stigma* on them that they're afraid to ask for help."  Blair laid
his fork aside.  "What really got me rolling with renewed conviction on this whole
thing was the death of one of my clients.  Well, he was only a client for a few
moments...he collapsed in my office while we were talking, and he died in the
emergency room."

"My God."  Bill winced a little at the scenario.  "He was beaten up?"

"He was abused by his girlfriend--yeah, I know, pretty unbelievable.  His injuries
went untreated too long, and he hemorrhaged.  By the time he came to me, it was
too late.  And his big fear was what his friends or his employer were going to
think.  That pressure we put on men in this society to be tough and invincible...it
killed him."

"Using him in your proposals would be a good idea."

"Oh, I plan to, anonymously," Blair said.  "I'd like to name the shelter after him,
but I think that's the last thing he'd want, truthfully.  He was very intent on
maintaining his anonymity and privacy.  But I guess if we can just make it
happen...maybe it'll seem like his death was a little less... pointless."

"You can tell me to butt out if you want," Bill said as a preface to his next words,
"but I was concerned what happened after...after you were so ill the other day,
Blair."

"I remembered what it was I'd blocked out," he responded simply.  Knowing how
cryptic that sounded, he added, "Vince showed me a videotape."  After a long
pause, and a drink of water, he continued.  "I always knew there was something
beyond the obvious that scared me about Vince, that made me believe he was
capable of every depraved thing he ever threatened to do.  Now I know what that
was.  He made a videotape of a murder."

"He taped someone being killed?"  Bill's eyes widened in horror.

"He killed someone with the tape rolling," Jim summarized.  "For kicks, he
showed it to Blair.  The victim in the video looks just like Blair."

"That's the sickest thing I ever heard."

"Apparently he took up with me because I reminded him of this guy he killed."
  
"Any luck identifying the victim?"  Bill asked, still looking stunned.

"Yeah, we matched him up with a missing person.  Authorities up near the resort
where we think it happened--the same one where Blair and I went--have been
combing the grounds for the remains.  No luck so far."

"Going there triggered all this, huh?"

"I started having flashes as soon as we got there," Blair said.  "You know, there's
no way to know that the body is anywhere near there.  God knows what Vince
would have done with it.  I just wish I'd remembered it sooner so that guy's family
could have had some...*closure* all this time."

"Maybe the remains were found but not identified," Bill suggested.  

"You should've been a cop," Blair quipped, grinning.  Bill laughed, and Jim
smiled.

"We're running a check on that right now, but so far, nothing."

"I didn't mean to get you off on an unpleasant subject," Bill said, noticing that
Blair had abandoned his meal without finishing it.

"It's not you, it's me.  I don't have much appetite right now."

"You want dessert, Dad?  I bought Moose Tracks at the store today," Jim said,
goading Blair into rolling his eyes over the vanilla ice cream laden with peanut
butter cups and fudge.

"Going through the grocery store with him is worse than taking your five-year-old. 
Chips, soda, candy, ice cream."

"Somebody I know seems to always end up with his paws in my potato chips
while we're watching the game," Jim said, getting up and clearing away plates. 

********

Blair paused in the doorway of the bedroom, smiling at the soft golden glow of
candles and the music playing on the small stereo on the dresser.  Jim was
wearing his black silk robe, standing by the bed with a soft smile on his face.  Hair
loose, clad in his favorite plaid robe, Blair had just finished his final ablutions for
the night and was ready to crawl into bed with Jim.

"They're playing our song," Jim joked, pulling Blair into his arms and swaying
them a little.  The music on the stereo was something romantic and instrumental,
but Blair couldn't immediately place it.  It didn't really matter, though.  What
mattered were the strong arms that closed around him, and the safety Blair always
felt within them.  He wrapped his arms around Jim and held on tightly, resting his
head on Jim's shoulder.  He felt a hand move up from his back to stroke his hair.  

"I love you, Jim," Blair said quietly, closing his eyes.  "I know I haven't acted
much like it lately, but I do."

"You've had a lot on your mind, Chief.  A lot to deal with.  I'm real clear on how
you feel about me," he added, smiling as he kissed Blair's hair.  "In case you were
wondering, I love you, too."

"I don't ever have to wonder."

"You're right, you don't.  I'll always be here for you."

Blair didn't say anything more, just burrowed into the embrace and clung tightly. 
He hadn't even realized how much he needed this, but somehow, Jim knew.  They
stayed that way a long time, just swaying a little to the music.  When Blair felt
boneless and sleepy, Jim guided them to the bed, where they tossed their robes
aside and slid under the covers.  Resuming their embrace, Blair realized it was the
first time he'd been naked in Jim's arms since the memories had begun plaguing
him.  The contact was healing.  It felt healthy and good and right.  

Jim's lips trailed little kisses along Blair's jaw until they reached his neck, licking
and sucking gently, leaving little passion marks behind.  He was moving slowly,
in no particular hurry, and Blair relaxed and enjoyed the languid sensations.  His
body wasn't responding quickly, despite his desire to get close to Jim and make
love.  Still, he was relieved that Jim didn't take that as a signal to stop.  

They rolled over until Blair was on his back, and Jim was hovering over him,
kissing his way down Blair's neck to his chest. A gentle but assertive hand
massaged his balls, encouraging his somewhat unresponsive cock to harden and
take interest. Then, Blair felt a hot, wet tongue dragged across his left nipple. 
Then the tip of the tongue played lightly with the hardening bud of flesh.  Then it
licked again.  Blair groaned and arched into the teasing wetness.  The tongue
danced across the expanse of chest to the right side, and began lapping, then
teasing with just the tip.  

Jim was tasting his nipples.  Mapping their texture, exploring them...and yet not
sucking.  

"Jim...suck it...please," Blair gasped, longing for the intensity of that hot mouth
drawing his flesh in tightly.  Jim moved up until his mouth was against Blair's ear.

"I'm savoring you, baby.  I want you all over my tongue."  Jim pulled back and
smiled at the flushed, aroused look that earned him.  "But what my lover wants,
my lover gets," he added, grinning and kissing the end of Blair's nose before
claiming his mouth passionately. The lips left Blair's, then moved down to suck
hard on the left nipple, drawing a little cry of pleasure from Blair.  Jim took his
time, working each little bud until Blair was fully erect and eager, thrusting up
against him.  

"What do you want, sweetheart?"  Jim asked, kissing his way back up to Blair's
neck.  "Tonight's yours.  You can have anything you want."

"I want to feel something good inside me.  I want you in there, making it feel
good."  Blair paused a minute, reaching up to frame Jim's face in both hands. 
"You always make everything good again.  I love you so much I can't believe it
sometimes."

"Believe it."  Jim moved down for a long kiss.  "You deserve all the love there is,
baby.  Just relax and let me give it to you," he whispered against Blair's ear as he
reached for the lube on the night stand.  

Blair took in a deep breath and released it slowly as one coated digit eased inside
him.  He knew he was tight, and he knew he was still fighting the memories that
had plagued him in recent days.  Still, he wanted to feel Jim inside him; it was
almost a necessary reassurance of how good, gentle and wonderful things were
now that Vince Watson was a distant memory.  Pulling his legs up and apart
further, he hoped Jim wouldn't mistake the tension in his body for a lack of desire. 


"When this is all over, we're going away together someplace special, sweetheart,"
Jim said softly, his finger still working on relaxing the tight muscles.  "Someplace
brand new, someplace peaceful.  Maybe with a lot of sandy beach and dark blue
water, where all we have to do all day is lie around in the sand or make love." 
Blair felt another finger enter him, and it was getting easier to accept it.  He closed
his eyes and thought about the unnamed paradise Jim was describing, about the
waves lapping the shores, the sun setting over the water...

A finger rubbed firmly over his prostate, and Blair lurched at the intense pleasure
of it, a little shout escaping him.  The finger repeated its gesture before both
fingers withdrew, and Jim coated himself with gel.

"If it doesn't feel good, we'll slow down, or we'll stop--okay?"  Jim asked, a little
breathless himself now as he stroked his own hard flesh.

"I know.  But it'll feel good," Blair said with a grin.  He pulled his knees back
further, and watched Jim's expressions as he began slowly sliding inside the tight
slickness: there was concentration, as if he were doing the most delicate life and
death process, and pleasure, and finally relief as he reached full penetration.  It did
feel good, like always with Jim, and as long as he kept focused on the present, on
the man he was with now, the past would be held at bay.  

As soon as Jim was fully sheathed, Blair wrapped his legs around the firm body
above him, and accepted the powerful, passionate kiss that was bestowed on him.  

"Come up with me," Jim panted, and Blair nodded, as both men slid their arms
tightly around each other and Jim moved back up on his heels, bringing Blair with
him.  Still impaled, straddling Jim's lap, Blair began thrusting to increase the
friction of his hard cock against Jim's body.  "Eager little devil, aren't we?"  Jim
teased, and Blair fastened his mouth against the soft skin of Jim's throat in
response, sucking gently.  

Then it was Jim's turn to thrust, setting a steady, firm rhythm, moving in and out
of Blair's body, cock rubbing over Blair's prostate more often than not, making
him abandon his work on Jim's neck to cry out with pleasure.  Blair's thighs were
writhing and squeezing on the outside of Jim's, and Blair was adding his own
motion to their sex, not satisfied to be a passive participant.  

Blair composed himself enough to kiss his way down the smooth chest, pausing to
subject Jim to a little of the tongue action Jim had given him earlier.  He dragged
his tongue over the firm bud of one nipple, and when Jim gasped and thrust harder
in response, he tried it on the second.  

Jim tilted Blair's chin up for another kiss then, his tongue moving in and out of
Blair's mouth in the same rhythm he was using to claim Blair's ass.  Blair pulled
away and rode Jim's lap wildly, speeding up their pace, gripping Jim's shoulders
and thrusting up and down on the hard column impaling him.  Jim grasped Blair's
cock and began pumping it.  With a hoarse shout of pleasure, Blair's whole body
vibrated with his climax, his internal muscles squeezing and releasing Jim in that
amazing natural rhythm of orgasm.  

As Blair's body slowed and stilled, Jim reached his own peak, shouting Blair's
name as he filled him, gathering the languid, damp body against his while they
rode out the lingering aftershocks together.  

Blair rested against Jim's chest, breathing heavily, closing his eyes and letting his
senses fill with the warmth and scent of what was, for him, the safest place in the
world: in Jim's arms.  He relaxed fully now, feeling that hand moving gently
through his hair, while another rubbed up and down his back.  He could feel Jim's
softened flesh still inside him, and he didn't want to give it up.  He tightened his
hold on Jim.

"You okay, cuddlebug?"  Jim placed a kiss on Blair's temple.

"Just want to hang onto you for a while.  Don't want to let you go."

"Hang on as long as you want, baby.  I'm not going anywhere."  Another kiss on
the top of his head.  "Afraid of the ghosts coming back?" he asked gently.  Blair
shuddered a little at just how well Jim could read him.  He squeezed his eyes
tighter and nodded.  He knew once this embrace was broken, the new memories
that had haunted him would be there again, at the edge of his consciousness, ready
to reach up and grab him as he slept.  

"I don't wanna dream about it anymore," he admitted, his arms tightening around
Jim.  "I see him in those dreams, Jim.  He's *right there*, and he's...and I can't
stop him..."

"I wish I could come into your dreams.  God, Chief, you don't know how badly I
want to kill him again--only slowly this time.  Make him pay for what he did to
you.  Make him pay over and over again."

"I want to stop remembering his face, and how he...how he *felt* and how scared
I was."

"I don't know if you can stop remembering, sweetheart, but I'm right here to hold
onto, and he's gone.  He can't touch you, baby.  Not ever again."  Jim added a
slight rocking motion to their embrace.  "I promise if you have a bad dream
tonight, I'll come and get you out.  Okay?"

"Yeah, okay," Blair said, laughing a little.

"I mean it.  Trust me?"

"You're serious."

"Sure I'm serious."  Jim pulled back a little.  "I'm gonna hold you close all night,
and if Watson shows up in your dreams, I'll find a way to kill the bastard in there,
too."

"I believe you," Blair said, stunned that he actually did.  The thought, combined
with his post-sex lassitude, made it difficult to keep his eyes open.  Jim's hands
were at his waist now, gently encouraging him to lift up long enough for Jim to
slip free of his body.  

They stretched out on the bed and pulled the covers up, Blair snuggling happily
into the embrace that kept him securely against Jim, his lover's heartbeat
thumping quietly and steadily beneath his ear.  He held onto Jim's promise,
impossible as it seemed, and dozed into a deep sleep.  Wherever in Blair's
subconscious Watson was lurking, he was held at bay all through the night.

********

The old house on Hanover Street soon had new owners.  The offer had been
accepted happily, as the previous owners were already living in their new home
and badly needed to unload the old one.  Blair spent his days between part-time
office hours at the DVU and spearheading an ever-rotating team of volunteers in
cleaning, painting and preparing the house for use as a shelter.  Jim spent many of
his off-duty hours there as well, his very real commitment to the project's success
never ceasing to make Blair feel incredibly loved, and remarkably lucky.  

Fortunately, zoning hadn't proven to be a problem, and they gained clearance for
housing as many as ten adults in the dwelling's five bedrooms.  Jim had led a
group of volunteers in a hasty renovation of the attic into a bedroom in order to
satisfy the inspectors they were suited to house that many.  As he had with the
DVU, Blair again tapped his University contacts to persuade a faculty member
who was also a licensed psychologist and another who was a former domestic
violence caseworker to volunteer their time on an as-needed basis.  

Students from the Rainier Social Work program set to work on a plan for making
the shelter's availability known to the student population.  Students from the
Criminal Justice program signed up to work as security once the facility opened,
as the University agreed to make the shelter one of the options for their field work
requirements.  Based on his own experiences with Watson, and his work with the
DVU, Blair was unpleasantly aware that enraged abusers were very likely to seek
out their victims or those who were helping them.  

Blair spent many long hours on the 'net, putting the word out to online support
groups, as well as various law enforcement agencies in the state, and even a few in
the states immediately surrouding Washington.  Being there were very few
shelters for male abuse victims, for both the good of the people who needed the
help and the survival of the project, clients drawn from a greater population than
just Cascade alone would not only serve a need but also increase their chances for
funding.  

After a long day off working on the last of the renovations, Jim had looked
forward to a relaxing evening alone with Blair.  Instead, he found himself making
coffee for a prolonged session of paper-shuffling between Blair and Bill, who was
volunteering his time to help Blair navigate the necessary paperwork to establish
the shelter as a non-profit organization.  He also came armed with grant
applications from two of the local foundations on whose boards he served.

"If you two can muddle through without me, I think I'll go take a look at the game
for a while," Jim said, setting another pot of coffee on the table.  What he really
planned was to turn on the game and sleep in the TV room until Blair was finished
for the night and they could head up to bed.

"We're fine, Jim," Blair said, barely sparing him a glance.  Jim smiled as he
watched the scene for a few more seconds, and then headed into the TV room.  It
was good to see Blair engrossed in something again.  It brought out the "old Blair"
-- the one with the fire and passion and commitment -- the one who had been
somewhat invisible during the difficult weeks as Blair dealt with his emerging
memories of his horrible encounter with Watson at the cabin.  

Jim turned on the TV and plopped on the couch, finding the game with the remote
and leaning back in the cushions.  Sleep was so close...until the phone rang. 
Reaching for the cordless on the end table, he grumbled, "Ellison."

"Jim, Joel.  They just called from up north.  They've got a skeleton.  Medical
examiner said it looks like an adult male."

"Damn.  Where'd they find it?"

"You're not gonna believe this."

"Try me."

"Well, it seems they've got this medium up there--"

"You're shittin' me, Joel," Jim said, shaking his head with an ironic smile.  "We've
had search parties up there for weeks."

"They tore up the floorboards in a newly constructed storage barn on the resort
property based on something she told them following a vision.  It seems they
didn't go very deep with digging to put the storage building up--it was just a wood
floor and one of those storage shed kits you get at the lumber store.  The owner
confirmed it wouldn't have been there at the time Daniel Harris was killed."

"Oh, man."  Jim ran a hand over his face and sighed.  "Have Records pull the file
on Watson.  I have a feeling Danny Harris might not be the only victim."

"You mean you think Watson was a serial killer?"

"Think about it, Joel.  What he did to Blair alone is proof he was a violent sadist. 
We know he killed one guy and taped it to show to another one he was abusing. 
How is it a stretch to think he did this more than once?"

"Dear God.  You coming in?"

"Yeah, I'll be there as soon as I can.  If they're going to stick around in the M.E.'s
office up in Bradford County, I'll take Harris's dental records up there myself."

"They'll be there.  This is a big case for them--their first homicide in forty years."

Jim hung up the phone and looked up to see Blair standing in the doorway.

"Dad's getting pretty tired, so he's going home."

"How long have you been there?"  Jim asked, thinking back of his conversation
with Joel.

"Long enough."  Blair walked into the room and sat on the arm of the couch.  "It's
okay, Jim.  I'm not going to freak out just because you talk about it."  

"Did Dad leave already?"  Jim realized he hadn't even scanned the house with his
heightened hearing but rather had all his attention focused on Blair.

"Yeah, he just drove off.  His eyes were getting pretty tired reading all that fine
print.  Guess we better get started, huh?"

"Blair--"

"Don't even think about telling me to stay home."

"This isn't gonna be pleasant, Chief."

"I lived with Vince, Jim.  There's not too much I can hear about now that's going
to shock me."

"I guess you've got a point there."  Jim reached up and circling Blair's waist,
pulled him off the arm of the couch and into his lap.  Blair accepted the cuddling
willingly, bringing his face to rest in the curve of Jim's neck.  "No matter what we
hear, or what we find in the next few weeks," he began, rubbing Blair's back
slowly, "remember that it's over, he's gone, and I've got you now.  He can't ever
hurt you or anyone else again."

"I can't think about it.  About the fact that maybe he had...that maybe he killed
people.  It's bad enough knowing he'd killed one person.  But to think of him as
some sort of serial killer, and all along, he was just building up to me being
another one of his victims..."

"Don't think too much about it, baby.  You survived.  That's what counts."  Jim
kissed Blair's hair, squeezing him tighter.  "I can handle this, sweetheart.  You
don't have to come along."

"I know.  I have to follow this through.  I want to.  I want to feel like I can do it. 
As long as I hide from it, he's still calling the shots."

"Sometimes you really blow me away, you know that?  I think about what rough
shape you were in when I got you back from that son of a bitch, and sometimes I
just can't believe you're the same person.  I'm so proud of you, Chief.  So proud of
your strength."

"I wouldn't have been that strong by myself.  You make me strong."

"No, I don't make you strong.  You've always been made of good stuff, Blair. 
Whether you were telling Lash to fuck off...or standing up to that horse's ass you
were living with."  Jim took Blair's hand and brought it up to his mouth, kissing it
gently.  

"We better go."  Blair straightened and moved away, standing up and holding a
hand out to Jim, who grabbed onto it and let Blair give him a pull to his feet. 
Sometimes he just liked to feel Blair's healthy strength, to see him lift, pull or
move without pain.  

Too bad no one had been able to rescue Danny.

********

The small police department serving Bradford County was abuzz with the
discovery of a possible homicide victim and the impending visit of cops from
Cascade.  The medical examiner's office was on the second floor of the three floor
municipal building which held the courthouse, jail, and police department as well. 


The medical examiner, Dr. Edward Falkner, was a stout man of about sixty, with
silver hair and silver-rimmed glasses.  Blair had no real desire to see the skeleton
for himself, so the three men spoke in the office, which consisted of a terribly
cluttered desk, two old gray file cabinets and a couple of padded vinyl visitors'
chairs which had seen better days.  

"What are your thoughts on the cause of death?"  Jim asked, laying the envelope
with the dental records on top of a pile of papers and folders.  

"The only serious trauma I find evidence of is in the vertebrae in the neck.  My
guess would be strangulation, but's that's a preliminary finding.  I'll compare these
records so we can get an ID."

"Strangulation would be consistent with the cause of death for Daniel Harris," Jim
said.  "I was hoping to talk to the detective in charge of the investigation here.  I
understand a psychic was instrumental in finding the remains?"  Jim prodded,
raising an eyebrow.  "Is that common here?"

