Title: Shadows of the Past 
Author/pseudonym: Candy Apple 
Rating: MAO
Pairings: J/B

Status: NEW, complete
Date: 2-5-98 
Series/Sequel: Sequel to "After All"

Disclaimers: Pet Fly and UPN own the guys and The Sentinel.  No
money being made.  No infringement intended.

Notes: If you haven't read "After All", I would strongly recommend
reading it before you read this one.  There's a lot of background in that
story that is necessary for a lot of this one to make sense!  "After All" is
also available on my web page.

Thank you to Emily Brunson and Virginia Call, my delightful beta-readers!

Song Lyrics, like the guys, are borrowed and not mine. :-)  

Summary: Jim and Blair buy a house together which seems too good to
be true.  As Blair wrestles the ghosts of his past with Vince Watson,
both men find themselves faced with ghosts of other kinds.

Warnings: Contains violence, references to past rape/abuse, h/c and
considerable supernatural content which may be disturbing to readers
who find such topics unsettling.  There is also a death story involved in
the plot, but it only affects *original characters*--*none* of the series
characters.  And I'm including the obligatory love
name/romance/smarm alert. :-)


SHADOWS OF THE PAST

by
 
Candy Apple


     Blair added his final comments to the last of a pile of essay
exams and tossed it on the stack with a sigh.  Pulling off his glasses, he
rubbed the bridge of his nose and yawned.  It was only ten in the
morning, but he already felt like he'd been through a full day.  Of
course, if you counted being up until four the previous morning and
returning to teach a class at eight, he had been.  With Jim out on an all-night stakeout, and Blair
seriously behind in getting a stack of term
papers graded, the young professor had lost track of time and hadn't
moved from his spot on the couch until Jim came in at four.

     He smiled thinking back on how Jim had insisted he get a few
hours sleep, after lovingly massaging the knots out of Blair's neck and
back.  Extricating himself from those big warm arms at seven had been
nothing short of torture.  

     Mid-terms were over now, and he had the final set of grades in
his grade book and on the sheet he'd post on the door for the students to
check by their social security numbers.  He'd made notes on which
students he would make an effort to work with in the coming weeks. 
There were a few who showed promise but just needed a little push. 
Blair realized that by college, it wasn't really his duty to spoon-feed the
students, but there was a part of him that just couldn't resist that one
little extra effort that sometimes resulted in a borderline student
passing the class.

     He scanned the book and noted with some trepidation that there
were three students on a fast track to failing.  Two of them were on the
football team.  One of those was a star player.  Blair slumped in his
chair wearily, realizing the inevitable blow-off he'd get when he talked
to the students, and the hassles he'd face when he turned in a failing
grade for them at the end of the semester.  He knew he had lost a lot of
his ability to deal well with confrontations and their attendant
unpleasantness since his relationship with Vince.  Jim had somehow
learned to peacefully coexist with Blair without engaging him in
yelling matches or snapping at him or slamming things around, even
when he was angry.  There was still a part of Blair that froze up in
those situations, a conditioned fear response that he didn't seem able to
totally control.  Yet.  

     Reviewing the past nine months since Jim had shown up at
Watson's door and rescued Blair, who was then in a critically injured
state, Blair had to give himself credit for bouncing back pretty well. 
He was able to have a normal sexual relationship with Jim, even if
there were a few positions and activities that still made him nervous, he
was back to work and now an assistant professor.  His dissertation was
nearly finished and would be defended in May.  The nightmares were
infrequent to almost nonexistent now.

     Jim deserved a lot of credit for Blair's recovery.  There weren't
too many people who could have put the pieces back together with as
much love and patience as Jim had.  Blair fingered the small pendant
around his neck, his half of their coin.  The shattered, underweight,
badly injured ghost of Blair that Jim rescued had required a great deal
of love and a lot of hard work.  Jim had been able to view that gaunt,
terrified creature who screamed half the night with nightmares, needed
help for almost every personal need and even ended up wetting the bed
a time or two, with all the love in the world.    He met outbursts with
love and tolerance, and when he had to, he'd destroyed the videotapes
that would have humiliated Blair beyond description in a trial, and laid
a trap for Watson that had ultimately led to the monster's death.

     That wasn't even mentioning the fact that Jim had stood by
Blair very publicly, even being willing to admit the nature of their
relationship to his colleagues and friends.  They'd lost a few "friends"
over it, but the ones that mattered handled it just fine.

     The ringing phone startled Blair out of his thoughts.  He
grabbed it on the second ring.

     "Blair Sandburg," he said, a bit deadpan.  He was in no mood to
be wheedled for an early verdict on exam grades.

