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> The song lyrics are not mine, 
either. "Reservations for Two" was performed by Dion*e Warw*ck and "After
 All" was performed by Ch*r and Peter C*tera.
     
 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. ;-)   

 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.

********