"Using Annie to help out when we're at our wit's end is pretty common, yes."  The
older man smiled.  "She's really somethin' else.  Found a whole barn full of stolen
merchandise for us last year.  She's a good lady.  Lived here all her life, raised a
nice family.  No reason to suspect her of being involved in anything."  He paused. 
"Isn't that usually what you boys on the police side of things suspect when a
psychic comes up with the answers?"

"Sometimes."

"Oh, and Ron Pierce, the detective in charge?  He'll be here anytime now.  He's
divorced and has his two boys to take care of, so he had to find someone to watch
the kids before coming back in."

"Must be tough juggling a cop's schedule and raising two kids alone," Blair
commented.

"Well, we don't have the kind of excitement here you boys have in Cascade, but
it's a challenge.  He works hard at it."

"Was anything else found with the body?"  Jim asked.

"A little jewelry.  The lab boys bagged some debris found around the corpse, but
my guess would be it's just junk that was on the ground when he was buried.  That
part of the property on the Lakeview Resort is a popular make out spot for
teenagers, or at least it was back then.  They've put up fences and made it tougher
for the kids to hang out there now, but at the time this guy was buried, there would
have still been quite a bit of litter and junk around there."

"If the dental records match up, Daniel Harris does have surviving family who
will want to claim the body."

"Excuse me, Nate said our guests were up here?"  A man in a plaid shirt and jeans
stuck his head in the door.  He appeared to be in his early thirties, with dark hair
and a mustache.  

"Ron Pierce, this is Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg from the Cascade PD,"
Falkner introduced.  Jim and Blair rose and the three men exchanged handshakes. 
Ron sat against the edge of Falkner's ratty desk, nearly causing an avalanche with
the pile of folders on the corner of it.  

"I understand we got you away from your kids," Blair said, smiling.  The other
man chuckled.  

"Yeah, the day care center is open until seven, and then she closes the doors, so I
have to get 'em before that.  I would have stayed otherwise.  'Course, if this ends
up being Daniel Harris, there isn't much for me to investigate.  You have the
dental records?"  He stared at Blair, his gaze lingering on him longer than on
anyone else in the room.

"I've got 'em," Falkner spoke up, rising a little stiffly from his chair, cursing at the
snapping of a couple joints.  "Think the poor guy in the lab's got better bones than
I do," he groused, making his way stiffly into the lab.  

"I think I'll go have a look," Jim said, and Blair nodded.  Detective Pierce also
rose to follow them into the lab, looking a bit curiously at Blair.

"Sorry, but I was noticing the resemblance between you and the photo in the files
you guys sent up here." 

"Yeah, I look quite a bit like Daniel Harris, I know," Blair said.  "That's probably
why the killer picked me to get together with."

"You think there's a danger we have more than just this guy out there
somewhere?"  Pierce asked Jim.

"We don't know for sure that this would be the place Watson would always
choose as some sort of 'killing ground' even if we knew he'd done this more than
once.  I do think it would be worth searching the area where this corpse was found
very thoroughly."

"I was thinking about calling Annie back in to take a walk around the grounds."

"Your psychic?"  Blair asked, intrigued.  

"Right.  We were getting ready to shut down the search and I thought it couldn't
hurt to show her the photo and tell her about the case and see if she came up with
anything.  I didn't even tell her we were searching at Lakeview.  She rode in the
car with me and directed me there, and then right to the spot.  She's pretty
remarkable."

"I'd like to meet her," Jim said.  "If you trust her, and she's that sharp, by all
means, let's bring her in on this."

********

There was nothing remarkable about the skeleton they'd recovered from the
Lakeview Resort property.  Still bearing traces of the dirt in which it had been
buried, a few ragged strands of hair still clung to the skull.  Obviously long,
somewhat curly brown hair.  

"Poor kid," Jim muttered, more to himself than Pierce, who nodded.

"Hell of a way to die.  Then to be missing all this time.  Ed said he thought it was
strangulation."

"That fits with what Blair remembered from the tape."

"Yeah, I read his statement.  That Watson character was one sick son of a bitch. 
Can't say I'm sorry he's six feet under."

"No, I can't really find too much to regret about that either."  Jim paused.  "A
friend of mine at the Cascade PD is going over Watson's file.  We're going to take
a look at the photos we have on the men he had relationships with prior to Blair.  I
think we should cross check those against the missing persons cases in the
appropriate PD's and see if there are any possible repeats of this situation."

"We've got a match, boys," Dr. Falkner said, rejoining them.  "That's definitely
Daniel Harris.  I should be finished with him by morning, so if the family wants to
claim him and make arrangements, they can do so right away.  Unless you want to
hold him here for evidence?"  he asked Ron Pierce, who looked at Jim.

"You think there's any risk that Mr. Sandburg could be wrong about Daniel
Harris?"

"Well, it's not too likely you would have found his body up at Lakeview if Blair
was mistaken.  I don't doubt the accuracy of his memories on this issue."

"Okay," Pierce agreed, nodding.  "The family can claim him and make
arrangements for burial anytime then.  You'll get back to me with any information
on other missing persons cases you're investigating?  I mean, just in case this was
a favorite spot of Watson's to do his sick business."

"Yeah, sure.  I don't anticipate finding anything else here, but it's possible."

"He ended up living with a guy who looked like his victim and working at the
same university the kid attended.  He's probably the most arrogant son of a bitch
I've heard of yet in terms of M.O.  Why would it be surprising he'd use the same
killing and burial site more than once?"

"Just for old times' sake, huh?"  Jim nodded.  "Wouldn't surprise me.  Nothing
about that maniac surprises me anymore."

"Sandburg forgot this for three years?"  Pierce clarified as they walked away from
the remains.

"You read the statement.  Watson was assaulting him while he ran the tape.  The
whole incident was a repressed memory, and when we showed up at Lakeview, it
triggered him remembering it."

"He never filed charges against Watson."

"I thought you'd read the case file."

"I did.  You've just got to understand that before we write this off and don't
investigate any further, it's good to know the witness is credible."

"The witness is credible," Jim said icily.

"Okay, fine.  You know him, we don't.  This is my case, even if it *is* open and
shut and a matter of paperwork.  I just want to be sure it's handled thoroughly. 
Given your record in Cascade, I'm sure you can appreciate that."

"You checked me out?"  Jim frowned.

"Damn straight I did.  About the same time you were checking up on me."

"Okay, touche," Jim admitted, chuckling a little.  

********

The ride back to Cascade was a quiet one, both men somewhat lost in their own
thoughts.  Blair wrestled with the images that seemed to flash through his mind
without warning now, and his regret for burying the secret of Danny's murder for
all those years.  Jim couldn't get the image out of his mind of that poor,
bedraggled skeleton with its few remaining strands of long, curly brown hair.  He
reached over and took Blair's warm, living hand and entwined their fingers.

"I'm okay, Jim," Blair said quietly, squeezing Jim's hand.

"I came too close to losing you."

"But you didn't."

"I sent you away and you ended up with that son of a bitch--"

"Whoa.  Stop right there.  First, you didn't send me away.  I left.  Second, it is
*not* your fault I met and got lured into a relationship with Vince.  I did all of
that all by myself."

"But you wouldn't have been all by yourself if I hadn't pushed you away."

"Why are you doing this now?  You know I don't blame you for anything that
happened with Vince."

"I know that.  But you should.  I blame myself.  I hurt you, and then I just...let you
go."

"Because I wanted to.  Because you weren't ready for what we have now.  That's
not something you should feel guilty or ashamed about.  It just happened, love. 
You didn't do anything wrong.  You didn't fail me.  It just happened."

"I guess it was seeing that kid tonight...what was left of him..."

"I'm alive, Jim.  I'm not in a drawer somewhere or on a slab.  I'm fine.  I'm fine
because you came and got me and then you protected me and you fixed things. 
You saved my life, Jim.  You have nothing to apologize for or feel bad about. 
Okay?  Don't be dissing the man I love, or I'll have to kick your ass all the way
back to Cascade, got it?"

"Got it."  Jim smiled, pulling Blair's hand up to kiss the back of it.  

********

Back in the bullpen, Joel was staring intently at his computer screen, scribbling a
few notes.  When Jim and Blair walked in, he leaned back in his chair.  

"Positive ID on Daniel Harris," Jim said as he and Blair sat at Jim's desk several
feet away.  "I'm going to get in touch with his father about claiming the body."

"We're going back up there tomorrow to meet with their psychic," Blair
volunteered, smiling. 

"Their what?"  Joel asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Believe it or not, a local psychic led them to Harris's body," Jim said, shrugging. 
"We're going up there tomorrow to meet with her.  Any luck with the missing
persons files?"

"Well, I talked to Serena earlier, and there are no unidentified corpses in her
database that match up to the physical descriptions of any of Watson's former
boyfriends.  We only have two possibles out of the missing persons cases that I've
found so far."  Joel typed something into the computer and Jim and Blair walked
over to look at the screen with him.  "Ryan Whitman, age 30 at the time of his
disappearance," he said, then held up a snapshot from Watson's file of Keith Park. 
"Keith Park.  Not a real striking resemblance, and Park ended up dead anyway, so
he was likely one of the victims himself, though that wasn't proven."

"We'll pull the Whitman file, but I'm not real impressed with the resemblance,"
Jim agreed.  

"This is the other one.  Uh, Blair, I don't know if you want to see this or not."

"What?"

"This one looks like you, too."  

"Go ahead," Blair said grimly.  Jim put his arm around Blair's shoulders,
squeezing a little as the image came up on the screen.  The facial features weren't
as similar as Daniel Harris's had been, but the hair was very similar, as was the
height and build.  From a distance, Aaron Metzler would have made a great
double for Blair.  

"Damn," Jim muttered.  "When did he disappear?"

"About a year before Daniel Harris," Joel said.  

"Why didn't he kill me?"  Blair asked, the shock in his voice making it a bit thin. 
"I was the type he liked to kill.  Why did he let me live?"

"Blair, we don't know Watson had anything to do with this guy's disappearance,"
Jim said, fighting the sick chill he was feeling.  

"We have to give that photo to the psychic tomorrow."

"We will, Chief."  Jim was quiet a minute.  "Do we have any of Watson's stuff in
evidence yet?"

"Probably.  Why?"

"I want to take it with us tomorrow.  Something that was his.  I want to see if the
psychic has any reaction to it."

"I'll call Holmes down in Property and see what he can come up with."  Joel
picked up the phone and dialed the internal extension while Jim and Blair went
back to their desk.  

"He told me I wasn't the first person he'd killed," Blair began slowly.  "Just the
one he was going to make last the longest and beg the hardest," he concluded,
hands balling into white-knuckled fists.  "It was all just one long prelude to killing
me.  All of it.  He was playing with me, Jim.  The whole time.  Like a cat plays
with a mouse.  Chewing at it and hurting it and making it suffer before finishing
the job."  He brought one fist down hard on the desk, but not hard enough to draw
the attention of the few detectives in the immediate area.

"We don't know for sure that Watson had anything to do with that guy's
disappearance," Jim reapeated.  "Let's not jump to conclusions."

"Can we go home now?"  Blair asked.

"Yeah.  I'm just going to call Mr. Harris, and then we'll go."  Jim rested his hand
in the middle of Blair's back, rubbing a little.  "No matter what we find out,
Watson's still dead, Chief.  He can't touch you."

"I know.  It's just that he keeps touching me from the other side, and no matter
where I go or what I do, I can't ever get away from him."

"I know, baby," Jim said in a hushed tone.  "I wish I could make him go away
once and for all.  Get him right out of your head."

"You do a pretty good job of keeping him at bay," Blair said, managing a little
smile.   

It was after three in the morning when the two weary men returned home.  Too
tired to worry about showering, they tossed their clothes on the floor and crawled
into bed in their boxers, wrapping around each other and dozing off to sleep.

********

Blair came to with a start, his eyes bulging in horror as he felt the restraints on his
arms and legs, the horrific pain and pressure in his gut.  His surroundings were
distorted, but rustic, like the cabin.  He tried to scream but the gag in his mouth
reduced it to a agonized sound deep in his throat.  His eyes were wet and his
vision blurred with tears.  

"Watch the tape, bitch."  A sharp yank on his hair jerked his head back into
position to see the horrible images on the screen, the distorted face of a young
man who looked too much like him in the final throes of death as a leather strap
bit into the flesh of his neck.  "All I'd have to do is pull this a little tighter,"
Watson hissed, close to his ear, tugging on the leather collar around Blair's neck. 
"Now you can see what you're going to look like while I'm killing you."

The words no sooner came out of Watson's mouth when a shot rang out in the
room.  Watson, looking shocked, stumbled back off the bed, blinking a couple of
times over glassy eyes before collapsing in a heap on the floor.  And then Jim
came into view, still carrying his gun in plain sight. 

Blair tried to swallow, but couldn't.  He didn't want to think what he looked like to
Jim now, strapped open and on display, plugged and leaking helplessly.  Jim
holstered his weapon and checked the form on the floor.  Obviously satisfied he'd
done his job, he turned off the horrible images on the television and moved to the
bed, producing a knife, which he used to hack through the restraints he seemed
unwilling to take time to unfasten.  The gag was removed carefully, preserving
most of the sensitive skin beneath the tape.  Blair found all that came out were a
mixture of gasps and sobs.  He wanted so much to say something, but it was all
too much.

Strong arms lifted him, carrying him into the bathroom and setting him on the side
of the tub.  He hid his face against Jim's shoulder, partially in shame, partially
from exhaustion, as a gentle but assertive pair of hands managed to ease the
oversized plug out of his abused opening.  When the horrible, retching experience
of voiding was over, he was wrapped in large, fluffy towels and cradled against
Jim's body, sitting there on the floor of the bathroom.  

"It's over, it's all over now, baby.  It's over, I've got you," the soft voice assured,
one hand pressing Blair's head securely against what now felt like a bare shoulder. 
Though it didn't make sense to Blair's addled mind, he relished the feel and scent
of the smooth skin beneath his face, and let loose the wracking sobs of fear and
anguish that had been held back by the gag.  "Shhh, I've got you, cuddlebug. 
You're safe now.  Always will be," the voice continued, rocking him slightly.  "I
love you, Chief.  I'm right here."

Blair jerked, opening his eyes and blinking rapidly.  He was wrapped in a blanket,
held in Jim's arms as they sat on the floor near the bed.  Their bed.  At home. 
Their home.  His rescuer...the man who had never been there and yet now, seemed
as if he had been...

"You back with me, sweetheart?"  Jim asked gently, still rocking him.  

"You were there," he muttered, pulling his head back enough to look up at Jim. 
This man looked a bit more tired than the man in the dream had looked, his hair
tousled from bed.  But the man in the dream was Jim all right.  But that wasn't
how it had happened.  Not really.  He shuddered when he thought of how the
evening had really ended, and how he'd lain in that bed, torn and bleeding,
sobbing because Watson hadn't made good on his promise to put him out of his
misery when the night was over.  

"I was in your dream, Blair.  I saw what he was doing to you," Jim said, his own
voice a little unsteady and he held Blair impossibly closer.  "Dear God help me, I
saw what he was doing to you."  He buried his face in Blair's hair.  Blair felt the
vibration of Jim's own sobs as they seemed to come from the pit of his soul.  

"You came and got me.  You promised you would...and you did," Blair said,
incredulous.  "You said you'd come into my dream.  I didn't really think you
could..."

"He can't have you.  Not in this world, not anywhere else.  You're mine, Blair,"
Jim said brokenly.  "I'll go right down into Hell to kill him again if I have to, but
he can't hurt you anymore.  I won't let him."

The two of them stayed like that a long time, huddled together on the floor, until
they finally found the strength to crawl back into bed, moving into each other's
arms.

"How...?"  Blair's question trailed off.  The scientific part of his brain demanded
an answer.  His heart and soul simply leapt for joy with the knowledge that his
nightmares were no longer Watson's safe haven.

"Must be love," Jim said, finally smiling a little as he rested his forehead against
Blair's.  "They keep saying it conquers all."

"You made me a promise, and you never break your promises to me," Blair said,
finally accepting the miracle for just that--a miracle.  He smiled then, accepting
kisses that peppered his eyes, nose, cheeks, chin, and finally his mouth.  

"The way you look at me.  Makes me crazy sometimes," Jim admitted, grinning
like a lovestruck sap.  Blair drank in the expression hungrily.  Jim's love had a
healing quality he couldn't get enough of.

"You came and got me," Blair repeated, still unable to believe the dream, or the
fact Jim had truly shared it.  

"I always will, baby.  I promise."  

It was a promise Blair would never doubt again.

********

Jim woke to the sound of the alarm, surprised not to find Blair curled up beside
him.  It was almost eight, and by ten, they were scheduled to meet with Ron
Pierce and the Bradford County PD's favorite psychic, Annie Maxwell.  Feeling a
little stale from a long, tough day and no shower the night before, Jim got out of
bed and scratching at his disheveled hair, let out a long yawn.  

Then the memory hit him like a ton of bricks.  It wasn't just the horror of seeing
what Watson was doing to Blair--really being there, seeing it for himself--but the
fact that somehow he'd crossed the barrier and shown up in Blair's dream.  And it
wasn't just some delusion Blair had, or some new wrinkle in the dream.  Jim had
been there.  He knew if he compared the events one by one with Blair, their
accounts would match.  Jim sat on the bed and mulled that over a moment.

Since they'd moved into this house, both of them had to seriously evaluate their
preconceived notions about psychic phenomena and the paranormal.  Ever since
they'd met the elderly Mae and watched her perform a seance, they'd been hard
pressed to dismiss the value of psychics.

"Thinking about last night?"  Blair asked, coming into the room now with two
steaming mugs of coffee.  He handed one to Jim and happily accepted the
outstretched arm that invited him to sit on Jim's lap.  

"That why you were up so early this morning?"  Jim asked, pausing for a good
morning kiss.  Blair hadn't showered and his kiss was a bit bristly from overnight
beard growth.

"I had some thinking to do," he admitted.  "Since last night, it's really weird, but
when I make myself look at my memories of that night with Vince, the thing that
stands out is how it felt when you showed up, and how it felt when you held me.  I
mean, I know that's not what happened.  I'm not going delusional on you or
anything," Blair said, smiling a little.  He took another drink of his coffee.  "It's
just that the main thing that I take away from that memory now is the image of
you saving me."

"But I didn't.  Not really."  Jim rested his head against Blair's shoulder.  Jim could
feel Blair's cheek move where it rested against his head as Blair smiled, hugging
Jim closer.  

"Yes, you did.  You saved me from my nightmares.  Jim, that place...that place
where you couldn't come to help me..."  Blair shuddered a little.  "That was his
hiding place.  That was the place where he waited for me, where I was helpless,
trapped there with him until I woke up.  I thought I was going to be haunted by
that bastard for the rest of my life.  And now, I don't feel like he's waiting
somewhere in my head to get me."

"I still don't understand how it happened."

"Don't you?"  Blair's fingers stroked lightly through Jim's hair.  "We have a bond,
Jim.  It's more than just friendship or even love.  It's soul-deep.  It always has
been.  You made me a promise and when you said it, you meant it, even if you
didn't know how you were gonna pull it off," Blair said, a little smile in his voice. 
"When I needed you, when I was in pain...when my *soul* was in pain...you felt
it, and you kept your word."

"You accept it so easily."

"I believe in you.  You never let me down.  End of story."

"I don't deserve that.  I've let you down plenty."

"You're not perfect, lover.  Neither am I.  We let each other down sometimes, but
not when it really counts.  I can't explain the mechanics of what happened
between us last night, but I know it happened, and I know what it means to me. 
What you mean to me.  And that's what matters."  

"I wish we didn't have a meeting this morning."  Jim moved his face from Blair's
shoulder to kiss his neck.  

"Yeah, me too.  But we do.  Drink your coffee.  I'm gonna start up the shower. 
Join me?"

"You have to ask?"

The shower felt good, and for a brief time, both men went about the business of
washing, moving around together in a practiced dance that got both soaped and
rinsed with equal time under the spray.  Jim did Blair's back, with a proliferation
of kissing and groping, and Blair returned the favor.  When he wrapped his arms
around Jim's middle, Jim covered Blair's hands and squeezed.  