     "Um, yeah, I want to sign up for your independent study course
in advanced sex education," a slightly hushed male voice responded. 
With a little smile, Blair replied.

     "That requires a private interview to determine if you have the
prerequisites."  He waited for the response.

     "What if I give the professor a bath and then tongue-fuck him
'til he passes out?"

     "That's generally good for an A," Blair replied, laughing and
blushing a little.

     "Hey, I found another house for us to look at, sweetheart," Jim
said in his normal tone.  "Sounds pretty good.  It's just outside town,
with a couple acres of land around it, partially wooded.  It's an old
place, built in the 1880's."

     "Sounds great.  You want to set up a time to look or drive by it
first?"

     "Could you slip out for lunch?  We could grab a burger and take
a ride out there."

     "I'm done grading mid-terms, so after I tape the grades on the
door, I'm free."

     "Pick you up around noon?"

     "Cool.  Pick me up at the bookstore, huh?"

     "Sure thing, baby.  See you then."  The connection was broken,
and Blair finally hung up the phone, grinning like an idiot.  A lunch
invitation that started with an obscene phone call usually meant burgers
and then making out in the truck before they went their separate ways
again.  With a decided bounce in his step, Blair taped his grades to the
door, grabbed his coat and backpack and headed for the bookstore.

********

     Jim bolted for the elevator the moment the clock struck eleven-fifty.  It didn't seem to matter
how long he was with Blair.  He never
reached the point where he didn't hate leaving him and wait like a
lovesick teenager to see him again.  Hopefully, if Blair wasn't busy, he
could drag him back to headquarters for the balance of the day.  There
was nothing there but paperwork at the moment, but it would be nice to
do it sharing cramped desk quarters with Blair.

     Passing Vine Court on his way to Rainier, Jim shuddered.  He
remembered only too well turning at that corner and going to the four-unit house where Blair
was living with a man who was brutally abusing
him.  It still mystified Jim how anyone could intentionally hurt Blair, or
derive any pleasure from inflicting pain on him.  Blair's gentleness and
thoughtfulness seemed to make the scenario even more absurd in his
mind.  Watson was simply a sadist.  That was the only explanation. 
And Blair, with his gentle nature and forgiving heart, was a perfect
target.

     There were scars that still refused to fade, Jim concluded as he
headed toward the campus.  Sure, there was the small pink scar from
the surgery to remove Blair's ruptured spleen, and there were one or
two scars on Blair's back from Watson's whip that only Jim or a
microscope could find...tiny lines left from a couple of severe welts
that broke the skin.  But those weren't the scars that bothered Jim.  It
was Blair's inability to argue and his avoidance of confrontations that
bothered Jim.  Jim had never flown off the handle at Blair again once
he saw that the younger man simply stood there and took it, almost
physically shrinking back from Jim as if he were preparing for a
beating, or at least a couple of well-placed smacks.  Watson had
effectively trained Blair to be submissive, and completely broken him
of his inclination to voice a disagreement.  Blair did all but respond to
being yelled at with a "yes, sir".  A far cry from the Blair that Jim had
first met.

     But maybe nine months was too short a time to expect miracles. 
Blair was healthy and physically comfortable, doing very well
professionally, and functioning *extremely* well sexually.  All of that
was a lot of progress for someone who had been alternately beaten,
raped and tortured by a sadistic lover over a period of six hellish
months.

     The object of Jim's affections came bouncing out of the
bookstore, toting his backpack and a large plastic bag. //Oh, great.  
Sandburg and his credit card and ninety minutes unsupervised in a
bookstore...// 

     "Hey, Jim!"  Blair tossed his books in the truck and climbed in,
leaning over with a big, sloppy kiss that totally disarmed Jim from
questioning which credit card had been graced with these latest
acquisitions.

     "Bookstore get your stuff in?"  Jim asked, pulling away from
the curb and driving along the quiet street leading out of the campus.  

     "All but one.  Man, I'm telling you, Elise can track *anything*
on that computer of hers.  She's incredible!  I've been looking for this
book for *ages* with no luck," he concluded happily, pulling a hefty
soft cover book out of the bag and thumbing through it.

     "Elise, huh?"  Jim asked, trying to sound casual.  There was a
part of him that always froze a little when Blair met another attractive
young woman--not that Blair was anything but totally faithful.

     "She's a nineteen-year-old freshman, Jim.  She's in one of my
classes, and she's a student employee at the bookstore."

     "Guess I'm not being real subtle here, huh?"  Jim asked,
smiling.