"Make love to me, Blair."

"You want it like this?"  Blair asked, nudging his rapidly hardening cock against
Jim's slick cheeks.  

"More than anything," Jim admitted, kissing one of Blair's hands.  To illustrate his
wishes, Jim braced his arms against the tiles, spreading his legs.  He smiled as
Blair hugged him from behind, then began trailing kisses down his wet spine.  He
was out of the spray, at the opposite end of the tub.  He imagined it was still
pelting Blair's back, running in little rivulets over the perfect, water slick ass
cheeks.  He wondered if the shower massage would set the rhythm once Blair was
inside...

Blair moved lower, the trail of kisses moving down to the seam of Jim's buttocks
until strong hands parted them, kneading the flesh.  Then a hot tongue was there,
probing and teasing his hole, poking persistently until it breached the tight muscle. 
Jim closed his eyes, giving in to the sensations, moaning low in his throat.  

As much as the physical arousal was setting him on fire, feeling Blair do this for
him always touched his heart.  Blair had held one thing back from Watson, the
lone thing Watson could not physically force him to do, and he'd taken more than
one beating for it.  Blair had saved this for Jim, and Jim only, no matter what the
cost.  

Just as he thought he would come from the motion of Blair's tongue alone, the
stimulation left him, and he felt the brief intrusion of cool air from the movement
of the shower curtain.  A moment later, warmth was restored and Blair was close
again, a slick finger sliding into the wet passage that had been relaxed by that
insistent tongue.  Jim groaned and rested his head on his arm, thrusting back onto
the probing digit.  

"Come on, Chief, main event," Jim panted, and he heard Blair chuckle a little.

"Easy, lover.  Relax for me a little more.  Don't want to hurt you."  Blair planted a
kiss on his back while the hand not busy with his ass slid around front and cupped
his balls, massaging them gently, then moved up to close around his cock,
pumping in time with the motion of the finger.  They didn't make love this way
often, and it always took Jim a while to relax to Blair's satisfaction.  One thing
Blair would not accept was entering Jim if it would cause him any significant
pain.

Blair's finger grazed Jim's prostate, and he jerked and cried out with the intense
pleasure of it.

"Oh, God.  It's gotta be soon, baby," Jim gasped, knowing if Blair didn't give up
the preliminaries soon, the party would be over before it really got started.  

Blair withdrew, leaving him empty, but a moment later was back, the slick, blunt
head of his cock pressed against Jim's center.  He rested his forehead on Jim's
back.  

"I love you, mine," he said, his voice a little husky.  And then he was pushing,
gently but insistently, his cock sliding into the tight sheath of Jim's body little by
little.  One hand cupped and rolled Jim's balls while the other grasped and pumped
at his slightly flagging erection.  The renewed stimulation relaxed Jim enough that
Blair slid the rest of the way inside quite easily.  

The fullness was a little uncomfortable at first, but soon that feeling gave way to
pleasure, and Jim was pressing back against Blair, encouraging him to thrust.  The
hands that were pleasuring his most sensitive areas continued their skillful work,
until Jim didn't know if he wanted to thrust into Blair's hands or thrust back onto
his cock.  

Blair made the decision for him, squeezing his cock harder and faster as he began
to thrust in and out in a steady rhythm that caused the sounds of slapping wet flesh
to rise around them.  Jim was panting and moaning with every move, blocking out
everything else in his world and focusing on the sensations.  With Blair, he was
safe to take that kind of flight with his senses, knowing he was securely grounded
with his guide close by.   

"So...gorgeous...  God, Jim...perfect," Blair managed, his voice broken and
breathless as he began thrusting faster, his own excitement reaching its climax. 
"Love you so much," he croaked as Jim's internal muscles contracted around him. 
Jim was coming, delighting in the sensations and at the same time, wishing it
could last longer.  Blair's own orgasm made him thrust faster and more wildly, his
voice coming out in little cries until he shouted Jim's name, filling him.  

With Blair plastered against his back, recovering, Jim found he had considerable
weight to support on already shaky legs.  Blair soon moved, though, gently easing
out of Jim's body, kissing the damp flesh of shoulders and back.  Jim turned
around and pulled Blair into his arms, kissing him eagerly, ravenously, pushing
him back against the tiles, unable to get enough of the taste of his mouth.  Jim's
senses were flying high from the sex, and though his body could do no more about
it for the moment, he wanted to lose himself in Blair's scent, taste and touch for
just a little longer.  

Then he pulled back, realizing that he'd just pushed Blair against the wall of the
shower and kissed him hard.  Blair had no control over the move, and little choice
but to give in to it.  He searched his lover's face for some sign of distress.  

"Jim?"  All Jim saw was surprise.  "Why'd you stop?"  Blair frowned now, and
Jim felt compelled to kiss it away.  Thoroughly.  When he was finished, he kissed
the end of Blair's nose.

"I didn't mean to be so rough," he said, rubbing Blair's upper arms, which he had
grabbed quite hard in the heat of the moment.  "I'm sorry, sweetheart.  I was...I
just..."

"Why are you apologizing?  You didn't hurt me."

"I pushed you."

"Yeah, I guess you did," Blair said, realization dawning now why Jim was so
uneasy.  "You didn't hurt me and you didn't remind me of anything ugly."  Blair
reached up and touched Jim's cheek gently.  "I always want to get close to you.  I
never want to push you away, so you don't have to worry about whether or not I
could."

"I love you, baby."  Jim pulled Blair into his arms, burying his nose in the wet
curls, trailing kisses down Blair's cheek to his neck.  "I never want to hurt you."

"You don't.  You know what felt good?"  Blair waited until Jim backed away
enough to look at him.  "You getting all excited with me and just doing what you
wanted.  I'm not afraid of you, lover.  You're the person who always makes my
pain go away.  Why would I think you'd cause it?"

"You used to be afraid sometimes, of a move, or something I'd do, and I don't
want to scare you.  I don't want you to feel like...like because I'm bigger, it's
another V--" Blair's hand clapped over Jim's mouth.

"He's not even fit to be in the same *species* with you.  Sometimes I think you
think more about him than I do."

"I probably do," Jim said, moving Blair's hand from his mouth and kissing it.  

"Promise me something," Blair said solemnly.

"Anything," Jim agreed readily.

"Love me the way you want to, touch me the way it feels good to touch me, and
don't worry about my past.  If I'm scared or uneasy or don't like something you do,
I'll tell you, because I know you love me enough to listen.  And I trust you, Jim. 
With everything I am and everything I have.  You read me like no one else could,
and not just because of your senses.  If you were reduced to average levels on all
of them tomorrow, you'd still be able to read me, because you're part of my soul
and you love me so much that I just can't even believe it sometimes."

"I promise, sweetheart."  Jim kissed his forehead.  "How'd I get so lucky, huh?" 
Jim asked, grinning and bumping noses with Blair.

"Hey, right place at the right time, man.  Sometimes things just work out," Blair
said.  Jim laughed softly, hugging his lover close.  

********

Annie Maxwell was a woman in her mid-fifties, with medium length graying
brown hair cut in a simple pageboy style.  She seemed undecided whether to use
her glasses to look at the photos she was being shown, or to raise them up and
look under them.  Dressed in jeans and a blue sweater, she sat at the head of a
rectangular table in her large, old fashioned kitchen, while her guests occupied the
other seats, sipping at coffee and nibbling homemade cookies.  

Ron Pierce, Jim and Blair waited for her reaction to the photo of Vince.  After
staring at it intently for a few moments, she tossed it on the table. Still staring at it,
a look of disgust sweeping over her, she said, "He enjoys pain.  Not his own, but
that of others.  His eyes are cold and dead...evil," she added.  

Jim placed a reassuring hand on Blair's thigh under the table as his partner
shuddered at that assessment.

"That's a keen observation, Mrs. Maxwell," Jim stated.  "It fits his rap sheet
perfectly," he said, look at Ron Pierce, who nodded.

"Annie doesn't usually miss by much."

"You're right about his eyes," Blair said, swallowing.  "They were frightening."

"Give me your hand," she said, reaching toward Blair.  He did so, with some
hesitation.  Her fingers curled around his tightly, and she closed her eyes.  In a
moment, an expression of anguish swept over her features.  "He's killed before,"
she said, shaking her head.  

"Before what, Annie?"  Ron asked, frowning.  

"Before Daniel Harris."

"He's suspected of killing another man he was involved with before he met Blair. 
We never had conclusive proof of that before Watson died."

Suddenly, she jerked back in her chair and let go of Blair's hand.  She stared at
him a moment, as if trying to regain her composure.  Blair looked at Jim, and the
two men exchanged startled expressions.

"Annie?"  Ron prompted, watching her intently.

"It was just a strong sensation," she said, smiling unconvincingly.  Jim could hear
her respiration speeding up and her heart pounding rapidly.  "What I can tell you
is that your Daniel Harris is not the first person this man killed," she said, tapping
Vince's photo with her finger.  "And he was far from being the last he planned to
kill."

"He almost killed me," Blair said, and the woman nodded. 

"I know that.  But when you nearly died was not when he planned to kill you.  He
didn't know you were hurt as badly as you were."

"You saw what he had planned, didn't you?"  Blair pressed.

"No," she said hastily--a bit too hastily for Jim's liking.  "I merely felt that
sensation, that he had other plans."

"He was actively planning to kill me?"  Blair persisted.

"Yes, he was.  It would have been soon."

"Don't know why that should be any surprise," Blair said, smiling a little sickly.

"We have another photo, Annie," Ron said, pushing the picture of Aaron Metzler
closer to her.  She picked up the photo and stared at it for a long moment.  Her
hand went over her mouth, her eyes filling.  

"He didn't die easily," she muttered, moving her hand away from her mouth.  She
closed her eyes.  "He couldn't scream anymore," she said, her brows knitting as if
in confusion for a moment.  "He killed him somewhere where he could hear him
scream.  He wanted to hear him scream," she repeated.  

Blair got up and walked out the kitchen door onto the porch.  Reluctantly, Jim
didn't follow him immediately.  He wanted to hear what the woman would say
next.  

"It's cold.  There's no heat, and he's naked.  Restrained.  Oh, God," she gasped,
shaking her head.  "No more," she said brokenly, tears escaping from under her
closed lids.  In a moment, she opened her wet eyes, laying the photo down to lift
her glasses and wipe at them with her napkin.  "He screamed until he lost his
voice.  When he couldn't scream anymore..."  She shook her head, covering her
mouth a moment as a couple more tears escaped.  "When he couldn't scream
anymore, this man strangled him with some kind of cord," she added, taking in a
deep breath.  "He wasn't enjoying himself as much without the screaming."

"Did you see anything distinctive about the surroundings?"  Jim asked.

"It was a house.  There was no heat, and it was late afternoon, nearing dusk, with
no lights on, either.  Um, the room was almost empty, needed paint, and there was
no carpeting on the floor.  It was hardwood.  This man was restrained on a metal
bed with a dirty bare mattress."  She was quiet a moment, thinking.  "That's all I
remember.  Oh, there was an open doorway that must have led into the hall, and it
had a wood frame around it, painted a darker color than the walls."  She sighed. 
"That's all."

"Thanks, Annie.  You've been a big help."

"Mrs. Maxwell," Jim said, smiling slightly and shaking hands with the woman as
they all rose from the table.  "I'm going to find my partner," he added, heading for
the door, hoping Pierce would stay behind a few moments to talk with their
hostess.

Blair wasn't immediately visible, but it only took Jim a second to locate the
familiar heartbeat and follow it across the sprawling, rolling back yard to its
source.  Blair was leaning against the trunk of a huge oak tree, his arms across his
chest, staring somewhat blankly into space.

"You okay, Chief?"  Jim asked, resting a hand on Blair's shoulder.

"Yeah, I guess so.  It's not like I hadn't figured Vince was going to kill me
eventually.  I just thought it would be an accident.  I can't believe I blocked out the
whole thing about Daniel Harris and the video and Lakeview...  And at what point
did I block it out?  I lived with Vince day in and day out and never consciously
remembered it until we went back there."

"The trauma was too much.  Blair, I don't remember which day of the week it was
when I blocked out Bud's death, or my father's reactions, or seeing the killer.  I
know now that it happened, and I know I remembered it immediately after it
happened, and at some point, I blocked it out.  Even though I lived with my father
every day, I heard all the talk about Bud's death, and I even heard the talk about
the killer being caught and going to trial.  I didn't do anything, say anything, and I
don't recall consciously remembering that I knew a different story.  You ought to
know that about repression by now, having dealt with such a great test case all
these years," Jim concluded, smiling.  Blair had to chuckle at that.  "You're
blaming yourself that you didn't say anything about the murder."

"Yeah, I am.  I know it was a repression thing.  I just feel so sorry for the family. 
And this guy--"

"Was way before your time, even before Daniel Harris's time.  You'd have had no
way of knowing about this."

"I lived with a serial killer, Jim."  Blair's whole body seemed to shake at that
statement, and Jim pulled him into his arms.  

"He was really planning to kill me the way he killed them.  He kept me with him
so he could keep reliving the rush of killing them.  He kept torturing me and not
finishing the job because he was enjoying himself!"  Blair sobbed into Jim's
shoulder.  "I was just a toy to him.  My pain...it was just a game."

"I know, baby.  I know."  Jim longed for something profound to say to that, but
found there was nothing.  Watson was what he was, and Blair was right.  He'd
kept Blair with him, tortured him, frightened him, intimidated and terrorized him-
-and used Blair's reactions to get his thrills, to remind him of the riskier and more
final business of killing his victims.  Ultimately, Blair would have died from the
abuse, because Watson was subjecting him to treatment that he used on men he
killed.  Only Blair had to live through it and keep surviving it over and over again. 
"It's all over, baby.  It's all over.  You're with me now, cuddlebug," Jim whispered
into Blair's hair.  

"I gotta pull myself together."  Blair pulled away, wiping at his eyes and sniffling. 
Jim pulled him back into the hug.  

"Just relax.  Pierce is still in the house.  I can hear them talking.  We've got a
minute."  Jim stood there silently, holding Blair, letting him calm down until he
pulled back again.  "Here.  Blow."  Jim covered Blair's nose with his
handkerchief, and Blair laughed.  It was an old joke, but it worked every time. 
Blair wiped his nose and eyes and blinked a few times.  

"How bad do I look?" he asked.

"Here."  Jim pulled out his sunglasses and handed them to Blair.  It was a partially
overcast day, and Blair hadn't bothered to bring his own.  

"That bad, huh?"  Blair put on the glasses. 

"It looks like you've been crying.  I won't need those anyway."

"Thanks."

"We'll find Aaron Metzler, just like we did Daniel Harris.  It's because of your
memories, and the fact you're willing to face up to this now that is allowing us to
solve these cases and give these families some closure.  It's not your fault you
didn't know before.  Okay?"

"Okay."

"And it doesn't matter what Watson had planned for you, because none of his
plans are ever gonna happen.  He's gone.  For good."

"I know."  Blair smiled a little, and nodded.  "Because you even kicked his ass in
my dreams."  Blair looked up then.  "You know you're my hero, right?"

"We're even on that, sweetheart.  You're mine."  Jim smiled as he tucked a few
locks of windblown hair behind Blair's ear.  "We saved each other, remember?"

"I love you, you know."

"Yeah, I know."  Jim grinned smugly.  "I love you, too."  He looked toward the
house.  "Pierce is just coming out the back door.  We better head toward the car."

"Okay."  Blair put on Jim's sunglasses and they headed back to join the other
detective.

"How do you want to handle this?"  Pierce asked as they got into the car.  "You
want to take it on your end of things, or you want me to follow up on it out here?"

"Aaron Metzler's in our Missing Persons files, so we should probably take the lead
on this one.  Knowing Lakeview Resort was one of Watson's murder sites, it's
possible the house she's visualizing is around here, so I'd welcome your
department's involvement."

"Man, this guy must've been some piece of work."  Pierce turned to look out the
rear window of the car to navigate the long, somewhat curving driveway that led
to the road.  When they were driving toward the station, he added, "Good thing he
ended up on the wrong side of your gun, or there's no telling what he'd have been
up to by now."

"More homicides, probably," Blair said, his tone a little dismal.  "At least one
more, anyway."

"I didn't expect her to get so personal in there, Sandburg.  Sorry if she said
something that made you uncomfortable," Pierce said.

"Remembering Watson is always going to make me uncomfortable.  That wasn't
her fault."

"So what does the Domestic Violence Unit do, if you're not a cop?"  the detective
asked, and Jim was grateful for the change of subject.  They could work out case
logistics later.

"We're more like a social services branch of the Cascade PD.  People who are in
abusive situations can come to us for shelter, counseling, and help, if they want to
press charges.  I'll go through each step of the process with them, go to court, even
go along while the make a statement and sign a complaint.  I coordinate getting
one of the cops to help victims get their stuff out of the home, if they're going to
move out, and barter with the brass for protection in extreme cases.  Sometimes
cops will volunteer to help with that in their off time, since the PD can't really
afford bodyguards for most of these people.  I'm good at begging for volunteers."

"Sounds like a great program."

"We're also putting an emphasis on getting help for male victims.  There are
shelters for battered women and children, but very few for men.  It's not a big
statistical need, but it's there."

"I don't think we've ever handled a male abuse case.  Of course, we've only had
probably a half dozen wife beatings in the last couple years.  The crime rate here
is pretty low."

"We're opening a shelter for male victims," Jim added.  "We just bought the house
and are finishing up renovations.  We're in the process of begging for grant money
so we can get out of debt," he said, chuckling a little.  "If you give Blair an e-mail
address, I'm sure he'll put you on the list to let you know when we're open for
business.  Bradford County is close enough that you guys could refer someone
there if the need ever arises."

"Sure, sounds great.  You think most guys are going to go into a shelter?  Not too
often they'll admit there's a problem, even if there is."

"You nailed a big challenge right there.  I'm hoping if we talk more about it, get it
out in the open more, that men are going to start understanding that there isn't
something wrong with them because they were victimized or need help."  Blair
paused.  "Once we get the shelter running, I know I've got to get out there and talk
more, get more attention for it.  It's like any other social service issue that you
bring out of the closet for people to deal with--whether it was child abuse, incest,
even the sexual abuse scandal in the Church--any of those issues needed someone
bringing them out in the open."

"True," Pierce agreed.  "I doubt we're going to get too many referrals for you up
here, but if we do, we know where to send 'em now."

********

"It's freezing out here, Chief," Jim came out onto the back porch, pulling his robe
tightly around himself, surprised to see Blair sitting on the top step, staring out at
the woods behind the house.  

"I know what to name the shelter."

"What?"  Jim's curiosity was piqued, even if he would have preferred to have the
conversation in the house.

"Crandle House.  After Michael."

"I think Michael and Brian would both like that," Jim agreed, smiling a little.

"I know they would," Blair said a little cryptically, still staring at the woods where
Michael's body had been found.  "I still feel him sometimes.  It's a good feeling. 
Like he's looking out for us."

"How about Brian?"

"I don't know.  I think Brian's probaby so content being with Michael that he
doesn't haunt at all.  I think there will always be a little thread of pain in Michael
for the way he died, the fact he didn't want to die.  Brian wanted to go, even
though he died violently.  He knew Michael was on the other side waiting, and he
wanted to go there.  Michael's life was taken from him and he didn't want to give
it up.  I don't think he's willing yet to relinquish his life force entirely and stay on
the other side of the boundary.  And I'm kind of glad.  I'd miss not feeling him
around here."

"Sounds like Michael's taken a permanent job as your guardian angel."  Jim leaned
against the railing, smelling the fresh night air.  There were times he loved his life
more than he felt comfortable with, wondering if anyone could be so happy
forever.  They were together, they had made a home together that suited them
perfectly, and on a night like tonight, chilly and yet beautifully clear, they could be
outside and just hear the sounds of nature and smell fresh air.

"He looks out for both of us.  Because we helped him."

"Come in the house, huh?"  Jim caressed Blair's hair, then reached a hand down
toward him.  Blair took the pull and followed Jim inside, the warm kitchen still
holding the lingering scents of dinner.  "There's no good time for me to tell you
this," Jim said, locking the door behind them.  "I just got a call from Megan. 
Seems the DA's office left a message for us while we were in Bradford this
afternoon.  Brandy Klosowski's attorney accepted a manslaughter plea bargain
offer."