     "As a freight train, man."  Blair laughed a little.  "It doesn't
matter if she's a 26-year-old Ph.D. with watermelon breasts, you know
that."

     "You can be pretty gross sometimes, you know that?"

     "Is that a bad thing?"  Blair retorted, rifling through his bag
again.

     "Smart ass."  Jim snorted a little laugh.

     "So you think this house looks like a good deal?"

     "Well, it's been vacant a while, and it needs a little fixing up. 
According to the realtor, it's mostly painting and decorating--she said
the structure is sound, the wiring and furnace have been updated--well,
within the last twenty years, anyway.  The property sounds nice."

     "Sounds promising."  Blair nodded and then fell silent to watch
the passing scenery.

     "Anything wrong, Chief?"

     "I've got two jocks flunking my Anthro 100."

     "Have you talked to them yet?"

     "I have to do that after Spring Break."  Blair sighed and shook
his head.  "Not that it'll do any good.  They won't listen, and when I
flunk them, I'll have the whole fucking bureaucracy on my back
because one of them was the team's MVP last season."

     "You have to do what you have to do.  If they can't measure up,
that's their problem."

     "Yeah, well, try telling that to some guy who's got a foot and a
hundred pounds on you."

     "You want me to be around when you talk to them?  That's not
a problem."

     "I have to make them take *me* seriously.  If I have a
bodyguard with me when I talk to them, I can kiss that goodbye."

     "I don't have to be in the room to monitor the situation.  You
know that."

     "I know."

     "You let me know when this happens, Blair.  I'll hang around
nearby, and I won't interfere unless you use a signal word or phrase we
agree on, okay?"  Blair was silent, staring out the window.  "Agreed?" 
Jim persisted.

     "Agreed."  Blair sighed again.  "When am I gonna be okay with
this, Jim?"

     "With what, sweetheart?"

     "Confrontations.  Shit, just running into a guy that's a lot bigger
than I am gives me the willies.  I can't hide behind you the rest of my
life."

     "No, just for the rest of mine."

     "I'm serious, Jim."

     "I know.  I'm not joking about it, baby.  Really, I'm not.  I
understand what you're saying, but healing takes time.  You're doing
great."  Jim shrugged.  "Besides, when it comes to dealing with
disgruntled students, it isn't dumb to have a little back up.  There are so
damn many nuts out there now that people can get their heads blown
off for stealing a parking spot, let alone flunking somebody.  If the
situation were reversed, I'd want you to hang around and be my back
up.  That doesn't make you weak--it makes you prepared."

     "I guess you're right.  But that doesn't explain why it scares the
hell out of me when I have to ride in an elevator with a member of the
wrestling team.  I mean, it's just...I don't know.  I know Vince is dead,
and it's over... I-I just can't get past that fear."

     "I'm bigger than you are and you trust me."

     "That's way different, Jim.  Not only do I love you, but you
rescued me--not once, but twice.  How could I not trust you with my
life?"

     "The rest'll get better, Chief.  Just hang in there.  It's going to
take a little time."  Jim started paying sharper attention to his
surroundings.  "There it is," he announced, pointing to the sign and
pulling off the road into a weather-beaten driveway that was at least
four hundred feet long.  Set against a backdrop of still-barren trees was
a large, white, two-storey brick house with arched windows and a pair
of tall, narrow double doors.  

     "The exterior looks great," Blair commented as they drove back
in for a closer look.  "I stand corrected.  Needs paint."

     "Yeah, I pretty much expected that from what the realtor said. 
It's got character, I'll say that for it," Jim said of the tall, square house.

     "Nice setting.  You'll need to buy a plow blade for the truck if
we're ever gonna get out of here when it snows."  Blair turned in the
seat to take in the real length of the driveway.  "Wow.  That's a long
one."

     "Wanna get out and take a walk around?  If the yard's halfway
decent, I think we ought to take a look at it."

     "Okay."  

     Both men got out of the truck and strolled around the perimeter
of the house, thwarted in their attempts to peer in the first floor
windows by tightly drawn drapes.

     "Must've been a hell of a garden out here at one time," Jim
stated, walking across the weedy ground to the edge of a mass of dried,
tangled plants that surrounded a gazebo.

     "We could put a deck where that old back porch is," Blair
suggested, thrusting his hands down in his pockets to keep warm.

     "Think we could do something with this mess out here?"

     "We?  Don't you mean me?"  Blair grinned.  "How about a
vegetable and herb garden on one side and roses on the other?"

     "What do you know about roses, Chief?"

     "Uh, nothing.  But Mrs. Halstead does.  She could get me
started, and I can study up on it.  A house like this--with that gazebo
and everything--just seems like it oughtta have a rose garden."

     "That would look good out here.  What would you think of a
pool right over there?"  Jim pointed to a clear spot of ground to the left
of the garden area.

     "Inground?  Whoa, that would be great!"

     "If it means I get to see you running around in wet trunks all
summer, it's worth any price," Jim said, flopping an arm around Blair's
shoulders.

     "Gee, private as this is, we might not need the trunks at all,
man."  Blair's arm came up around Jim's waist as they walked back
toward the truck.  "So when do we get to see it?"

     "Tomorrow's Saturday.  I'll call the realtor this afternoon and set
something up."

     "Okay.  But after that, I wanna spend some quality time alone
with you when I don't have a mountain of crap to grade hanging over
my head."

     "I left a note for Simon asking for a couple days off during your
break.  Hopefully he'll be in a benevolent mood."

     "Um, Jim, you know, this would be a good spot..."  Blair raised
an eyebrow as they got back in the truck.

     "Are you hungry?"

     "Ravenous," Blair responded in a decidedly sultry tone.

     "I meant for food."  Jim laughed a little.

     "I can eat at home and you can eat something at your desk."

     "Sounds great.  I love groping a professor."

     Jim turned up the heater in the truck as clothing was opened
and pushed aside, exposing warm flesh to hungry lips and hands.  The
two men wrestled passionately, finally managing to get a portion of
their bodies flesh-on-flesh, humping frantically until the friction
overwhelmed them and Jim came with a hoarse shout, closely followed
by Blair's outcry of his name and spurting of his completion.

     "You get me so hot, baby," Jim breathed into Blair's ear, kissing
and nipping at the lobe.

     "Me too--I mean you too," Blair panted.  "You know what I
mean," he finished, laughing a little weakly.

     "Love you, sweetheart," Jim cuddled his lover close a moment,
then pulled back a little to look at Blair, his heart turning to jelly at the
sight of the flushed face framed by hair that had let loose from the
pony tail, glasses still miraculously in place.  

     "Love you too, lover.  Felt real good to get close to you right
now."  Blair pulled Jim more tightly into his arms.

     "You okay, baby?"

     "Just having a shaky day.  I don't know why."

     "How about coming in to work with me, huh?  I'd love to have
you around, and you wouldn't have to kick around the loft alone all
day."  Jim felt the arms tighten around him.

     "Sounds perfect."

     "Just like you."  Jim smiled and kissed the end of Blair's nose.

********

     "How was lunch?"   Simon asked, glancing at the clock that
indicated Jim had been gone for an hour and a half.  "On second
thought, don't answer that," he added, noticing that Blair had turned
about four progressive stages of red at the question.  "Guess you really
*do* need Monday and Tuesday off, huh?"  he concluded with a laugh,
tossing Jim's signed vacation request form on his desk.  "Enjoy."

     "Thanks, Simon," Jim called after him.

     "Four day weekend?  All right!"  Blair enthused quietly.

     "Just you and me and no deadlines."  Jim smiled as he pulled
out a stack of folders.  "Of course, that means I have to get caught up
today..."

     "Okay.  Give me your notes," Blair said with mock irritation
and a rolling of the eyes.  He traded chairs with Jim to sit at the
computer and start tapping out the written reports while Jim made
some phone calls, filled out a few forms and generally cleaned up his
desk.

     Returning to the loft by six that evening, carrying Chinese take-outs, Jim headed upstairs to
change while Blair sorted through the mail
before dishing up the food.  

     Jim became immediately aware of the surge in Blair's pulse and
respiration, and hastily pulling a sweatshirt over his head, hurried
downstairs to see what was wrong.  

     Blair was standing in the middle of the living room floor,
shaking like a leaf, holding what looked like a magazine or catalog, the
manilla envelope in which it had been mailed lying at Blair's feet.

     "Blair?  What is it?"  Jim asked gently as he approached him. 
As soon as he looked over Blair's shoulder, he understood his partner's
reaction.  Blair was holding a catalog of S&M toys, most likely the one
Watson had forced him to order from on several occasions.  "Come on,
baby, you don't need this trash anymore," Jim reached over and tried to
pull it out of Blair's hands, but the grip was firm. 

     "Vince...d-did th-this t-to me," he stammered, still staring at the
cover.  Jim turned his attention momentarily back to the catalog.  A
woman was bound in a horrible-looking contraption of chains and
belts, gagged with a type of muzzle Jim recognized from a few of the
raids he'd been on in Vice.  

     "Do you want to tell me about it, sweetheart?"  Jim asked softly,
no longer trying to pry the catalog out of Blair's grasp.