"Manslaughter?"  Blair responded, his voice rising.  

"Involuntary manslaughter.  She'll see little or no jail time, most likely."

"Damn it!"  Blair pounded the kitchen counter with both fists.  "She killed him."

"Yeah, she killed him all right, but it wasn't premeditated.  We knew going in that
first degree wasn't going to happen."

"I know, but Jim, involuntary manslaughter?  That's the fucking runt of the litter
when it comes to felony charges!  What about the sexual assault?"

"Apparently they bargained that away to get her guilty plea on this one."

"Oh, shit."  Blair dropped into one of the kitchen chairs.  "Sometimes I wonder
what's the fucking use.  The DA could have done better if he'd just taken it to trial. 
But no, the roster's full, so let's turn a killer loose."

"Do you really think she meant to kill Alan?"  Jim sat at the table, watching Blair
seethe quietly.  The deep blue eyes were full of fire when Blair first looked up in
response to the question, but then the expression softened a bit.

"No, I'm sure she probably didn't.  But she forced him, and she didn't listen to
him--"

"And for that, she's facing criminal charges.  Maybe not the ones we'd like to see,
but charges, nonetheless.  If Alan had never come to you, he'd have died and been
buried and she would have cried with the rest of the mourners and that would
have been that."

 "You don't think the cops would've investigated his death?"

"Well, they'd have been much more likely to accept her story that it was
consensual sex play that got out of hand.  Alan wasn't exactly a weak, frail guy. 
His own words that he didn't want it to happen, the things he told you...that's what
turned the tide here and gave credibility to the idea it wasn't totally consensual."

"Because how could a woman possibly abuse or assault a man, right?"

"Well, yeah, right.  That's the way most people would look at it.  I'm not agreeing
with that, Chief.  I'm just saying that's how most people see it."

"Sometimes I feel like I'm fighting a losing battle with this shelter.  With the
whole issue of trying to help male victims.  It's just one tiny tip of this *massive*
iceberg," Blair said, gesturing largely with both hands.

"Don't you think it's worth it in the long run?  I mean, if we only helped a couple
guys and saved their lives, this whole project would be worthwhile."

"Sometimes I wonder how it's possible I love you as much as I do, and then you
say something like that, and I know."

"Blair, I know fighting an uphill battle is tiring work.  I just want you to know I'm
right behind you, pushing."  That drew a bright smile from Blair.  "Think we
could turn in for a while?"

"Sleep is good," Blair agreed, chuckling a little.

********

Blair stared at the phone on the desk in his home office as if it were a live viper,
coiled and ready to strike.  He looked at the phone number he'd written down,
copied from his computer address book, and taking a deep breath, picked up the
phone and dialed.

"Hello?"  Mary Ellen Watson's voice sounded harmless enough, but it was
sufficient to stifle the words in Blair's throat, at least momentarily.  "Hello?"  she
prompted again.

"Hello, Mary Ellen?"

"Yes?"

"This is Blair Sandburg."

"Blair?  I didn't expect to hear from you again," she said, surprised.

"I...I didn't expect to be contacting you again, but...I need your help."

"I don't understand."

"I have a few questions about Vince, and I think you're probably the best person to
ask."

"I'll help if I can," she responded.

"Did Vince own any property, like a house that might have been out in the
country?  Secluded?"

"Vince didn't own any property.  He rented his apartment where you two lived,
and he'd always lived in apartments prior to that."

"Is there anyplace like that he might have gone to spend time?  A friend's house, a
relative's place, anything?"

"What is this about?"  She sounded suspicious now, and Blair couldn't blame her.

"I had a flashback of something, and as I've been trying to piece it together..." 
Blair hesitated.  "There's no good way to say this, Mary Ellen.  We have evidence
that Vince was involved in the murder of a college student from Rainier, and he's
implicated in another homicide upstate."

"Blair, I know things weren't easy with Vince, and I know my son had serious
problems, and that he treated you badly, but--"

"This isn't about me.  Well, it was somewhat about me, but nobody wants to let
this go and move on more than I do.  Except when I started having
these...*flashbacks*...  I remembered a tape Vince showed me.  One of the murder
victims was on that tape.  The property I'm asking about is a relevant point in the
second case."

"You want me to help you destroy my son's memory?  Or what's left of it?"

"There's another family out there who would like to bury their son, too.  All I want
to do is help them find that closure.  If Vince didn't do it, then giving me the
information can't hurt."

"I'm sorry, Blair.  There's no such place I can think of that Vince would have
gone--at least, no place that our family owned.  I don't know who all his friends
were.  Maybe you'd know more about that."

"Not really.  We didn't exactly have an active social life."  Blair paused, staring at
a framed picture on his desk of Jim and himself, taken the past Christmas.  He had
to smile.  "Thanks, Mary Ellen.  If you think of anything, would you give me a
call?"

"All right."  She waited while he read off the number, and by the sound of rustling
paper, found something on which to write it.  "Blair, I wish you well.  I think you
know that.  I just feel sometimes as if my son is being turned into
this...this...*bogeyman* who is guilty of something new every day.  He's dead,
Blair.  I know he hurt you, and I've told you how sorry I was for that, but for God's
sake, can't you let him rest?"

"Believe it or not, this isn't about Vince anymore.  It's about two men who ended
up dead whose families have never been able to know the truth about how they
died or lay them to rest properly."

"I feel for those people.  Really I do.  I know what it's like to lose a son.  But
villifying Vince isn't going to bring their sons back."

"This isn't about villifying him.  I'd like to move on, too.  I just can't ignore this,
now that I remembered that video."

"The police never found any such tape."

"He may have destroyed it," Blair said, thinking back of Jim disposing of Vince's
video collection before Blair could be humiliated by having them dragged out in
court.

"I have to go.  Good luck to you with your...investigation."

"Thank you.  Thanks for talking with me."  

After he'd hung up, Blair stared at the telephone with some dismay.  Then he
realized he wasn't alone in the room.  Soon, Jim was next to him, handing him a
cup of coffee.  Not due in until second shift, Jim was enjoying a little downtime at
home.

"Vince's mother doesn't know anything about a house."

"You think she'd tell you if she did?"  Jim asked, sitting against the edge of the
desk.  

"I believe her.  She's pretty honest, even if she isn't entirely honest with herself
about Vince and what he really was."

"I'll give Ron Pierce a call, see if his guys found anything around their area."  Jim
shrugged.  "The house could have been just any vacant house Vince figured a way
into.  Didn't have to belong to him or Metzler or even be connected to them in any
traceable way.  This could take a while."

"I've gotta get dressed," Blair said, looking at the clock.  "Your dad's taking me to
lunch with a couple guys from the board of the Cascade Community Foundation. 
I just finished the last of the revisions he suggested on my grant proposal, and I'm
going to try to 'bring it to life' a little at lunch.  Hey--why don't you come with us? 
I thought you were working first shift when he set this up, but now that you're off,
you could go, too."

"I don't know, Chief.  Schmoozing old rich guys at 'the club' doesn't really do it
for me."

"It's not my first choice, either, but if we can get them on our side, we might be
able to get a grant for the shelter."

"Just don't get your hopes too high.  I know Dad means well with this, but they're
a conservative bunch.  If they approve a grant to a facility that will end up
possibly serving a significant number of homosexual men, it'll frankly shock the
hell out of me."

"With your dad on our side, that's bound to carry some weight."

"Did he tell them you're his son's lover, or just that you're a Ph.D. who runs the
Domestic Violence Unit and perceives a need for this worthy service to the
community?  I could do you more harm than good if they think he's backing you
solely because you're with me."

"I don't really believe he's doing that."

"Neither do I, but they might.  You probably would stand a better chance
presenting this on your own.  If something about me comes up--"

"I'm not lying about it.  If they can't tolerate me because I'm in a homosexual
relationship, they're never going to give us grant money anyway.  Jim, we have a
home together.  If these guys are friends of your dad's, how could he lie about our
relationship?"

"These aren't friends who spend a lot of time together.  These are friends who go
to the same club and will possibly show up at his funeral, but that's about it. 
Besides, he wouldn't lie.  He'd just...obfuscate a bit," Jim said, grinning and
kissing Blair's forehead.  "Go get dressed and then dazzle those old buzzards. 
You can do it, sweetheart."

"I'd really like for you to come with us, Jim," Blair said solemnly.  "I'd like the
moral support, okay?"

"Okay," Jim agreed, smiling and pulling Blair into a hug.  

"It's been kind of hard to talk about the past...with what I've remembered, and
what we've found out about Vince lately."

"I know.  It's okay, Chief.  You know I'm here for you, whatever you need."

"I need you."

"You've got me, cuddlebug.  I'm here for the duration."

********

The Cascade Country Club was every bit as elitist as Jim remembered it.  Many of
Cascade's top power players were arriving for lunch as Jim and Blair walked into
the lobby looking for Bill.  When they spotted him, he was laughing and talking
with two other men about his age.  All three were wearing suits that looked as if
they cost as much as good used cars.

Blair adjusted his tie nervously, glad beyond words that Jim was by his side.  He
felt as if he were attending a costume party dressed up in the dark blue suit, white
shirt and tie, his hair pulled back neatly in a pony tail.  Jim, on the other hand,
looked like a bank president in his gray suit, white shirt and tie.  Blair did his best
not to gape at Jim adoringly, but he found that challenging.  Jim had cast off his
jeans and a favorite old plaid shirt at home, and transformed into something
entirely different.  He had all the poise and dignity necessary to blend in with the
country club crowd.

"Jimmy, this is a surprise," Bill said, sounding genuinely pleased for the rare
opportunity to have his son with him at his club.  

"So this is the famous Jimmy Ellison, huh?"  the taller of Bill's companions asked,
smiling and holding out his had.  "Ethan Whitney," he said, introducing himself as
Jim shook his hand.  A well-built man with an imposing presence and a thick mop
of white hair, Ethan Whitney was the semi-retired founding partner of Whitney,
Devon & Whitney, one of Cascade's most prestigious corporate law firms.  

"Mr. Whitney, it's a pleasure," Jim said, smiling.

"Ethan, please.  As much as Bill talks about you, I feel as if we know each other."

"Ethan, Andy, this is my son Jim, and his partner, Blair Sandburg.  Blair, Jimmy,
this is Ethan Whitney and Anderson Riley," Bill introduced, including the shorter,
stockier man who stood next to Ethan.  After handshakes all around, Bill gestured
toward the entrance to the dining room.  "Shall we?"  

The group was escorted by the hostess to a table near the windows overlooking
what was, during the winter months, a cold, empty expanse of impeccably
landscaped golf course.  Inside the club was a considerable expanse of top-quality
business suits, Rolex watches and the hum of polite conversation.  Blair waited
for the moment when he would mistakenly wipe his mouth with the tablecloth,
knock over the water on Anderson Riley, who was seated next to him, or open his
mouth to talk and have a string of completely incoherent words dribble out instead
of all his well-thought-out arguments.  Wealthy people didn't intimidate him as a
rule.  They were just people with bigger bank balances, and relating to people was
his speciality.  But this was Bill's domain, the seat of wealth in Cascade, and the
best gateway to the pocketbooks of the area's leading philanthropists.  Jim was
already conversing easily with Ethan Whitney, and only his striking good looks
made him stand out from the rest of the crowd.  He could have easily been a
young CEO or successful attorney. 

For a while, it seemed as if the two men were primarily interested in hearing some
first-hand war stories from Jim from both his police work and his Army Ranger
days.  Jim obliged, drawing Blair into the conversation on a few case discussions. 
It proved to be a good ice-breaker, and by the time the real subject of their
luncheon arose, the group was fairly at ease with one another. 

"So, Blair, tell us about this shelter you're trying to get off the ground," Andy said,
leaning back in his chair. 

"It's still in the formative stages," Blair began, hating himself for feeling nervous
in this setting when he could address a group of academics larger than the lunch
crowd at a conference and not give it a second thought.  "I'm not sure how much
Bill's told you, but I'm presently supervising the Domestic Violence Unit at the
Cascade PD.  It's a solid program, though it's not as well-funded as it needs to be
to effectively serve the client population.  Presently, we have a 'safe house' for
abuse and assault victims, but it's a small apartment.  Many of our clients are
women, or women with children, so if those shelters happen to be full and we
house a woman there for protection, we aren't able to offer any facilities to our
male clients."

"You mean male children?"  Ethan asked.  "They would be placed in a juvenile
facility, wouldn't they?  If they were removed from the home?"

"In many cases, yes.  But I'm referring to adult males.  There are no facilities in
this area, and almost none in the Pacific Northwest, that provide residential
programs for male victims of domestic violence or sexual abuse and assault."

"Probably because there aren't too many men out there being beaten up by their
wives," Andy said, chuckling.  "Although my wife has a pretty good left hook on
her."  That brought a laugh from Ethan, and an uneasy half-smile from Bill who
seemed to sense the meeting was going down hill fast.

"Survey research has indicated there are anywhere between 400,000 and over
800,000 male victims of domestic violence each year.  Every 15 seconds, a
woman is seriously assaulted by her domestic partner every 14.6 seconds, a man
is assaulted by his partner.  The services and assistance available to them is not
only far from being equal to what is available to a woman in similar
circumstances, but is nonexistent in many areas.  And some of these men are
being abused or assaulted by male partners, and they, too, have nowhere to turn
for help.  The shelter we're planning to open would serve as a resource for the
Pacific Northwest.  Any man who found himself in such a situation and needed
temporary lodging or protection would be able to stay at the shelter, receive
counseling, assistance in going through the process of pressing charges, medical
care if necessary, and the chance to talk with other men going through similar
experiences."  Blair watched Bill's friends carefully for their reactions.  They were
silent, staring at him as if he'd sprouted a second head.  

"So this is essentially a project to assist the homosexual community?"  Andy
surmised.  The conversation paused as the waitress arrived with their lunch.  Once
the plates were on the table and she had taken her leave, Jim spoke up, frustrated
to see that all Blair's impassioned words had been dismissed once the issue of
homosexuality had been mentioned.  

"Some of these men will be in homosexual relationships, no question.  Of course,
just recently, we had a homicide case that arose from a sexual assault on a male by
his girlfriend.  He didn't stop her because he didn't want to hurt her.  Because he
*was* so much larger and stronger than she was, and because he'd seen his mother
abused by his father, he didn't use the physical advantage he had.  Think about it a
moment.  If a woman hit you, what would your reaction be?"

"Not hitting her in return, that's for sure," Ethan said, nodding.  "You're involved
in this project as well, Jim?"  

"Very much so.  Blair and I bought the house being used for the shelter, and we've
done a lot of the renovations ourselves.  Blair's done some remarkable work with
the DVU, and I have every confidence he can turn this shelter into a key resource
for abuse victims in this region."

"Do you have any figures on how many people you might expect to serve in a
year?"  Ethan asked Blair.

"The only statistics I can provide at this point are the ones I've mentioned, and I
have prepared a draft grant request that contains much more detail.  As for how
many men we will end up serving here, that number is difficult to determine.  Men
are reluctant to file charges or even report the abuse, so the solid numbers are
difficult to pin down.  I've spoken to a couple of people who run shelters in other
cities that do accept men, and they say they have to turn men away because the
facility serves both men and women, and clients with children, and there just isn't
room.  The men are often referred to homeless shelters, and that's not the same
thing as a shelter where they receive counseling, medical care if necessary, and
support in dealing with the legal system."

"Blair has done an exceptional job coordinating the Domestic Violence Unit at the
police department," Bill spoke up.  "I've visited him there, and I've reviewed drafts
of his grant proposals.  I'm impressed, and I'm frankly unnerved by the statistics I
*am* hearing.  My only concern is that Blair's grant requests have thus far focused
only on the shelter and the DVU.  I think we need to also consider the issue of
public service announcements and public education.  This isn't going to be viewed
as a significant issue until the public is educated.  Once they are, it would be
easier for the shelter to attract funding from a variety of sources."

"This isn't the type of thing we usually support, Bill.  You know that," Andy said,
slicing the small steak he'd ordered for lunch.  

"We've made grants to women's programs and child abuse prevention and
education programs."

"This isn't a gay or straight issue," Blair spoke up.  "If you're concerned that you're
going to be making a grant to something that will only serve one segment of the
male population, please don't let that stop you.  Gay and straight men alike are in
these situations and need help.  And as much as I don't like the indifference I see
in a lot of people toward this issue, one thing I encountered in my research is spot-
on.  Women's groups began the fight against domestic violence against women. 
It's going to be up to men to start a movement in their own behalf.  We're not seen
as a minority, or as suffering any sort of discrimination.  We're viewed as the
powerful segment of society the women need protection from in bad cases, or who
do the protecting in good cases.  But you know, that's all set on its ear the first
time you go into a police station and try to convince one of the cops there that
your wife is abusing you.  Or that your girlfriend just sexually assaulted you.  Or
that you're afraid for your children because your wife is unstable and violent.  Or
when you're arrested for assaulting your wife or girlfriend and try to convince the
cops that you were acting in self-defense.  We're used to being on top, being in
charge, being in control.  Maybe it makes us all uneasy to admit there can be cases
where we're not.  But until we admit it, face it, and do something about it, it's not
going to get any better."

"It's apparent you feel very passionately about this, Blair.  And it's an admirable
cause, but I don't see it as something appropriate for us as a funding agency.  Bill,
you know we don't have that large a budget," Ethan said, looking at Bill, who
smiled and shook his head.  

"Blair predicted this wouldn't work, and I didn't listen to him.  I apparently had a
false vision of what the CCF is all about."

"You know what we're all about," Andy spoke up.  "Educational and social
welfare programs.  But we have a flood of requests and this particular one can't
show us a solid set of projections for the client population to be served.  Most of
the other projects can."

"We have $3 million to hand out this year, gentlemen."  Bill sat back in his chair,
tossing his napkin on the table.  "We can afford to do something about this.  We
can do something with possible national impact.  We can support a program that
is completely unique to this whole region.  Those are the elements in a proposal
that usually propel it to the top of the heap, and you know it."

"Perhaps we could allocate a small grant for supplies or expenses "

"Damn it, Ethan, we hand out more than that to buy new basketballs for the
college," Bill said, annoyed.  

"Bill, I appreciate what you're doing, but if these gentlemen aren't interested in
this proposal, I doubt you're going to force them into seeing any merit in it."  Blair
paused.  "It's easy to feel impervious to something like this until you find yourself
in a situation you never thought you'd be in.  Like the elderly men who are
intimidated and abused physically, emotionally and financially by younger wives,
or second wives and their grown children who are trying to get their hands on the
assets.  This isn't a rich and poor thing, it's not a gay or straight thing.  It *is* a
man thing, and we're not used to feeling threatened.  But the threat is out there,
and you can be on top of the world one minute," Blair said, gesturing at the
opulent surroundings, "and at the mercy of someone you loved and trusted who is
abusing that trust the next."

"I think we've heard enough," Andy said.

"You're dismissing everything Blair said because you're afraid you're going to help
some gay men, isn't that it?"  Jim asked, his voice level, a scornful smile on his
face.

"We want to fund projects that serve the largest possible client population.  This is
a very narrow segment of the community," Ethan said.  "If men aren't reporting all
this alleged abuse, then they aren't going to show up at your shelter."

"Then how about forgetting funding the shelter and approve a grant for education
and public awareness?"  Bill countered.  Both of his colleagues looked uneasy
then, as if they'd been pinned like live butterflies to a collector's board.  "Maybe
you're right.  Maybe the shelter won't attract many clients until we start educating
our community about this issue."

"We could consider something along those lines, I suppose," Ethan finally said. 
"Submit your proposal, Blair, and we'll take it to the next board meeting.  We
can't make any promises."

"You can tell me if I have *your* support," Blair said.  "If you're opposed to this,
and want to kill it before it has a chance, then you and I both know I'm wasting
time and paper turning in a proposal."

"I would be willing to support a grant for public education in this regard," Ethan
said.  Andy shot him a venomous look.  "I'm not prepared to support a grant for
the shelter, because I'm not convinced that without public education, there will be
a significant number of individuals served by it.  If we support a grant for things
like public service announcements and some community seminars or
programs...I'm sure Blair could design something...and it still doesn't get off the
ground, we'll know it's a losing cause and we can decline any further funding.  But
if we find there *is* a need for this, we could do the community a significant
service, and that *is* part of our mission."

"I suppose if you two are sold on this, I can agree to considering a grant for some
public service announcements or something like that," Andy conceded grudgingly.

"Get your proposal in final draft form, Blair," Bill said.  "Andy, Ethan and I will
review it, and then we'll meet again to go over it.  If we're satisfied with it, we'll
recommend it for funding when the full board meets."

"You won't regret it.  This is a big need in every community, and I think in the
long run, people are going to see the Cascade Community Foundation as pioneers
for tackling this issue.  I really appreciate your support, and the opportunity to
present a formal proposal."

********

"I sucked."

"You did fine, Chief," Jim said, starting up the truck, chuckling a little at Blair's
dismal assessment. 

"I sounded like a dork.  They're gonna kill it, Jim.  They didn't want any part of it. 
Then I turned around and gave them the ammunition they needed to use my own
statistics against me by stating that men don't report the abuse.  If they don't report
it, they can't very well stay in a shelter."  Blair shook his head.  "I've come face to
face with headhunters, Jim, and I was so fucking nervous talking to those two
old...*walruses* that I know I blew the whole thing."

"You didn't blow anything, sweetheart.  You kept your cool, you knew your
facts..."  Jim shrugged.  "Let's face it.  Either they were going to be receptive to
something like this or they were going to shoot it down.  If they shot it down, it
was *not* your fault."  Jim spared a glance at Blair as they slowed up for a stop
light.  "You want to tell me what's really got you upset?"

"I never used to feel so nervous around people, Jim.  People have been my whole
field of study.  Relating to them, psyching them out, hitting them where they live
when I talk to them so I can make a connection."

"That's what you did.  Bringing up the issue of the abuse of elderly men by their
younger wives was poetry.  Andy Riley's married to a thirty-five-year-old divorcee
with two kids.  That's why he killed the conversation.  You made him damn
uneasy."  Jim smiled.  "I remember Dad joking about the fact he'd probably keel
over one of these days from all the booze, fried food and a wife half his age."  

"My mouth went dry and I thought my throat was gonna close up on me a couple
times.  I was *scared*, Jim.  I've addressed a whole room full of academics
without breaking a sweat."

"Before or after Watson?"  Jim said flatly.

"Before, I guess.  My career wasn't exactly in high gear while I was with Vince."

"When you first came home from the hospital, you were afraid to disagree with
me about what kind of shoes you wanted to buy.  The way you've pulled yourself
together and gotten on with your life is remarkable, Chief.  But you have to cut
yourself a little slack once in a while."  Jim started away from the corner after the
angry honk of a car horn behind them.  "Watson made a project out of scaring the
shit out of you every time you opened your mouth.  That's bound to take a while to
totally reverse."

"I'm glad you were there.  It really helped."  Blair smiled.  "It always helps."

"So, you wanna go get something to eat?"

"We just came from lunch," Blair said, laughing.

"You ate two bites at most, and that plate of weeds they served me wouldn't
satisfy a mosquito.  Let's go grab some Chinese food before I have to go in this
afternoon."

"Sounds great."

"Believe me when I tell you that you did just fine, Chief.  Quit beating yourself
up.  If those two old buzzards can't see any value in what we're trying to
accomplish, that's their problem."

"They're holding the purse strings, Jim.  That makes it our problem."

********

Blair took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.  He knew he was due
for an eye appointment one of these days, and there was a good chance he'd be
getting used to a different prescription this time.  It seemed like he was bumping
up the font size more and more lately as he labored over these grant proposals.  

Since he was staying up late anyway to work on the proposal, when Jim arrived
home from work a little before midnight, he'd gone downstairs to work off a little
excess energy on his drums.  Blair smiled at that, delighted that Jim was finally
getting a chance to express himself a little, and to let his wilder side have its
moments of freedom.  Plus, seeing Jim decked out in his motorcycle leathers
every now and then was a nice side benefit.  

The rhythmic thumping of the drums almost obscured the sound of the thump that
came from overhead.  Blair frowned at that, not having heard that particular sound
before.  He'd heard all manner of creaks, groans and assorted banging pipes in the
old house, and he was used to them now.  But this had been a very distinct thump. 


After taking a moment to save the proposal to the hard drive, he left his office and
went to the foot of the stairs.  Everything was quiet now, except for the racket Jim
was making in the basement.  There was a dim light upstairs coming from their
bedroom, where Jim had gone to change his clothes when he first got home.  If
anyone were in the house who shouldn't be, Jim would have detected it when he
got home.  It was cold outside, and all the windows were shut and locked. 
Shaking off the little twinge of fear he felt about venturing up into the shadowy
upper floor, Blair climbed the stairs and turned on the hall light.  He looked in
their bedroom, where nothing appeared to be disturbed.  Jim's gun was on the
dresser in its holster, and after staring at it a moment, Blair succumbed to the urge
to take it with him on the rest of his exploration.  

Bolstered by the heavy, cool assurance of the gun in his hand, he checked all the
other rooms and found nothing out of place.  Laughing at himself for making such
melodrama out of a thump in an old house, he was about to return to the bedroom
to replace the gun in its holster when the door at the end of the hall that led to the
attic creaked slowly, opening halfway.  

"Shit," Blair muttered, swallowing.  "Michael, if this is your idea of a joke, it's not
funny," Blair said to the silence of the upstairs hall.  There was another thump
from above.  Shivering a little as a chill went up his spine, Blair forced himself to
go to the partially open door and push it open the rest of the way.  He turned on
the light that bathed the narrow staircase in a friendly yellow glow.  He flirted
with the temptation of calling Jim, and then resolved he was not going to run
downstairs yelling for Jim to come up and look for the bogeyman.  

He made his way up the slightly creaky stairs until he found himself in the middle
of the large attic.  He smiled and let out an audible sigh of relief when he saw a
carton lying on its side, its contents spilled on the polished hardwood floor.  

"So much for bogeymen in the attic," Blair scolded himself, laughing as he
crouched to gather up the papers and other items from the carton.  

There was a creaking on the stairs then, heading up toward the attic.  Startled, he
turned with the gun in his hand, aiming it at the stairs.  

"Whoa, there, Chief, it's just me!"  Jim said, freezing near the top step.

"Oh my God," Blair looked at the gun in his hand before dropping it as if it were
white hot.  "Oh my God, Jim."

"You didn't shoot, Chief.  No harm done," Jim said, picking up the gun.  "The
safety was still on, so unless you planned on shooting me, you couldn't have done
it."  Jim set the gun on a nearby carton.  Blair was still staring at him, shaking
visibly.  "Blair, honey, you didn't fire it.  You couldn't have shot me before you
knew it was me because you left the safety on, just like we talked about," Jim said,
taking a hold of Blair's shoulders.  They had discussed handling the gun in just
such a situation, agreeing that since they both knew how to take off the safety
quickly if the need to fire arose, anytime they would ever have reason to carry or
aim the gun in the house, they would leave it on until they had a clear visual
identification of the person they were aiming at.

"I could have killed you."

"No, Blair, you couldn't have.  You left the safety on.  It's okay, Chief.  No harm
done.  You just startled me, that's all."

"I'm sorry.  Oh, God, Jim, I'm sorry."  Blair wrapped his arms around Jim tightly,
and felt the pressure returned.  "I heard the carton fall, but I didn't know what it
was, and when I came up here, I just had the jitters and I took the gun off the
dresser."

"Shhh."  Jim kissed his hair, a hand rubbing gently over his back.  "You did just
fine, Chief.  You left the safety on until you saw who you were aiming at.  No cop
could do any better.  I can think of at least twice when Jack and I almost shot each
other, but we didn't.  You know how to handle a gun and how to do it safely, or I
wouldn't leave it lying around not if I thought you were going to do something
stupid and blow my head off by mistake," Jim added, smiling. "You're shaking
like crazy, sweetheart.  Try to calm down.  You didn't do anything wrong and I'm
fine."

"I pointed that thing at you, and it's loaded.  What if the safety didn't work or if my
finger slipped or something?"

"What if a storm suddenly blew up and that big pine tree near the house fell on
us?  Stupid shit like that happens, but it's not likely and it's not frequent with
people who know how to handle guns and do it carefully.  It's pretty unlikely the
safety would malfunction, your finger would slip, and you'd shoot without looking
at who you were shooting in a fully lit room all at the same time."

"I'm never gonna touch that goddamned gun again."

"That's your choice, Blair, but I'm not nervous about you touching it and you're
beating yourself up over nothing."

"Killing you isn't nothing."

"Well, no argument there, but you didn't do that.  Do I look dead?"

"You know what I mean."

"Enough."  Jim pulled back, then leaned in to kiss Blair's mouth.  "No harm was
done, and I wasn't even in danger."  Jim picked up the gun and aimed it at a stack
of cartons, then pressed on the trigger.  Nothing happened.  "See?  I just tried to
fire it and nothing.  You didn't even try to fire it."

"I guess it's just the image of me panicking and shooting you..."

"Which is why we leave the safety on the gun unless we're sure, and why we don't
shoot unless we see who we're shooting at.  We went over all this, baby."

"I know.  I just hate that I pointed it at you."

"So what is all this junk?  The carton just fell over?"  Jim looked behind it where
it had been stacked.  There was nothing to suggest that it should fall, no sign that
it had been piled carelessly or that the stack was even remotely shaky or unstable.  

"Looks like the old stuff I had when I was...with Vince.  I put it away,
remember?"  Blair froze where he had crouched to pick up the papers and
notebooks.  "Jim, I put this carton at the bottom.  I don't remember just where, but
it wasn't on top of stuff out here."

"Is it possible you moved stuff around?  You were looking for some books up
here a couple weeks ago.  I remember hearing you ferreting around in this stuff for
hours."

"I think I'd remember if I put this particular box of stuff somewhere different." 
Blair handed Jim a pile of letters bound together with a rubber band.  "Those are
the letters Mary Ellen Watson gave me.  I never wanted to read them again, but I
felt weird throwing them out, because they had meaning to her."

"What really happened tonight?  You heard a noise up here?"

"Two noises.  And the door at the end of the hall opened by itself."

"This is vintage Michael, you know that," Jim said, his easy acceptance of their
resident ghost calming Blair's nerves a little.  "Michael, next time you knock
something over, clean up after yourself," he said, chuckling as he helped Blair
piled the materials back in the box.  

The overhead light went out, leaving them momentarily in darkness, then flashed
back on again.  

"I think you pissed him off, Jim," Blair said, looking up at the light for a moment.

"He only gets pissed off when he has something to say and we don't listen."  Jim
looked back in the open box.  "What's in here that could be important?  Michael's
not in the habit of throwing things around the attic like a garden variety poltergeist
just for the hell of it."

"Some old notes from classes I was taking back then," Blair said, rifling through
the box.  "Vince's budget, the fucking asshole."  Blair tossed that notebook aside
and kept digging.

"His budget?"  Jim picked up the book.  Almost everything entered on the ledger-
style pages were in Blair's handwriting.  

"If I spent anything, I had to record it.  Especially if I was short on the amount he
expected me to pay every month."

"Bastard."

"All that's left is a shoebox with some old photos in it."  Blair stared at it.  "I'd just
as soon not go through these again."

"You mind if I look through them?"

"No, go ahead.  Why don't you bring them downstairs?  I've still got some work to
do on that proposal, and I've got a fire going in the office."

"Sounds great."  

Ensconced in the cozy office with the fire crackling, Blair clicked away at his
computer keyboard while Jim sat in the big leather chair near the fireplace and
sorted through the photos.  Watson obviously took a lot of snapshots, or had quite
a few taken.  Jim had the sickening thought that maybe it was all part of Watson's
fetish for Blair's resemblance to his victims.  In all the photos he looked at, he
couldn't seem to find one in which Blair was smiling.  In some of the photos,
Blair's physical decline was brutally obvious.  

Not all the photos included Blair.  There were a few of Vince with other people,
most of them looking like beefy wrestlers or body builder types, possibly guys
from the Rainier team.  One series of three photos caught his attention more than
the rest.  Vince was sitting around a picnic table with a bunch of other people,
mostly men but a few women, and in the background was an old farmhouse.  He
looked a little different, maybe younger, than he did in the later photos with Blair.  

Hating to make Blair look at the photos he'd just said he didn't want to see again,
Jim got up and approached him, resting a hand on his shoulder as he handed him
the stack of three photos. 

"Do you know where this was taken and who these people were?" he asked gently,
rubbing Blair's shoulder a little.

"I don't remember their names, but Vince said they were friends of his from
Tacoma.  The guy sitting next to him was his boyfriend at the time.  He used to
show it to me when he wanted to make the point that he'd always had better
looking boyfriends than me.  And of course, they were all better in bed."  Blair
handed Jim back the photos.

"That's impossible."  Jim turned Blair's desk chair and crouched in front of him. 
"There aren't any guys out there like that."

"You're biased, man."  Blair laughed softly, reaching out to stroke Jim's hair.  "But
I love you for it."

"No names?"  Jim prodded.

"Give it back to me."  Blair sighed, taking the photos and sorting through them. 
"Oh, man."  Blair covered his mouth with one hand.  "You're looking at the
farmhouse."

"You got it in one, sweetheart.  That's the kind of house Annie saw in her vision. 
It's probably nothing, but if it belonged to one of those people, or was a place they
used to go..."

"I think I asked him whose house it was once."  Blair stared at the photo, his
brown creased in concentration.  "Shit.  He told me, too."

"Just relax, Chief.  If he told you, it'll come to you."

"It's probably not there anymore.  They were going to tear it down because the
family was selling the property."  Blair tapped the photo with his finger.  "It was
her grandparents' old place," he said, pointing out one of the two girls in the
photo.  "I don't remember her name, Jim."

"That's okay.  What else did he say about the house?  Anything?"

"Not really.  Just that she had the picnic there for this group of people from the
gym where Vince did all his weight training...her boyfriend owned the gym.  He
said something about figuring the house was probably a bunch of overpriced
yuppie houses by the time he was showing me the photos."  Blair looked at Jim. 
"You think he might have killed Aaron Metzler there?"

"Makes sense.  It's secluded, out in the country, vacant, and it's a place he knew
about.  He knew the history, the likelihood of anyone coming out there..."

"If I could just remember the damn name."

"You said her boyfriend owned the gym where Vince used to work out in Tacoma. 
That shouldn't be too hard to trace.  There can only be so many gyms in Tacoma. 
I'll call in and have Rafe get us a list.  He's on third shift, and he and Brown were
planning on catching up on paperwork tonight."

"That explains why he kept these photos handy, then.  Every time he looked at the
house, he remembered what he did there."  Blair shuddered.  "Why he showed
them to me periodically."

"And why Michael saw fit to knock over the carton," Jim added, picking up the
phone on Blair's desk and dialing the station.

********

"Must be a lot of physically fit people in Tacoma," Rafe commented, handing Jim
the print out when Blair and he arrived at work the next morning.  Just finishing
his night shift, Rafe was putting his coat on to leave when they walked into the
bullpen.  

"That's quite a list," Jim said, sighing.  "Thanks for running it, pal.  Hopefully
we'll get a lead from this."

"The only lead you've got right now is that psychic, right?"  Rafe asked, digging in
his pocket for his car keys.  

"That's about it," Blair responded.  "We're hoping to identify a house she saw in
her vision by finding someone associated with one of these gyms."

"Good luck.  Hope it works."  Rafe headed for the door.  

"Thanks.  Us, too," Blair called after him.  "Well?"

"Why don't you look at the list and see if anything rings a bell, Chief?"

"Okay."  Blair took the list and sat at the desk while Jim hung up their coats and
then sat next to him.  "I'm not positive, but I think it's one of these two."  Blair
used a highlighter to mark two entries on the list.  "I remember him talking about
the gym where he used to work out, and it was something with 'power' in the title. 
Powerhouse," he pointed to the one entry, "or Iron Power," he concluded, tapping
the second marked entry.  

"Well, let's get on the phone then and see what we come up with."

The first call to Powerhouse Fitness Center didn't yield anything.  The manager
was more than willing to check his records to see if Vince had ever been a
member, but he found nothing in his files.  The woman who answered the phone
at Iron Power Gym, and identified herself as the manager, fell deathly silent when
Watson's name was mentioned.

"Vince Watson?  What is this about?"  she finally asked.

"We're looking for information to assist in an ongoing investigation, and we think
Watson may have been acquainted with someone at your facility who might be
able to help us," Jim responded.

"He's dead, isn't he?" 

"Yes, ma'am, he is, but we think he may be linked to a missing persons case, and
since we can't ask him, we're attempting to contact people who might be able to
provide us with some key information."

"I knew Vince.  He was friends with my husband and he used to be a regular here
several years ago, but I haven't seen him since he moved to Cascade."

"Do you still own a rural piece of property with a farm house situated on it?"  Jim
asked.

"Well, yes, I do.  Is that important?"

"It could be.  Did you used to host picnics there that Vince might have attended?"

"Yes, a couple times, I think.  It's my grandparents' old place.  I was going to sell
it to a developer, but then my brother got married, and he and his wife were
interested in renting it from me...they're still living there.  How does the house
figure into things?"

"We think he may have visited the house with a man who is currently listed as a
missing person."

"You've got to believe me when I tell you we had no idea how weird he was.  He
seemed fine.  When I found out how he died and what he was into...it gave me the
creeps to think we hung out with him all that time."

"Would it be possible for me to visit the house, possibly bring a couple associates
with me?"

"I'm sure Tony my brother will cooperate.  I'm afraid there won't be much there
by way of evidence.  They've really gone over the old place and gutted the inside,
redecorated, landscaped...  My grandparents were very elderly and they didn't do
much with the place the last twenty or so years of their lives."

"Were there any rooms in the house where the moldings around the door were
painted a darker color than the walls?"  Jim asked.  There was another dead
silence.

"In all the upstairs bedrooms," she finally responded.  "Why?"

"It's part of a witness' description.  That's really all I can say at the moment."

"Let me call Tony and Gretchen and let them know you want to come out.  Can I
call you back with a time?"

"Sure."  Jim gave her the phone number.  "We really appreciate your cooperation
Mrs..."

"Kessler.  Judy Kessler.  My husband's name is Kurt.  I'm sure he'll want to be
there for this, too, in case you have any questions for him."

"I might.  I'll look forward to hearing from you."  Once Jim hung up the phone, he
looked at Blair.  "Sounds like we're onto something here.  All the upstairs
bedrooms had the darker moldings around the doors.  The old folks had let it go
for quite a few years, and then it was apparently vacant after they died, based on
what you said about her having picnics out there.  If it's farmland, there are a lot of
places to bury a body."

"Too many places," Blair said, shuddering.  "You think we should call Ron Pierce
and see if he can get Annie to join us?"

"Without a doubt."

********

The visit to the farmhouse was scheduled for the next day, in the early afternoon. 
Ron Pierce and Annie Maxwell met them at the location Judy Kessler had
described in her directions.  It was a cold, sunny day, and the expanse of
countryside around the big old house made for a peaceful, pleasant setting.  Tony
and Gretchen Richards, Mrs. Kessler's brother and sister-in-law, greeted the group
and invited them in for coffee while they waited for the Kesslers to arrive.  Tony
was a man of average height and build with dark hair and small wire-rimmed
glasses.  He worked as a financial advisor in Tacoma, while Gretchen, a petite
blonde with long straight hair and a pretty smile, had put her career as a teacher on
hold to be a stay-at-home mom.  Their daughter, Christine, was six months old
and napping upstairs.  Blair couldn't help but wonder if it was in the same room
where Aaron Metzler spent his last horrifying moments.

"Please don't take this the wrong way, but if we'd known this was some kind
of...'psychic vision' that brought you all out here, I don't think we'd have agreed to
having you go through the house," Tony said as the group sat in the living room
with their coffee.

"Your sister would still have the right to authorize the visit, as she's the property
owner," Jim stated.  

"Judy never went in for that kind of thing, either."

"What can it hurt?"  Gretchen spoke up.  "Mrs. Maxwell, you think something
happened in our house, is that it?"