     "I th-thought I w-was over this," Blair gasped in a strained
voice.

     "Come and sit on the couch with me, okay?  We'll talk."  He led
Blair to the couch and settled him there, sitting next to him and sliding
his arm around the smaller man's shoulders.

     "S-sometimes, I...I'm so...ashamed of this."  A lone tear started
to roll down Blair's cheek.  "I didn't want...you to know...what I...let
him...do to me."

     "You didn't *let* him do anything, sweetheart.  We've talked
about this before," Jim said gently, brushing the tear away.

     "Sometimes I didn't fight him...sometimes, I-I let him..."  Blair
shuddered and then began to cry in earnest.  "I'm sorry."

     "Come here, baby.  It's okay."  Jim finally got the catalog out of
Blair's hands and pulled the smaller body into his arms.  "If you fought,
he only got meaner, rougher.  You didn't have any choices.  Besides, he
liked it better when you fought him.  Those times you didn't give him
the thrill of that struggle was a way of thwarting him from enjoying
himself as much as he could have."

     "You really...think that?"

     "Yes, I really do, sweetheart."  Jim squeezed his lover more
tightly to him.  

     "There's something...else.  You...deserve to...know," Blair
managed through his tears.  "B-but it's...so bad that you...aren't going to
w-want me...anymore."  Blair's arms tightened around Jim.

     "You listen to me, Chief.  Nothing you could tell me could
make me stop loving you or wanting you.  You'll always be my little
guppy, no matter what.  Got it?"

     "Th-this is...d-different."

     "Nothing Watson did to you makes you guilty of anything,
baby.  Nothing at all."

     "Sometimes, when he...did things to me...I-I came."  The
statement was followed by a cloudburst of wracking sobs.  Jim held his
sobbing lover close and stroked his hair gently, starting a slow rocking
motion.  Blair hadn't mentioned this particular concern before, and Jim
had just assumed that there were probably times that Blair's body did
respond even when no other part of him wanted to.  "I must've...liked
it...he was right...I...wanted it."  Jim closed his eyes against the pain in
those words, resting his head against the top of Blair's.  Knowing the
hyperactive brain under all those soft curls wouldn't accept a simple
cuddle and a few reassurances, Jim struggled to put a logical
explanation into words.

     "When you were with Vince, did you...jerk off much?"  Jim
hated to be so blunt, but he didn't know how else to get from point A to
point B.  Blair just shook his head.

     "I didn't feel good most of the time.  Sometimes I really...hurt
down there.  I didn't want to."

     "See, the trouble is, Chief, the human body is just a big bundle
of nerve endings and biological responses.  Yours wasn't getting its
sexual release anywhere else, so even when everything spiritual about
you--your mind, heart, soul, whatever--screamed out against what was
going on, your body just did what it had to do to survive.  I've seen a lot
of case reports on rape cases where the victim orgasms.  It has nothing
to do with enjoying it.  It's just a physical thing.  Aw, sweetheart, please
don't feel so bad.  You couldn't help it.  And Watson was an asshole.  I
want you to forget anything he ever told you."

     "You don't think...I'm...disgusting...for...you know..."

     "Look at me."  Jim struggled to get Blair out of the nest of his
arms and took the flushed, tear streaked face in both hands.  "He forced
you.  And sometimes even when your mind and spirit still fought him,
your body was just...overloaded.  That doesn't make you bad or dirty or
disgusting.  It just makes you human."

     "But...sometimes...I feel so...wimpy...that he could...make
me...so maybe...I did want it...on some level..."

     "Blair, Watson was a little larger than I am and spent his high
school, college and professional life wrestling--in other words, his
whole career was about finding the right moves and holds to overpower
and subdue other men who were his equal in size and training.  Do you
think I'm weak?"

     "What?  No!"  Blair responded defensively.

     "I'm going to be honest with you, Chief.  I don't have any idea
how a hand to hand combat encounter between Watson and me would
have turned out."  Jim paused.  "When he got to me in the alley, it was
because I was so focused on the loft and the entrances to the building
that I didn't hear him coming, so he got the drop on me.  But if it had
been a fair fight...I mean,  I have training to deal with those situations,
and I'd be more of a match for him in height and weight and
musculature, but I'm not a professional wrestler.  There's no telling he
couldn't have subdued me after a hell of a fight."
     
     "Scares me how close you came...because of me."

     "Because of *Watson*, baby.  You didn't stab me.  He did. 
Look,  I've seen you in tight spots, when the odds were reasonable. 
You can hold your own just fine.  That's why boxing and wrestling try
to match up guys who are at least somewhere in the same category for
weight and strength.  Otherwise, there'd be no fight.  Just one bigger
guy pummeling one smaller guy.  Put the smaller guy up against
someone his own size or even a little bigger, and he can come out fine. 
Stack the deck against him, and he's done for.  Even if the 'smaller guy'
is 6'4" and weighs 275 pounds of pure muscle."

     "You think I do okay in tight spots?"  Blair asked, the first
question that came out in something close to his normal voice.  Jim
smiled and stroked a wet cheek.

     "You do just fine, Blair.  You've got good strength in your arms
and legs, and you know how to use your wits in a fight.  You aren't a
weakling, Chief.  But the reality of life is that if you put someone up
against an opponent who's way too large, and has professional training,
there's no way that person can win.  That would go for me, or for
Simon, or for Watson himself.  Someone else's strength *isn't* your
weakness."

     "I never thought of it that way, I guess."

     "Then it's time you started."  Jim leaned forward and kissed
Blair's forehead.  "So, do I get a Blair-hug now?"  Jim watched, smiling
as Blair chuckled a little, then threw himself at Jim, arms going tightly
around the larger man's neck.  "You're doing just great, Chief.  It just
takes some time to get over.  Nobody's ever going to hurt you that way
again."  Jim rubbed up and down Blair's back in long, soothing strokes.
"Next thing we're going to do is call the company that puts out that
damned catalog and tell them to take you off their mailing list."

     "You don't have any idea how...humiliated I was ordering from
them.  My name...I had to give my name and use my credit card.  It was
like...in a way...it was like getting raped."

     "Okay.  Let's fix it."  Jim pulled away a bit, still keeping his arm
around Blair, who settled against his side while Jim picked up the
cordless phone on the coffee table.  "Read me their 800-number."  Blair
did as instructed, then tossed the catalog aside as if it were on fire.  He
absorbed the warmth of Jim's body and allowed the steady thump of the
other man's heart beneath his head to keep him calm.

     "I'm calling to get a name off your mailing list," Jim began, then
waited.  "Blair Sandburg."  Jim waited again, then nodded a little. 
"Yes, I'm aware orders have been placed in that name.  However, they
weren't placed with Mr. Sandburg's consent."  Jim waited again, rolling
his eyes a bit as Blair watched him intently.  He was flabbergasted by
this normally honest man's fluid lying ability.  "Look, I'm not contesting
the charges."   Jim paused again.  "This is Detective James Ellison of
the Cascade Police Department.  Now if this is going to be a problem,
we can just as easily turn this into a police matter.  And of course, that's
going to put your company under a lot of tight scrutiny, so I would
advise having all your records in order.  You know, your age
verifications for all your customers, the security measures you normally
take to prevent credit card fraud, that kind of thing."   Jim waited,
smiling slightly.  "Mr. Sandburg wants his name removed from your
records.  If the file can't be permanently removed from your
computerized records, then a note needs to be made there that the
charges were not made with Mr. Sandburg's consent, but that the matter
should be considered closed."  Jim smiled down at Blair's inquiring
expression, and squeezed his shoulders.  "Be sure his name is off the
mailing list.  If he receives any further communications from your
company, it will be considered harassment.  Is that clear?"  Jim nodded,
then a slight smile curved his mouth.  "Thank you very much for your
help."  He broke the connection and laid the phone aside.  "There."

     "Man, and you think *I'm* a master at obfuscation."  Blair
laughed a little and happily snuggled into the two-armed hug he was
getting now that the phone had been discarded.

     "The charges *were* made without your consent.  I just had to
throw the fear of God into them a little to make sure they fixed the
records.  So now, officially, your name is clear, even in their records."

     "I know it shouldn't matter so much--I mean, it's not like those
people know me or anything.  It just...*does* matter.  Thanks, Jim." 
Blair buried his face against Jim's shoulder and held on tightly.

     "You know what I'd like in return for that?"

     "What?"  Blair looked up, a little surprised.

     "A big smile.  One of those 10,000-watt, Sandburg-specials." 
He felt Blair chuckle a little, then raise his head to look up at Jim,
happily complying with the request.  "We're even."   Jim kissed the end
of Blair's nose.  "I'd walk across burning coals for one of those."

     "Man, and with your sense of touch, that's really saying
something!"

     "You do have a real smart mouth on you, don't you?"  Jim
kissed the full lips this time, lingering there a moment.  

     "I feel a lot better," Blair said quietly.  "About lots of things."