"Something *did* happen in your house," she said flatly, looking pointedly at the
stairs.  Just then the doorbell rang, and Gretchen went to let in Judy and Kurt
Kessler.  Kurt was a big man with a build not unlike Jim's, with blond hair and a
mustache.  His wife, Judy, had her brother's coloring and long hair drawn into a
pony tail.  After introductions all around, Jim decided to get the process in
motion.

"Now that everyone's here, any objections if we let Mrs. Maxwell walk through
the house?"

"I suppose not," Judy said, looking at Tony, who shrugged with a little smile. 
"We're not big believers in the whole psychic phenomena thing, but go ahead."

With permission granted, Annie walked very purposefully toward the stairs and
started up to the second floor.  The rest of the group followed quietly behind her. 
The house was nicely decorated now, with carpeting on the floors, fresh paint on
the walls, and much of the original woodwork sanded down and refinished to its
original luster.  Whatever paint had adhered to the moldings around doors was
gone now, replaced with the elegance of the oak woodwork in its natural form.

Annie stopped in the middle of the narrow upstairs hall, then turned to walk into
one of the three bedrooms on that floor.  

"She picked our bedroom," Gretchen whispered to Tony, who shrugged, though
he appeared a bit unnerved.  The little crowd gathered in the doorway of the
bedroom that was decorated in a cheerful country motif, with a colorful patchwork
quilt on the queen sized bed.  Annie, however, seemed more interested in the area
near the dresser, where she stood transfixed, as if watching something.

"What used to be there before you moved in?"  Jim asked Tony, who thought
about the question for a moment.  

"I don't think anything.  The house was pretty much empty when we started
working on it."

"Grandma's old metal bed was there.  The mattress was shot, and nobody wanted
it for anything, so we just left it here," Judy said.  "It wasn't here when you started
cleaning the place out?" she asked her brother.

"No.  There was some junk in some of the other rooms.  I think the old headboard
is in the attic, but there was no mattress."

All of them froze when Annie let out a blood-curdling scream, backing away from
the dresser as if it were about to attack her.  Jim and Blair looked at each other,
then at Ron Pierce, who held up a forestalling hand.  

The woman stopped in the middle of the room, shaking visibly, before raising a
hand to her throat.  

"He wants him to scream and he can't," she half-sobbed.  "He has no voice left,"
she gasped, just before falling to her knees, bracing herself from falling
completely by holding onto the foot of the bed.  

Ron still motioned to the others to be quiet, keeping Jim from going to her to help
her stand.  She stayed crouched by the foot of the bed for several long seconds
before she raised her head a bit.

"It's so quiet.  It's raining and all you can hear are the raindrops on the roof...on the
windows.  He's dead and it's so quiet.  Why is it always so quiet after they die?" 
She pushed herself up from the floor and stood, looking back toward the bed.  "He
buried the mattress with the body.  There was too much blood to leave it here."

"Annie, where did he bury the body?" Ron asked carefully, approaching her now. 
The rest of the group were silent, Tony, Gretchen, Kurt and Judy all exchanging
horrified looks.

"It's dark, there's a door that blows with the wind...bangs when it hits the door
frame.  It's cold and wet with the rain...  There's something...a tire...swinging..." 
She gestured a little with one hand.  "That's all of it," she said, turning to Ron.

"You saw it?"  he asked.

"Yes," she responded, nodding. 

"Who did you see, Annie?"

"The man you identified to me as Vincent Watson, and the other man you
identified for me as Aaron Metzler.  Vincent Watson killed Aaron Metzler on the
old bed that used to be where that dresser is."  She swallowed hard.  "He tortured
him until he lost his voice from screaming."

"Do you think you can lead us to where he's buried?"  Ron asked.

"Yes, I think so," she said, nodding.

"Someone was murdered in here?"  Gretchen looked over at the dresser, her eyes
wide.  "My God."

"Nothing's been proven yet, honey," Tony responded.  "Let's not jump to
conclusions."

"I guess we'll know for sure if we find out where the body's buried," Kurt said.  "I
knew Vince was a little off, but I never realized he was a murderer."

"How did you know he was 'a little off'?"  Jim asked.  

"Because he had a sadistic streak in the gym," he replied.  "He'd get a guy pinned,
and he wasn't happy until he knew he'd hurt him.  Not just overpowered him,
because when you're practicing wrestling moves, that's the whole point.  But with
Vince, he wanted to know he left pain behind.  He was a fantastic wrestler, and,
you know, aside from being sort of an asshole to work out with, he seemed like an
okay guy.  I just figured he had a mean streak.  Guess it was a big one."

"The biggest," Blair responded.

A walk across the property, led by Annie, brought them to a barn that was gray
with the ravages of time, the structure leaning a bit sideways, the door missing
altogether, leaving about a ten foot opening in the side of it.  Not far from the barn
was a massive old tree.  From one of its gnarled, sturdy limbs hung an old tire on
a rope, swaying gently in the breeze.  Not far from the barn were the remains of
the door.

"It, uh, banged all the time, so I took it off.  We were going to have this torn down
in the spring," Kurt explained.

Annie walked through the opening into the shadows, followed closely by Ron,
Jim, Blair and the others.  It was obvious the old barn hadn't been used in decades,
with the remnants of hay and other debris strewn over its floor.  Numerous boards
were either rotted or missing, and Annie picked her way carefully to a spot
somewhere near the far west corner.

"If they start digging here, they won't have to look far," she said.  Closing her eyes
and taking a deep breath, she moved a little to the left and tapped a rotting board
with her toe.  "He pulled this board up...he pulled up several, then nailed them
back down.  He took his time."

"These nails are newer than the others," Jim said, crouching near where she'd
tapped her toe.  "Guess we better get the County Sheriff out here," Jim said,
standing.

********

Three hours after Annie touched the spot on the barn floor with her toe, the
Tacoma County Medical Examiner was overseeing the removal from a somewhat
shallow grave of a skeleton and an old mattress, stiff with aged, brown blood
stains.  Annie was feeling very drained from her experience and asked Ron to
drive her home, leaving Tony, Gretchen, Judy and Kurt sitting around the kitchen
table drinking coffee while Jim and Blair hovered near the burial site.  

As the remains were removed from their resting place, Jim watched Blair with
more concern than he did the grave.  They knew who dug the hole, who killed the
victim, who the victim was and how he got there.  There was very little Jim would
need to remember of the stiffened, brown-stained mattress or the skeletal remains. 
He knew he'd never forget the look on Blair's face.

"That would've been me soon," Blair said quietly.

"Don't do that to yourself, sweetheart," Jim responded, putting his arm around
Blair's shoulders.  He wasn't surprised when Blair leaned heavily into him.  "It's
not you, that's what matters."

"It bothers you, though."

"Yeah, it bothers me.  It bothers me you went through what you did, and it bothers
me how dangerously close you came to not surviving it.  But what matters is that
you did survive it.  Isn't that what you keep telling me when I get morose?"

"Yeah, well, I say a lot of things.  Doesn't mean I can live by all of 'em," Blair
admitted with a little grin.  

"I gave the Sheriff the information on Metzler, and Ron and I filled him in about
Annie, so I don't think he'll need us for anything else here right now.  We'll have
to work together on putting the final touches on the homicide case.  Hopefully
they'll accept the fact it was Watson and not launch a full investigation, but since
the murder took place here, they have that option."  Jim sighed.  "I was sort of
surprised Ron and the folks at his PD were willing to close the books on Danny
that fast, but they do trust Annie and they had your statement about the tape.  This
is a little foggier."

"We can go home, then?"

"Let's say goodbye to Judy and her family.  We'll have to stop by the PD and put
some sort of preliminary report on Simon's desk, and then we'll head for home. 
Sound okay?"

"The last part sounds great," Blair said, smiling tiredly.

********

It was raining heavily by the time Jim and Blair finally made it home early that
evening.  Aaron Metzler's remains were identified via his dental records, and
family was being notified.  Given the rural location of the remains, the Sheriff,
State Police and local authorities were all bickering for jurisdiction.  Jim was
more than relieved to leave them to it.  It was the Cascade PD's missing persons
case, but it was a homicide case now, and the cops in the area where it happened
had more claim to it.

"You want anything?  I'm making some tea," Blair said, hanging his coat on one
of the hooks near the back door.

"Make enough hot water so I can have cocoa, huh?"  Jim asked, hanging up his
coat and heading for the den.  "You want me to call for pizza?"

"That's fine.  You know the tea would relax you," Blair called back to him.

"I'm plenty relaxed, Chief."  Jim smiled to himself, enjoying their unending
disagreement over food and beverages.  

"You won't be after all that sugar hits your system from this cocoa mix.  You
could get by with sugar free, you know."

"Sugar free, fat free, flavor free," Jim retorted, turning on the TV, leaving the
volume down while he dialed the number of the pizza place.  "I want to be sure
my cocoa's healthy before I eat the pizza."

"If you'd order it like I tell you to, it *would* be healthy."

"If I ordered it like you tell me to, I wouldn't eat it."

Blair came into the room with two steaming mugs as Jim finished placing the
order.  After hanging up, he accepted his mug and ran his arm along the back of
the couch for Blair to scoot under, which he did happily.  There wasn't anything
on television except a lot of sitcoms and melodramas, so Jim succumbed to the
Discovery Channel special on grizzly bears.  With the rain beating on the roof,
something warm to drink, and Blair tucked against him, he couldn't think of a
better way to spend an evening.

"The pizza guy said it could be as long as an hour.  I guess they're backed up and
with the heavy rains and all..."  

"That's okay.  Give us a chance to unwind a little anyway."

"You okay, Chief?  I know today was rough."

"I'm okay.  I guess I just keep thinking about how long I kept all this buried...man,
bad choice of words."  Blair took another drink of his tea, and Jim had to smile at
the dark humor, and at the fact Blair could find it within himself to make a little
quip.  "In a way, it's a relief.  I understand now why I was so afraid of him.  You
know, Jim, before, it didn't make sense."  Blair straightened up and turned on the
couch to face Jim, who also shifted his position a bit.

"The way he treated you and the threats he made were explanation enough,
sweetheart.  You did the best you could."

"Yeah, I know, but I wouldn't have taken that lying down...oh, boy, this is really
the night for double entendre isn't it?"  Blair shook his head.  

"I don't know, but if that's something you get naked for, count me in,"  Jim teased,
leaning forward and kissing Blair soundly.  

"You're impossible."  Blair laughed, moving in to kiss Jim this time.  One kiss
turned into another, and before long, Blair was straddling Jim's lap with his arms
loosely around Jim's neck.

"Did I ever tell you rain makes me horny?"

"So does sun, fog, snow, and wind, if I recall correctly."

"No, those are yours," Jim retorted, kissing Blair again and tugging at his shirt,
pulling it out of his jeans.

"You know if we start this, the pizza guy may get here before we finish it."

"By my calculations, we've still got about fifty minutes.  Besides, there's a locked
door between us and the outside world, remember?"

"We'll give him a good tip if we make him wait."  Blair pounced on Jim then,
locking their mouths together and thrusting his groin against the bulge in Jim's
jeans.  They shifted positions and stretched out on the couch, Jim pulling Blair on
top of him, both of them awkwardly tugging at clothing, wrestling with it until
they were skin on skin, hard cocks rubbing together as their mouths eagerly
explored one another, hands roaming, fingers exciting nipples before moving
lower.

"There's lube under the couch," Blair gasped, pushing himself up a bit and moving
so Jim's hardened cock was nudging the cheeks of Blair's ass.  Jim groaned in
pleasure as he rubbed himself between the slightly sweaty globes, watching the
strained look of pleasure on Blair's face as he squatted lower to open himself for
more stimulation.

"Under the couch?"  Jim couldn't help but ask about that.

"Just in case.  Last time...oh, yeah...."  Blair writhed with pleasure at a particularly
well-aimed rub of Jim's cock over his center.  "Last time, we had to go all the way
upstairs...right in the middle..."  he gasped between thrusts.

"Got it."  Jim held up the tube.  "How do you want it, baby?"

"God, this feels good."

"If we don't stop, I'm not going to make it for the big event.  I'm getting real close
here."  Jim paused.  "Let's move.  I've got an idea."  Jim guided Blair off him to lie
on his back on the couch, encouraging him to draw his knees up to his chest and
spread his legs as much as the couch allowed.  Smearing a little gel on his hand,
Jim began rubbing up and down along the exposed crack, from Blair's balls to his
tailbone.  "Yeah, you like having your crack rubbed, don't you, baby?"

"Oh, Jim...Oh, my God..."  Blair moaned and clutched at the cushions, his cock
coming to full hardness.  Though he was aching to plunge into the willing hole his
hand was passing over, he was enjoying the wanton display of raw pleasure from
Blair, and a part of him was enjoying even more just doing something that drove
Blair crazy with lust...something that was pleasuring only Blair, something in
which Blair could be completely selfish in his enjoyment.  He teased and rubbed
Blair's perineum, his fingers stroking against the back of Blair's balls before
rubbing his way back down again to the little pucker, which he finally stopped to
stimulate with his finger.  "Oh, man...please..."

Jim slid his finger all the way into the passage, spreading the gel inside Blair as he
took the rigid cock in his mouth and sucked.  Blair shouted then, his moans
turning to cries of pleasure as he bore down on the probing finger and thrust up
into the hot mouth working his cock.  

"Want you, lover.  In me, now," Blair gasped, looking up at Jim through heavy-
lidded, passion-fogged eyes.  

"Your wish, sweetheart," Jim said after releasing the leaking cock from his mouth. 
He moved up and kissed Blair.  "I love you."  Blair smiled brightly then, resting
his hand on Jim's cheek.  

"Love you, too."

Jim found the lube and coated his hardness before nudging it against Blair's
exposed hole.  Then he pushed in slowly, letting Blair adjust to being filled. 
Before long, he was fully inside Blair.  It was Blair who moved first, writhing
almost impatiently on the hard cock inside him.  Jim began a steady rhythm,
thrusting firm and fast into the hot slickness surrounding him.  Jim was moaning
himself now, his voice mingling with Blair's as they settled into a steady cadence,
Blair pulling his knees back as far as he could to take Jim as deeply as possible. 
Jim's hand wrapped around Blair's cock, pumping it with a slick hand, teasing the
leaking head with his thumb.

The rubbing of Jim's cock against his prostate and Jim's hand working his shaft
was more than Blair could stand.  He let out a long, loud shout as he came,
grabbing at Jim and the couch to brace himself against the wild wave of ecstasy
that was his orgasm.  Jim relished the flexing of those internal muscles around
him and drank in the display of Blair's climax.  He felt his own peak fast
approaching, and a moment later, was shouting Blair's name, filling him.

Reluctantly, Jim withdrew from the tight heat, his cock slipping free of its sheath. 
He guided Blair's legs down to the couch, and hovered over him for a long kiss.

The doorbell rang.

"Oh, man," Blair said, laughing.

"I'll get it."  

"If it's not the pizza guy, we're not home.  I mean it, Jim."  

"Don't worry.  I'm gonna grab the pizza and slam the door."  Jim struggled into his
jeans, easing his softened cock in place as he zipped them carefully.  Then he
tossed on a shirt and swung by the kitchen to wash his hands before answering the
door.

When he returned to the den, Blair was lying on his stomach on the couch, still
naked, his head resting on his folded arms.  

"You want to eat right away?"  he asked, grinning wickedly.

"What pizza?"  Jim set the box, easily forgotten, on the coffee table and stripped
off his shirt and jeans again.  Lowering himself carefully on top of Blair, he
nuzzled the warm neck and nosed the soft curls.  His cock nestled between firm
cheeks, he concentrated on kissing Blair's neck and then working gently on a
passion mark there. 

"Maybe you *should* eat first," Blair teased.

"Mmmm," Jim hummed against Blair's flesh, finally releasing it.  "I don't want
anything interfering with your taste in my mouth."  Blair flexed his ass cheeks at
that remark, and rubbed against Jim.  "Oh, man, do that again," Jim groaned,
sliding his cock along the slick crack, feeling the squeeze of muscles along his
length as Blair flexed his cheeks again.  

"You getting ready for round two?"  Blair said, grinning and looking over his
shoulder at Jim.

"We already did it that way once."

"You're bored with it?"  Blair twitted, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't want to make you sore, sweetheart."  Jim kissed Blair's cheek.

"If I ever get sore with you, it's a good sore.  You *don't* hurt me, Jim.  If I feel it
tomorrow, it'll remind me of us making love.  Nothing bad.  I know you wouldn't
do anything really violent to me nothing that would injure me or cause me pain. 
That's what I keep trying to tell you, love.  I'm not afraid of you, and I don't want
you to be afraid of me, like I'm too fragile for us to have a good time in bed.  If I
don't like what's happening, I'll say so.  And you'll stop.  And that's why anything
we try is okay with me, because I know I always have a vote.  Okay?"

"I'll work on it, cuddlebug."  Jim smiled, tugging the throw off the back of the
couch.  "I think my ass is turning blue."

"I'm warm enough," Blair retorted, snuggling happily under his heavy human
blanket."

"Relax, baby.  I want to take my time."

"Sounds nice."  Blair sighed.  "Besides the fact we just came a little while ago."

"That, too."  

Jim started kissing his way down Blair's back, using his lips and tongue to taste
his lover like a rare delicacy, moving along the smooth flesh completely
unhurried.  He returned to the warm place between Blair's neck and shoulder and
inhaled deeply.  Blair groaned beneath him, knowing just what Jim was
doing...filling every sense with him as gentle hands skimmed along his arms and
into his hair.  Scent, Taste, Touch, Sound and Sight.  

Grabbing the lube, Jim added some to his now rigid shaft.  He squeezed a bit on
his finger and used it to coat and stretch Blair, though he seemed more than eager
to get on to the main event and still relaxed from their first round of lovemaking.  

"Mmmm...  That feels good," Blair sighed, wriggling his ass as Jim's finger
moved languidly inside it.  Blair moved up on his knees and braced his hands on
the arm of the couch.  Jim took a moment to appreciate the sight before sliding his
slick cock into the welcoming heat of Blair's body.  

"C'mere, sweetheart," Jim said, wrapping his arms around Blair and pulling him
back so he was impaled on Jim's lap.

"Oh, shit."  One of Blair's legs shot out to find support and found it had run out of
couch.  Laughing, Jim caught him before he fell, and with some struggling, ended
up sitting on the throw, feet on the floor, still joined to Blair, who now sat more
securely on his lap.  Everything seemed fine until Blair started laughing.  Hard.

"Sandburg, knock it off," Jim warned, vowing he would *not* come because
Blair's laughter was vibrating his cock like some sort of giant, hot, human sex toy.

"Sorry."  Blair stilled a moment, and then was laughing gain.  "I can't help it."

"I am *not* coming while you're sitting there laughing," Jim said, starting to laugh
himself now.

"Why not?  Sounds like a new chapter for 'The Joy of Gay Sex'."

"Simon would be thrilled we got published there," Jim said, laughing harder.

"Oh, God, Jim, do something," Blair said, still laughing, but wriggling in Jim's lap
at the same time.  

"I'm working on it, Chief.  Why don't you do something?"

"Oh, right, sure.  Like this?"  Blair grabbed the arm of the couch for leverage and
began moving himself up and down on the hard cock inside him.

"Oh, shit...Ahhh," Jim gasped, leaning his head back on the couch.  

"I'll take that...as a...yes," Blair managed between thrusts.  

Jim started thrusting up to meet him, relishing the sight of his cock sliding in and
out of Blair's body, and Blair writhing shamelessly in his lap.  It occurred to some
small part of his brain that still retained any ability to think that they'd never done
it exactly this way before.  It definitely put more of a burden of action on Blair,
but he didn't seem to mind a bit.

Belatedly, he thought to reach around front and start stroking Blair's cock, his
other hand on Blair's hip, enjoying feeling the frantic motion there.  He felt his
climax coming, and knew it would be any moment when Blair screamed out Jim's
name and came, his seed bathing Jim's pumping hand.  When Jim came, it was
with a few quick thrusts into the now pliant body in his lap that seemed to have
lost its bone structure.

He steadied Blair as he stood a little shakily, then turned and climbed onto Jim's
lap, facing him.  They kissed deeply, Jim wrapping his arms around Blair and
kissing his lips, face, neck and back again, enjoying the sensation of the warm,
sweaty ass and thighs that rested on his lap and the lax, sticky groin that nestled
against his own.  

"That was..."  

"Mind-blowing?"  Blair supplied.

"Yeah," Jim agreed, grinning and hugging him close.  "I love you," he whispered
into the now disheveled curls.  

"I know.  I love you, too."  Blair hugged back with enthusiasm.  "It's so good to be
alive."

It was a strange remark, but it had been said with sincerity and joy.  Blair pulled
back and looked Jim in the eyes.

"I'm so glad I lived, Jim.  After what we've seen in the last few weeks about
Vince, and then with Alan's case...life is such a gift.  I'm so grateful to have been
given that gift against all the odds, and then...and then to get you, too.  Because
the gift of life wouldn't mean anything to me without you to share it."

"For me, either, sweetheart.  Every time I look at you, it's all I can do not to grab
you and hold you...and thank God I have you."

"Any time you want to grab me and hold me, it's okay with me."  Blair smiled and
hugged Jim again, and Jim returned the pressure.

"I'll keep that in mind," Jim said before kissing Blair again.

********

Blair walked into the Cascade Country Club with a small leather portfolio tucked
under his arm, wearing a brown tweed sport coat and a tan shirt with dark brown
pants.  His hair hung loose on his shoulders, his glasses in place.  He was
supposed to meet with Bill, Anderson Riley and Ethan Whitney to discuss a draft
of his written proposal.  He'd spent a long time ferreting through the closet for
something appropriate, and had felt the same unease about entering the exclusive
club he had the first time.  Jim, who had been getting dressed to go into the PD,
finally took a hold of Blair's shoulders, looked him right in the eye, and said,
"Wear whatever you want, Chief.  Be yourself, because you're perfect, and there's
no way to improve on that."
After taking a few moments out to express his gratitude for that lovely emotion,
they were both running late as they threw on the first clothes they could reach, ran
for their respective vehicles and headed into town for their day's business.

Oddly enough, those words from Jim *did* bolster him to the point that he didn't
care if he got strange looks for his long hair or his borderline casual attire.  This
was who he was, what he looked like, and if the people he was meeting with didn't
approve, they might as well decide that now.

Dressed in another of his expensive, impeccably tailored business suits, Bill rose
and motioned to Blair from a table not far from the one they'd occupied at their
first meeting.  

"I hope I'm not late," Blair said, smiling and shaking hands with all three men
before taking his seat.  

"We were early," Ethan responded, jangling the ice cubes in his empty glass.  It
was obvious a couple of cocktails had passed before his arrival.  Bill had been
doing his homework.

"I have a copy "

"What are you drinking, Blair?"  Bill said, flagging down the waitress.  Noticing
Bill's wine glass, Blair opted for that, since he wasn't a huge fan of mixed drinks.

"Wine would be great.  Which one do you recommend?"  he asked Bill.

"They're featuring an outstanding white zinfandel," Bill said, as the waitress
arrived at the table.

"I'll try that," Blair agreed, and she left with a nod and a smile.  

"Okay, Blair, you have the draft for us?"  Bill prompted.

"Yes, I do.  I've included quite a few statistics, some of which we discussed when
we talked previously."  Blair distributed the three copies.  "I also included a case
study of the homicide case Jim spoke of."

"This appears very thorough, Blair.  I wouldn't expect much less from a Ph.D.,"
Anderson said, paging through it.  "I think I speak for the three of us when I say
that we wholeheartedly support your proposal."

"That's wonderful news," Blair said, trying not to sound as stunned as he was. 
The waitress delivered his wine, but he barely noticed.  "I must say I'm a little
surprised."

"Well, I'll tell you what turned the tide for me, Blair," Anderson continued. 
"When we raised objections to you, some of them not in the most politically
correct terms, you kept your cool.  You didn't preach. You educated us.  You had
facts, you had numbers, and you had the patience to present it to what you felt was
a hostile audience.  You also found a way to relate the whole situation to me in a
way I would have never expected."

"I did?"

"Not that that is the case in my particular situation, but my first wife died many
years ago, and I just married a lovely woman who is twenty-five years younger
than I am, and has two grown sons.  Now, they're wonderful people, all of them,
and in no way does what you said about younger wives going after their older
husbands fit them, but the point is, you showed me a scenario that could happen to
someone like me.  To people I know.  Hell, maybe it *is* happening to people I
know."

"That's why we're supporting funding your program with a $500,000 grant, with
75% of that budget to be used for public service announcements and other
community awareness programs," Ethan said.  "We know you need some practical
money to pay some bills, but we believe educating the public is crucial to what
you're trying to accomplish."

"And it's obvious you have the ability to educate any audience on the subject,
Blair," Bill spoke up.  "I've always had every confidence in what you were trying
to do here, but I wasn't sure if you would be able to take on these two characters,
but you did," he said, gesturing at his companions, who both chortled a bit.

"I don't know what to say.  You can't know..."  Blair stopped and swallowed,
closing his eyes briefly.  "You can't know what this means to me.  To know what
can be accomplished thanks to this grant."

"I think we know, Blair," Bill said, smiling with all the affection of a proud father.

"The grant's not official yet.  We still have to run it by the full board," Ethan
clarified.  "But if we're in support of it, I don't anticipate any obstacles with the
rest of the membership."

"Let's go over this draft now and be sure we don't need to tweak anything before
taking it to the board," Anderson suggested.  With that, the three men began
actively discussing the proposal, and retooling it a bit to emphasize the public
awareness an education angle.  Blair could barely keep from grinning like an idiot. 
It didn't seem possible that his life could be going this well.  That he could be this
lucky.  But he was.  And he couldn't wait to find Jim and share the news with him.

After their luncheon meeting, which actually turned into a fairly pleasant and
relaxing conversation once the proposal had been reviewed, Bill walked with
Blair to his car, having said his good byes to his two cohorts from the Foundation.

"I don't think I can ever thank you enough for this," Blair said, shaking his head. 
"I know they wouldn't have given me the time of day without your input."

"If I didn't think what you were doing was worthwhile, and good for the
community, I would have never supported it with the board."

"I know, but...I know that it's not always easy for you...with Jim and me, and
explaining that to your friends..."

"I was afraid of what people would think when Jimmy was a child.  A lot of it was
that I was afraid for him.  I know I wasn't Ward Cleaver by any stretch of the
imagination, but I always loved the boys, and I wanted them safe, and I didn't
think Jimmy would be safe if people knew what he could do.  I still don't think so. 
I wish I'd handled it better, though.  All that aside, there was part of me that also
was worried what people were going to think.  I've worried my whole life about
appearances.  I've danced to the tune of people like Anderson Riley and Ethan
Whitney all my life until one morning I woke up and I was one of them."

"You're not one of them, Dad.  Maybe you were, but not anymore."

"I almost lost Jimmy once, and I'm not about to lose him again because of what
some other old stuffed shirt thinks about his lifestyle.  And I consider you part of
our family now, Blair, and I don't take that lightly.  Even if they didn't believe it,
and even if I didn't always make the right choices, my family has always been the
most important thing to me.  There were probably plenty of times *I* lost sight of
that.  The point is, you and Jim and Steven and I are family.  I'm not going to lose
sight of what that means again."

"I know it means a lot to Jim that you guys are back on good terms again.  He
really does love you."

"I know he does.  Or he wouldn't have been willing to reconcile things like this. 
Now go tell Jimmy your good news."  Bill smiled at Blair's delighted expression. 
He was more than stunned with Blair hugged him quickly.

"Thanks, Dad.  For everything."  
      
 "That's what family's for."

"That and celebration dinners.  You free to come over tonight?  We'll make
something good."

"Sounds great."

"See you at dinner tonight, Dad."  Blair tried to stifle his grin of unbridled
excitement over the impending grant, mostly unsuccessfully.  Now all he wanted
to do was tell Jim.

********

"Son of a bitch."

"Impossible.  These damn things don't have mothers," Simon grumbled in
response to Jim's unsavory remark to the computer.  Sitting at Simon's desk, Jim
was trying to navigate the software upgrade recently made to the police database
system.  Simon had given up on it after trying unsuccessfully for a half hour to get
a rap sheet to print out correctly.

"Sandburg was right," Jim said, punching a few more keys angrily.

"About?"

"They dummied it up."

"Meaning?"

"Some software programs, when they upgrade, try to make it more 'user-friendly',"
Jim explained, the last words tinged with heavy sarcasm.  "The only users it's
friendly to are those who are too fucking stupid to operate a computer and need
every single command spelled out for them with little click-boxes.  Like this one,"
Jim added, gesturing at the machine before clicking the offending graphic.  The
printer started up, and both men hovered over it like expectant housewives over a
rising souffle.  Simon yanked the paper off the machine first.

"Son of a bitch," he grumbled.

"Impossible, remember?"  Jim snatched the paper and then rolled his eyes, tossing
it in the recycle bin.

"That's confidential stuff, Jim."

"We've just about filled that box.  We'll just have somebody shred the whole
thing."

"Rhonda's on sick leave, remember?"

"That's why I became a cop.  To shred paper."  Just as he was about to have
another go at the software, Blair burst through the door.

"You never learn about knocking, do you, Sandburg?"  Simon grumbled, taking
his anger at the computer out on Blair.  Nonetheless, Blair didn't seem remotely
fazed by it.  

"I got it," he said, just about vibrating where he stood until Jim got up and walked
around the desk, eyes widening.  He'd known Blair was meeting with Bill and his
friends from the Foundation.

"What did you get?" he asked carefully.

"Just $500,000," Blair said shrugging.

"All right!"  Jim grabbed him up in a hug, lifting him off the floor and spinning at
least twice before letting out another whoop of joy, which Blair echoed.  

"They want me to use 75% of it for public education and awareness, but that
means we have $125,000 to pay some bills right now...well, right after the full
board approves it, but if those guys are for it, we've got it."  Blair smiled.  Though
Jim had stopped spinning, he was still holding Blair in a tight hug, not letting his
feet touch the floor.  "Uh, Jim, I think you should probably put me down now."

"Oh, right, sorry."

"Congratulations, Blair," Simon said, shaking hands with Blair once he had both
feet on the floor again.

"I can't believe this.  I don't think it's really sunken in yet," Blair said, moving
about the office as if the floor were electrified.  "I know we've got a mountain of
bills.  So I'm gonna let you handle where that money goes," he directed to Jim. 
"But then I've gotta figure out how to use the rest of the money wisely.  You
know, maximum bang for the buck?  College newspapers are good for that. They
reach a lot of young people but the advertising is pretty cheap.  And then there are
TV ads.  You think we could get some celebrity to help us out for free?"

"I think we probably could, Chief," Jim agreed, smiling and relishing watching
Blair fly around the office in a state of hyper excitement.

"When you two are done celebrating, maybe someone can tell me how to run a
report off here."

"Oh, yeah, you just have to go into 'user options' and change your printer settings." 
Blair sat at Simon's computer and performed the function he described, then hit
the "print" command.  This time, three heads hovered over the printer.  The same,
incorrectly formatted report was produced.  "Son of a bitch," Blair muttered.

"We covered that already," Jim said, crossing his arms over his chest.  

"You probably need a new printer, Simon."  Blair went about trying several more
things, none of which were successful.

"So when the brass authorized the software upgrade "

"Somebody didn't research the hardware upgrades you were gonna need.  I can
talk to Cheryl in Tech Support, but I'm willing to be that's what's wrong."

"Maybe you can pull some strings for us and get us a grant for new equipment,"
Simon teased.  Blair smiled despite the fact he was making no headway with the
obstinate program.  

"This is newer than the printer in the DVU," Blair said pointedly.

"He never quits, does he?"  Simon responded, exasperated but laughing.

"No, he never does," Jim said affectionately, obvious pride in his voice.

********

Blair packed the last of his things in the duffle bag and zipped it, wondering
which thing he had forgotten that he'd need immediately after arriving.  Jim came
across the hall from the bathroom and handed Blair his shaving kit before stuffing
his own into his duffle bag.

"I knew I forgot something."  Blair paused.  "You know, it would be a lot easier
for me to pack if I knew where we were going."

"I told you what you needed to know, Chief.  I think you'll approve."

"I'm surprised you're still willing to chance it after the way I messed up the last
vacation," Blair said, a smile in his voice.  Jim moved up behind him, wrapping
his arms around Blair.

"You didn't mess up anything, sweetheart.  It wasn't your fault."

"You're too good to be true, man," Blair responded, grinning and leaning back into
Jim's warmth.  "I love you."

"Ditto, Chief."  Jim kissed his cheek.  "Now we better get a move on.  Check in
time is 3:00, and we've got a bit of a drive."

"So we're staying in a hotel."

"What'd you think?  We were pitching a tent by the side of the road?"

"It's not much of a clue, but you gotta be happy with what you get."

Blair was stunned to find himself at the airport, hurrying with Jim to board a
private jet, which flew them in style toward their destination, which Jim still
wouldn't reveal.  The flight was pleasant and relaxing, the two men talking about
their plans to open the shelter in two weeks, and throwing some ideas around for
the launch of the education phase of the program, which had the bulk of the grant
funds behind it.  Blair had discovered one of his clients at the DVU was a public
relations specialist, and in gratitude for the help she had received, she agreed to
join the advisory committee Blair was forming.  

It was just a little past three when their flight landed at an airport flanked by palm
trees and bathed in sunshine.  

"What is this place?"  Blair asked. 

"Welcome to Waikiki, Chief," Jim said, grinning.  "Although I daresay the ladies
with the leis will make it official."

"Waikiki?!"  Blair's eyes bugged.

"I mentioned in passing to Dad that I wanted to take you somewhere nice for the
weekend, and he arranged for the flight and tipped me off where to make the best
reservations.  We've got the honeymoon suite in one of the best resorts on the
island."

"We can't afford this, Jim."

"No, you're right, but Dad can, and he wanted to do it.  I put up a good fight, but
he kept insisting.  He told me I should tell you it was an early Hanukkah and
Christmas present, and if you turned it down, he'd be insulted."

"Well, I guess we can't insult your dad, can we?"  Blair said, grinning.  As they
disembarked the plane, Blair couldn't resist adding, "I was hoping to get lei'd in
the first five minutes of this vacation."

A chauffered limousine picked them up at the airport and carried them toward
their hotel.  

"You could've told me to dress lighter," Blair complained, wriggling out of his
flannel shirt, leaving him wearing a blue henley and jeans.  Jim laughed softly. 
He'd carried the masquerade through perfectly himself, and now held his coat in
his lap, still dressed in a sweater and jeans.

"But you're surprised, right?"

"Yeah, I'm surprised all right," Blair conceded, grinning broadly.  "I don't have
any clothes to wear here."

"I brought some stuff for us in my bag.  Besides, what makes you think you'll need
clothes on this trip?"

"If my luck holds out, I won't," Blair agreed, sliding his hand into Jim's, their
fingers twining together.  

The limousine followed a winding drive flanked by flowering tropical plants until
it stopped in front of what appeared to be a huge mansion.  The only thing
marking it as anything by a private residence were a few guests following porters
carrying their luggage to another waiting limo ahead of them.  The glass that had
separated them from the driver now lowered.

"If you would care to wait in the car, I'll arrange a porter for your bags,
gentlemen," the young man said. 

"That would be fine," Jim responded as the glass went back up again with a touch
of a button from the chauffeur.  

"Wow," Blair looked out the window, craning his neck to get the full view of the
resort.

"Pretty nice place, I'd say," Jim said, nodding approvingly.

"*Pretty nice place*?  Jim, this is *paradise* here!"

"Uh-uh."  Jim slid over in the seat, pulling Blair into his arms and kissing him
thoroughly.  Resting his forehead against Blair's, he said, "*This* is paradise.
*That's* a nice resort."  Moved deeply by that sentiment, Blair kissed Jim this
time, then wrapped his arms tightly around him.

"You always make me feel so special," Blair whispered.

"Good.  You deserve to feel that way, sweetheart.  You're one of a kind."

The sound of the car door opening startled them, and Blair got out first, Jim close
behind him.  The chauffeur closed the car door, and a porter, dressed in white
cotton pants and a tropical print shirt carried their bags toward the resort.  

The lobby was a large, elegant area awash in pale shades of white, cream and
beige, accented with a number of beautiful tropical plants and potted palms. 
Ceiling fans turned lazily above them, though the hotel's air conditioning seemed
to have the climate well under control.  

"Ah, yes, Mr. Ellison," the desk clerk greeted, smiling.  "And Mr. Sandburg.  You
have our master suite on the second floor."  A native of the island in his twenties,
he was dressed in a similar attire as the porter who was waiting by the elevator
with their bags.  He handed Jim their room keys.  "If you need anything, just call
the desk, twenty four hours a day.  There is a lovely buffet being served in the
dining room tonight beginning at six, and our kitchen is open until ten o'clock for
room service orders."

"Thank you."  Jim took the keys, and then joined the porter who rode with them in
the elevator to the second floor.  He led the way down the wide hallway to a pair
of double doors at the end of it.  

"This is a very lovely suite.  I'm sure you'll enjoy your stay," he said, taking the
key from Jim and unlocking the door.  As the two men walked inside, he followed
with their bags, setting them near the door.  "The bedroom and adjoining bath is
through that door right there, and the lanai is outside the glass doors.  If there is
anything we can do to make your stay more pleasant, please let us know."

"Thanks.  I'm sure we'll be fine," Jim said, smiling.  He took handed the man a tip
and closed the door behind him.  

"Oh, man, Jim, this is gorgeous."  Blair wandered a bit further into the room,
admiring the view before them.  The main room was a large and flooded with
natural light from the wall of windows that overlooked their own private lanai. 
The ceiling was high and beamed with wood accents.  Triangular windows topped
the full length widows, giving a panoramic view of the lush tropical forest behind
the resort.  A grouping of overstuffed furniture in shades of beige and green faced
the windows.  The light green carpeting on the floor and the various potted plants
around the room continued the motif.  A small kitchenette and snack bar as well
as a glass table with chairs for more formal dining completed the amenities.  

"Think we ought to investigate the bedroom?"  Jim suggested, making note of the
bottle of champagne and basket of fresh fruit on the snack bar.  

"Yeah, but I want to see that view first."  Blair made a beeline for the lanai,
opening the glass doors and stepping outside.  Given the design of the building
and the growth of the plants and trees, the beautiful balcony was completely
private.  

"You look way too warm in all those clothes, Chief," Jim teased, tugging at the
shirt tucked into Blair's jeans.  

"We *are* in a tropical paradise."

"In the honeymoon suite, no less."

"The guy at the desk called in the 'master suite'."

"Maybe he wasn't sure if he should tell us we had the honeymoon suite.  I mean,
picture two swinging bachelors booking the best suite in the resort and finding out
they had the honeymoon suite."

"Yeah, that could be awkward," Blair admitted, grinning as Jim pulled the shirt
over his head.  The sunshine felt good on his skin, and he hastily divested Jim of
his sweater so he could share in the sensation.  Soon they shed their jeans as well,
toeing off shoes and removing socks.  Clad in nothing but boxers, they moved to
the railing to look out at the gorgeous view.  Jim moved behind Blair, holding the
warm body close, nuzzling Blair's neck.  

"Now can we check out the bedroom?"  he asked hopefully.  Blair laughed.  

"We can, if you're too uptight to do it out here."  Blair moved out of his grip,
approaching a chaise lounger.  

"Too uptight, huh?"  Jim advanced on Blair, grabbing him in a passionate embrace
and kissing him fiercely.  

"Maybe you're not too uptight," Blair conceded, grinning and pulling Jim back
toward the lounger.  Jim slipped off his boxers and tossed them to join the pile of
clothing, then stretched out in the chair.  Blair did the same and straddled him,
leaning forward to share hungry kisses as their cocks rubbed against each other. 
"Let's do it, lover.  Right here, right now."

"I don't have any stuff, baby," Jim said, massaging two hands full of Blair's ass.  

"I'll get it."  Blair kissed him again and fled back into the room, returning quickly
with the lube.  He straddled Jim again and leaned in for another kiss.  