     "Good.  You've got nothing to feel badly about, baby.  Nothing
at all."  Jim pulled his lover back into his arms and just sat there a
while, holding Blair and listening to the younger man's heart rate and
breathing even out to a relaxed state.  Then Blair's stomach growled.

     "Maybe we oughtta stick the take out in the microwave, huh?" 
Blair asked, grinning against Jim's chest.  He felt a gentle hand tangle
in his hair and rub his scalp slowly.

     "We can have dinner and maybe watch some TV, huh?  Can
you take a night off?"  Jim was referring to the dissertation, which kept
Blair tapping away at the computer long into the night on many
occasions.

     "Yeah.  I thought I'd take our weekend off.  Then I can work
like a maniac Wednesday through Sunday."

     "Wednesday through Saturday.  I have Easter Sunday off,
remember?"

     "Oh yeah, I do now."  Blair smiled, sighing contentedly.

     "Why do you think today was such a rough day, baby?  Was it
flunking those jocks?"

     "They haven't flunked yet, but they will.  I guess I realized that I
was afraid of the confrontation, and I just kept thinking more and more
about *why* I was afraid--what had happened to make me that way. 
And then I saw the catalog and I just lost it.  I really appreciate you
calling them, man.  I feel like the last tie is finally cut now."

     "Don't mention it.  Now let's go heat up some dinner, pop a
movie in the VCR, and relax, huh?"

     The evening passed pleasantly, watching an old movie with
dinner, then sitting snuggled together on the couch through a series of
sitcoms and a couple newsmagazine programs.  By ten, they showered
together and retired to bed, where each of them sat propped up to read
a while.  Jim was in the middle of a collection of Voltaire's stories
while Blair was intently reading the latest copy of "National
Geographic".

     As the adventures of the story in front of him was holding less
and less of his attention, Jim reflected on what a comfortable "married
couple" he and Blair had become.  They still might make out like
teenagers in Jim's truck, or they might shower together without having
sex or share a king-sized bed in their underwear and spend the time
reading.  

     Jim also recognized that it was important for Blair to have some
quiet time together that wasn't about sex.  Not that Jim didn't want that
too, but Blair had been deprived of all his choices and autonomy with
Watson.  The relationship had been void of warmth or friendship or
emotional nurturing of any kind.  These moments of asexual closeness
and camaraderie were as vital in Blair's recovery as the cultivation of a
healthy, normal, consensual sex life.  Plus, there were plenty of times
after a long day of work that just spending a lot of time close to Blair
with no other big expectations attached suited Jim just fine.

     "You look zoned, lover," Blair said with a little smile.  He didn't
really think Jim was zoned out, but he also knew him well enough to
know he wasn't reading anymore.

     "Guess my eyes are just tired," Jim responded, smiling.

     "Which one are you reading?"  Blair scooted over to look over
Jim's shoulder.  "I love 'Candide'," Blair commented when he saw the
title.  "Want me to read to you a while?"

     "Sounds great," Jim responded, sliding down against his pillows
and handing the book to Blair.  "In case I doze off--"

     "*In case*?"  Blair slid his glasses partway down his nose and
looked over them at Jim.  

     "Okay, since I *will* doze off.  Goodnight, sweetheart.  Love
you," he said, pulling Blair down for a prolonged kiss.  

     "Love you too,"   Blair said as he rose again, smiling.  "Now,
where were you?"

     "Right...there."  Jim pointed to the start of the last paragraph he
vaguely remembered seeing.  Soon, the soothing tones of Blair's voice
were surrounding him, lulling him into sleep.  

     Jim's last coherent thought was that it still left him
dumbfounded that anyone could want to hurt someone as magically
beautiful and wonderful as his Blair.

********

     Bright sunshine was a rare thing in Cascade in mid-March, and
both men considered themselves fortunate to have been graced with it
on that brisk Saturday morning.  They took another look around the
outside of the house, waiting for the realtor to arrive.

     By ten o'clock sharp, a late-model black Cadillac Seville pulled
into the long drive, and came to a stop behind the truck.  Jim and Blair
heard the motor from where they stood discussing plans for the pool,
and made their way around the front of the house.

     "Mr. Ellison?"  The agent was dressed in slacks and a wool
tweed blazer over a turtleneck, and wore comfortable shoes for hiking
around the property with her clients.  A woman in her mid-forties, she
was an attractive blonde with a pleasant smile.

     "That's me," Jim responded, reaching out to shake her offered
hand.  "This is my partner, Blair Sandburg," he introduced, and the
other two shook hands.  He had come to use the word "partner" for
Blair in every setting.  It seemed most appropriate.

     "Nice to meet you both.  I'm Lauren Quinlan," she responded,
then led the way toward the front door.  "Nice setting, don't you think?"