Jim tugged at the tie holding Blair's hair in its loose pony tail, sending the curls
down to Blair's shoulders, blowing in the soft, warm breeze.  He dropped the lube
near the chair, burying both hands in Blair's hair and holding him still to explore
his mouth.  He kissed Blair's chin, his neck, and moved down to his chest, licking
and sucking at Blair's nipples until Blair moved his hands from Jim's shoulders
and gripped the framework of the chair to avoid leaving bruises.

He groped for the lube again, finding it and flipping it open with one hand.  He
squeezed out some of the gel and then probed between the warm globes of Blair's
ass, which was writhing in his lap as Blair rubbed against him.  He slid two
fingers inside gently, rubbing and massaging the snug passage, seeking...  Blair let
out a shout of pleasure, jolting as Jim's finger rubbed over his prostate.  He
repeated the gesture, loving to watch Blair's sun-warmed body jolt with pleasure,
the little cries of ecstasy pulled from the pit of his soul.  

Jim managed to coat his length and Blair eagerly lowered himself onto it.  Jim
held him and kissed him, devouring his mouth as Blair adjusted to Jim inside his
body.  Blair broke their kiss with a gasp that was both pleasure and need,
beginning to writhe on the cock that impaled him.  Jim happily obliged and began
thrusting gently, in no hurry to complete this coupling.  They were on vacation
with nothing to do but enjoy themselves, and right now, he was most enthralled
with watching Blair undulating over him, eyes almost closed, full, well-kissed lips
parted in pleasure, long hair swaying in time with their thrusts.  The intoxicating
blend of Blair's arousal and the tropical flowers in the gardens below teased and
caresses his sense of smell.  

He ran his hands up and down Blair's sides, Blair's own hands braced on Jim's
arms.  

"Oh, yeah, Jim, right there," Blair groaned as Jim angled his strokes to rub over
Blair's little pleasure button.  Blair was crying out now, unmistakable shouts of
pleasure thrown to the skies.  Jim could no longer resist that mouth and captured it
again, sliding his tongue in and out of Blair's mouth in time with their sex.  He
had to break the kiss this time for his own shout of pleasure.  Blair was coming
now, his internal muscles squeezing and milking Jim as he gave in to his own
climax.  

Sated and languid, Blair let Jim slip free of his body and then lay beside him in
the chair, snuggled in Jim's arms.  Jim picked up the lube from where it hand
landed near the chair. 

"Come on, sweetheart.  Let's check out that bedroom now," Jim suggested.  He
stood, and before Blair could stand, gathered him in his arms and carried him
inside, heading for the door that led to the bedroom.  

The king sized bed was made with luxurious white linens and was turned back.
//Yes, this is definitely the honeymoon suite,// Jim thought, smiling as he
deposited Blair among the soft bedding and then climbed in with him, pulling him
close for more kisses and caresses.  This room had another wall of windows with
a similar view as seen from the main room, and the big bed shared the space with
a couple of overstuffed chairs, and a dresser.

The bed was comfortable, and there was no denying they were pleasantly drowsy. 
They dozed for a while before Blair stirred and slipped a hand down to gently
pump Jim's semi-hard cock.  

"Mmm."  Jim shifted and parted his legs a little more, happy to give Blair full
access to his most sensitive areas.  A hot tongue moved over his chest now,
intermingled with the attentions of those soft, full lips.  As Blair's mouth fastened
on a hardening nipple, Jim arched into the sensation and gasped Blair's name,
sliding his fingers into the long curls.  

"Want to be inside you, lover," Blair whispered hotly against his ear.

"Oh, yeah," Jim agreed, finding the lube somewhere among the sheets and
handing it to Blair.  He moved up on all fours, the thought of Blair buried to the
hilt inside him and pumping hard having an undeniable appeal.  He could hear
Blair now, opening the lube, moving up behind him.

"God, Jim, you're so incredible," Blair said, sliding a greased finger inside him,
moving it assertively but gently, stretching and probing.  "Do you know how
amazing the muscles in your back are when they're tensing and untensing like
that?  When you're getting turned on?"  Blair's voice was low and husky now, and
the risque words were almost as arousing as the motion of Blair's finger.

Almost.

Blair progressed to a second finger, carefully stretching as he reached under Jim to
fondle the heavy balls there, moving from them to the erect cock that surged even
more at his attentions.  Blair finally rewarded him with a firm stroke over his
prostate, which caused Jim to cry out and grab the headboard of the bed, bracing
himself and thrusting back on Blair's impaling fingers.  

"Oh, yeah, baby, that's the spot," he groaned, thrusting back again to encourage a
repeat of the motion.

"Next time it'll be my cock in there, Jim.  I'm gonna rub that little pleasure button
until you don't know your name," Blair added, a definite leer in his voice.  Blair
withdrew his fingers and massaged the cheeks of Jim's ass, lifting and parting
them, licking over the little opening there and blowing on it.  

"Oh, God," Jim gasped, spreading his legs and thrusting his ass out further,
shamelessly seeking more sensation.  He felt the blunt, slick tip of Blair's cock
against his center, and a moment later, it slid inside, slowly but undeniably
stretching him and filling him.  Then he felt more movement and realized Blair
was on his feet on the mattress as he sank deeper into Jim.  

Letting go of the headboard, he rested his head on his arms, his ass up as high as
possible and taking Blair in deep.  When the pumping began, Blair made good on
his word to nail Jim's prostate on most of his strokes.  The pace was a little harder
and faster than what Jim was used to on the receiving end, but the constant
stimulation and the rocking of the bed and the slight creak of protest from the
springs was driving him wild.  

"Yeah...yeah...oh, God, Blair...ahhh...yeah..."  Jim knew he was babbling, needing
to voice all of it somehow as Blair slid in and out, pumped up and down, his
hands bracing on Jim's back as he changed angles a bit and put even more hip
motion into deepening the strokes.  Jim clutched the bedding with both hands,
shouting now, reveling in his first taste of being well and thoroughly nailed to the
mattress.  They didn't do it this way as often, and Blair always was very gentle,
almost tentative about it.  Jim appreciated that, but this wilder ride was a whole
new world of sensation, and he liked what he was feeling.  

Blair was moaning and shouting with him now, his strokes rapid and deep.  Jim
felt his climax building, and a particularly well-aimed stroke of his prostate drew
a cry from the depths of his being as he came, thrusting unevenly back to meet
Blair's strokes, his cock pulsing and spurting as if he hadn't just come inside Blair
out on the lanai.  Blair came inside him with a few shouts of pleasure, and Jim
dialed up his senses to feel the flood of Blair's juices inside his body, savoring the
moment.

He slumped on the mattress and Blair came down with him, the two men lying
there, panting, in a heap of exhausted, damp flesh.

"Wow," was all Jim could manage.  

"Oh, man," was Blair's equally inspired response, before he moved slowly off Jim,
who expended enough energy to move over and rest his head on Blair's chest.  A
lazy hand came up and stroked his hair.  

"You think we used it all up this afternoon?"  Jim asked, yawning.

"Give us lots of time to spend on the beach, wouldn't it?"  Blair responded,
chuckling a little.  "Are you okay?  I mean, I didn't exactly pull my punches."

"I'm fine, sweetheart.  I won't be able to walk until we go home, but no harm
done," Jim teased, and was relieved to hear Blair laugh.  "Remember what you
keep telling me?  Do what you feel and quit worrying?  I'll let you know if I don't
like it, Chief.  I'm not that shy."

"Must be something in the tropical plants making us this horny."

"We're always this horny.  We just don't ordinarily have this much time to indulge
in it."

"You've got a point there."  Blair smiled.  "Probably a good thing.  We'd wear out
the equipment."

********

The two men slept quite soundly until Jim stirred, noticing that it was already dark
outside.  His stomach rumbling ominously, he checked the clock and was relieved
to see it was only nine o'clock and the kitchen would still be open for room
service.  He reached over to the nightstand and found a menu, his movement away
from Blair drawing nothing more than a groan as the other man rolled over and
snuggled into the soft bedding.  

Jim ordered them each a meal of chicken and vegetable fettuccini, figuring that
wouldn't draw any objections from his now slumbering partner.  The phone call
was enough to disturb Blair, who rolled over and looked at Jim with total
confusion on his face.  His hair hung in his eyes, and he looked like he'd been
asleep for a week.  

"What's going on?"

"I just ordered us dinner," Jim explained.  "Room service," he added when that
didn't seem to register.

"Oh, right."  Blair sat up and happily scooted under the arm Jim held out for him. 
Propped against the headboard with a couple pillows, Jim was more than happy to
serve as the pillow for Blair.  "Man, I was wiped out," Blair admitted, letting his
eyes drift shut again.  

"You've been under a lot of pressure lately."

"Unlike you, who have been just sort of hanging out."  Blair smiled.  "I know
juggling the new mortgage with our usual bills is no picnic."

"The grant will pay off a lot of the debt, Chief.  We're fine."

"I'm glad you're the household accountant, man.  I wouldn't want that job for
anything."

"It's under control."  Jim kissed the top of his head.  

"I'm really excited about the shelter.  About opening it up officially.  I know we'll
probably do all that and nobody much will show up for a while, but it's still
exciting."

"I think we'll get clients pretty fast.  Think about it, Chief.  These guys aren't
coming forward because there's nowhere to go.  They're not going to want to go to
a women's shelter.  This is a man's shelter.  No frilly curtains or...woman things
around."

"Testosterone House," Blair quipped, snorting.

"Something like that."

"Not all women's shelters have frilly curtains."

"No, but they're for women.  I know you have all these statistics on men who don't
report abuse, but I've gotta tell you, if I had to go stay in a women's shelter, I
wouldn't bother reporting it either.  I'd feel ridiculous."

"Plus, your male peers would make you feel ridiculous anyway."

"That, too."  Jim yawned and ran his hand languidly up and down Blair's arm.  "I
never thought about what I would've done if Carolyn had been a physically
aggressive person.  Probably nothing.  I wouldn't have hit her.  I don't know if I
would have filed for divorce first.  Maybe."

"Unless she could convince you you had it coming or that you provoked her."

"There's always that."  Jim shrugged.  "And the fact I'd have felt stupid going
before a judge and telling him she was abusing me. Looking at me and looking at
her, that would be a pretty far-fetched sounding story."

"But she could have because you wouldn't have hit her back."

"Yeah, you're right.  Between Dad and Sally, they were pretty firm about
respecting women."

"Which is fantastic, unless it sets a man up to be a victim."

"Hard to raise a boy the right way, I guess.  Don't hit a woman or bully her or hurt
her, but don't let *her* push *you* around either.  Hard to know where the line
is."

"How long did room service say it would take?"

"About half an hour."

"Man, I stink."

"No you don't.  You smell like us."  Jim leaned down for a long kiss.  "Mmm." 
He buried his nose in Blair's neck, sniffing.

"You keep doing that and neither one of us are going to be able to go to the door."

"They can leave it outside then."  Jim pulled Blair closer and kissed him again. 
"You taste better anyway."

After a delicious meal shared at the table in the main room of their suite, the two
men finally decided to investigate the bathing facilities.  The bathroom left both
men a bit awestruck

"Looks more like an indoor swimming pool than a bathtub," Jim quipped, turning
on the lights, appreciating the soft, recessed glow around them.  There were large
bulbs framing a vanity mirror, answering the obvious need for more intense light
for ladies applying makeup, but those were controlled by a separate switch.  There
was only one phrase that came to mind to describe the atmosphere: mood
lightning.  

"It's a jacuzzi.  Oh, man.  Look at this shower stall!"  Blair opened a wide glass
door to reveal an extra large stall with two shower heads.  "No moving back and
forth to take turns under the water," Blair joked, referring to their almost
professionally choreographed dance to get two fully grown men effectively
showered at once.

"Personally, I like sharing close quarters with you in the shower," Jim said, sliding
his arms around Blair from behind.  "We could conceivably spend the weekend in
here."

"Glad we've got a three day weekend," Blair responded, leaning back into Jim. 
"One day for here, one more for the bed, and one for the beach."

"What do you say we grab that bottle of champagne and try out the tub?"

"Sounds great.  Better grab that basket of fruit, too.  Something tells me we'll be
here a while and I want dessert."

********

With champagne and glasses within easy reach on the tiled ledge around the
sunken tub, grapes, strawberries and other sensuous finger foods placed nearby,
the two men shed their robes and stepped down into the tub of warm, fragrant
water.  Blair had found some bubble bath in one of the cabinets and added a
liberal shot of it to the bath, giving the water a healthy "head of foam".

Wrapping around each other, they began kissing, enjoying the wet slide of skin on
skin under the water as their mouths explored each other.  Jim seated himself on
one of the molded seats in the tub, holding Blair close as he straddled Jim's lap,
their cocks bumping against one another.  It was a good, lazy rhythm that would
take its time getting them to the finish line, and that was fine with them.  They
were in no hurry tonight.

Blair relished the feeling of sculpted muscles under smooth skin, of the power in
Jim's arms countered by the gentleness of his touch.  The warmth of the water was
relaxing and soothing, and he could feel the stress of the last several weeks
draining away as they made love slowly, a whole weekend stretching ahead of
them to just relax and enjoy each other.

The movement became a bit more frenzied as the excitement built, and with a few
more slick thrusts, both men came, slumping together in the sated lethargy that
followed, Blair still held securely in Jim's arms, his head resting on a shoulder.

"That was nice," Jim sighed, yawning.

"Can't get enough of you," Blair said, stroking Jim's face with a wet hand. 
"Sorry," he said, grinning and shaking a little of the water off his hand.

"That's okay, Chief.  No hard feelings."  With that, Jim splashed him in the face
with a swipe of his hand through the water.

"Speak for yourself!"  Blair moved off his lap and returned the gesture.  Before
long, water and bubbles were flying in all directions as they indulged in frolicking
like children in the big bathtub.   Soaked and laughing, discovering that water and
bubbles were everywhere, including on their snacks, they opted to pour two
glasses of champagne and finally relax in the warm water.  

Sharing one of the seats, Blair tucked under Jim's arm, they sipped their drinks
and let silence reign for a while.  

"I wish this weekend would last forever," Blair sighed, resting his head back on
Jim's arm, smiling.  "Just us, cut off from the world."

"You'd go stir crazy cut off from the world, Chief."  Jim chuckled softly.

"When I was younger, I probably would have.  Before...everything.  Now, just
being safe and being with you...that's enough to make me happy."  Blair smiled. 
"Well, that and 'net access."

"I'm honored to have made the cut above the 'net access."

"Well, not necessarily in that order," Blair amended, grinning up at Jim.

"You little shit."  Jim laughed, leaning in for a kiss.  When their lips parted, Blair
shifted and snuggled into Jim's arms.  Holding the languid body in his arms close,
Jim kissed the wet curls.  They stayed that way a long time until Blair finally
spoke.

"You've got the number one spot all sewn up, and you know it."

"I know.  That's a nice feeling.  I never had the number one spot sewn up with
anybody before you."  It was an odd thing to put into words, and Jim hadn't really
planned on voicing it, but the words had just flowed.  He never felt like he quite
communicated to Blair how much their relationship meant to him, and after all
Blair had been through, it meant everything to him to do just that.  

"How could anybody have you and not put you first?"  Blair wound his arms
around Jim a little more tightly.  "Their loss, my gain," he said, and Jim could feel
the grin against his chest.  

"You want to get out of here before we turn into prunes?"  Jim suggested.

"Wouldn't want anything valuable to shrivel up and fall off in the water."

"I'm convinced," Jim said decisively, and the two of them made their way out of
the tub and toweled each other off as playfully as they'd splashed in the water
earlier.  "This bathroom's pretty trashed, Chief."

"That's why we've got maid service," Blair responded, grinning and flexing his
eyebrows.  "Let's just leave it for now, okay?"  Blair smiled evilly, tossing a wet
towel on the floor.  "I dare you to leave it there."

"You're a real comedian, aren't you?"  Jim retorted.  

"I do my best."  Blair took in the full view of Jim's perfectly muscled, toned
physique. 

"You okay, Chief?"  Jim asked, forcing himself to toss his own towel on the floor. 


"Oh, yeah, I'm fine.  So are you."  

Jim just smiled at that, flopping an arm around Blair as they went into the
bedroom to find clean boxers.  Jim pulled out a pair of midnight blue silk ones
and tossed them to Blair.

"These aren't mine," Blair said, frowning.

"They are now," Jim said simply, pulling out a black silk pair for himself and
sliding into them.

"These are really nice."  Blair pulled his on and enjoyed the soft, supple feel of the
silk against his skin.  "Thanks."

"My motives weren't totally unselfish," he quipped, copping a quick feel as he
passed Blair to go into the main room.  "You bring any CD's with you?"

"A couple."

"There's a CD player here.  You want to get us set up with some music, and
maybe we'll relax out on the lanai a little, enjoy the moonlight?"

"Sounds great."  Blair went to his bag and found the CD's he'd packed, smiling as
he looked at the one he planned to put in the player.  There was a song on it that
said a lot of things he wanted to say to Jim, and this seemed like the perfect time.  

When he returned to the other room, the doors to the lanai were open, and Jim
was standing out on th balcony, enjoying the view and smelling the sweet, fresh,
mild night air.  He loaded the CD in the player and then joined Jim on the
balcony, reaching out to him and being received gladly into eager arms.  They
swayed together to the first strains of music.  

"I was looking for something that would kind of tell you how I felt," Blair said,
smiling and resting his head on Jim's shoulder.

//Here we are again
I guess it must be fate
We've tried it on our own
But deep inside we've known
We'd be back to set things straight//

Jim tightened his arms around Blair.  The words hit almost too close to home,
reminding him of a time he never wanted to remember again.  And yet, it was
strangely true of their relationship.  Deep inside, they both had to know they
would never spend a lifetime without each other.

//I still remember when
Your kiss was so brand new
Every memory repeats
Every step I take retreats
Every journey always brings me back to you//

Blair closed his eyes, only a little flare of pain at the thought of the journey that
had led them to where they were now.  The monster that had lurked in his
nightmares, waiting for him to drift off to sleep to pounce on him in an unguarded
moment, had been slain.  Somehow, Jim had broken an impossible barrier
between dreams and reality, and protected him.  Saved him.  Most importantly,
loved him.  Every journey, even into the realm of dreams, led back to Jim.  That
thought held no pain, only joy.

//After all the stops and starts
We keep coming back to these two hearts
Two angels who've been rescued from the fall
After all that we've been through
It all comes down to me and you
I guess it's meant to be
Forever you and me
After all//

After all, indeed.  Jim smiled as he rested his cheek against soft curls.  They'd
passed through hell to get here, to win this reward.  Everything had been against
them.  By right, Blair should have never survived to be here, in his arms, alive and
healthy.  And even if he survived, he should have never been the whole, healthy,
incredible man he was.  He'd been so close to death, and so broken...and somehow
he'd drawn on Jim's strength, and an impressive reserve of his own strength, to
come back.  To be Jim's life partner, his lover, his best friend...his everything.

//When love is truly right
It lives from year to year
It changes as it goes
Oh, and on the way it grows
But it never disappears//

There was nothing even remotely bad about getting comfortable with each other. 
Blair had once believed that when the newness wore off, a relationship would be
stale, boring, predictable.  But true love was predictable in all the right ways,
boring in the ways that made you feel tranquil and at peace with yourself and your
life, and never stale.  Loving Jim could never be stale if they lived for centuries. 
He hoped on some plane they would, and they'd find each other throughout
eternity.  Because this kind of love never disappears, and it never should.

//Always just beyond my touch
Though I needed you so much
After all what else is living for?//

Blair felt tears burn behind his eyelids at these words, and he clung to Jim more
fiercely.  He'd always needed Jim, but for those awful months, he'd been beyond
Blair's touch, and there hadn't seemed much point in living.  

//After all the stops and starts
We keep coming back to these two hearts
Two angels who've been rescued from the fall
After all that we've been through
It all comes down to me and you
I guess it's meant to be
Forever you and me
After all//

As if he'd read Blair's mind, Jim's hand rubbed up and down his back in long,
soothing strokes.

"These two hearts are together forever, sweetheart," he whispered in Blair's ear,
kissing it and hugging him tightly.  The momentary threat of tears vanquished,
Blair smiled and sighed in complete contentment.  

After all, his life was perfect.

********

THE END