     "It's got possibilities," Jim replied, keeping his poker face
intact.  Blair followed the cue and stifled his inclination to rave about
how gorgeous all these trees would look as they burst into life in the
spring.

     She mounted the four steps to the porch that stretched across
the front of the house and approached the tall, narrow doors.  Lace
curtains covered the long windows that ended just above the knobs. 
She worked with the old lock a few moments before it relented and she
was able to open the door.  

     "The staircase is fairly spectacular, I think you'll agree," she
noted, flipping on a light switch that illuminated an impressive crystal
chandelier which hung near an open staircase.  The large structure was
solid oak, and made a single turn with a landing, before rising to the
upstairs hall, part of which was visible from the foot of the stairs. 
"Fortunately, the previous owners didn't feel the need to add paint--I've
always liked original woodwork myself."

     "Me too.  Painting it--man, it's like covering up something
historic," Blair responded, moving closer to the stairway.

     "The living room is right this way, through the French doors."

     "I didn't realize the house was still occupied," Jim said, noticing
the furniture still in place.

     "The owner is selling it furnished.  It's been vacant a while. 
Apparently their new home is a completely different style, and these
furnishings weren't appropriate."

     "Is the whole house furnished?"

     "For the most part.  A couple of the bedrooms upstairs aren't." 
She moved to the long windows and pulled heavy velvet drapes back to
hook them behind ornate brass hardware on the wall.

     "You said the house needed some work...?"  Jim probed.  So
far, it was picture perfect.

     "The upstairs needs some refurbishing.  The downstairs is in
wonderful condition--most of the carpeting and window trimmings
have been added within the last six months."

     "How long were the last owners in the house?"  Blair asked,
beginning to sense that they hadn't been there long.

     "Actually, only about eight months.  I understand Mr. Sherman-one of the owners-had a job
offer out of state."

     "You've got a sheet with room sizes somewhere?"  Jim asked.

     "Right here," she responded, producing two copies from the
manilla folder she was carrying.

     "So there's one bedroom down and three up, right?"  Jim
assessed.

     "Yes.  And of course, there's the study on the first floor.  It's a
charming room.  Right this way."  She led them back through the living
room and past the stairs to a oak panel door which she opened and
stood aside.  Blair wandered in first, mesmerized by the full wall of
rich oak shelves, the fireplace, the wingback chairs and the large
antique desk that held court over the whole room.

     "How could they leave this desk?"  Blair asked genuinely,
running his hand reverently along the edge of it.

     "It was too large and heavy for their new house, and they *did*
have to move rather quickly."

     "What do you think, Professor?"  Jim asked, moving over to
where Blair stood, resting a hand between his shoulders.  Blair just
looked up at him with pure, undistilled delight.  Jim knew he'd been
had.  His only hope was that the real estate agent might not be
perceptive enough to see that the larger man was wrapped firmly
around the smaller man's little finger.  "This would make a decent
home office, huh?"

     "You mean--I mean...you...if we moved in here...I could have
this room just for that?"

     "From the looks of the listing of rooms here, we've got a living
room and four bedrooms.  I think we can spare the 'study' to be used the
way it's intended."  Jim started to smile a little as Blair's eyes turned
into saucers.  Jim was a little surprised when Blair threw his arms
around the larger man's neck and squeezed tightly.

     "I love it!  Thank you!"  

     Jim just laughed and hugged back.  They'd be buying the house
together, using both their incomes, but Blair was still grateful that Jim
was willing to hand over this room with all its shelves and fireplace
and character to be Blair's personal space.  And there were times, after
his experiences with Vince, that he was just plain stunned at being
pampered and generally spoiled rotten, which Jim had a definite habit
of doing.

     "Well, I guess we ought to see the rest of it," Jim said, laughing
a little as Blair stepped back, looking a bit sheepish for the outburst.

     The rest of the tour was fairly uneventful.  The large kitchen
overlooked the back yard, and had been decorated in light shades of
yellow and green.  In this one room, the woodwork had been painted
white, and actually looked nice that way.  The dining room featured a
full set of furniture, all very traditional and in keeping with the house's
decor.  There was a small bedroom at the back of the house, close to a
full bathroom.

     Upstairs, it was apparent that no major repairs were needed. 
Some fresh paint, new carpeting and new window treatments would put
the house in perfect condition.  Jim was marveling more and more at
what they were being offered for the selling price.  Everything inside
him screamed that if it was too good to be true, it was just that. 
Something had to be wrong.  The real estate agent, however, met every
inquiry with copies of inspection reports, information on the dates of
installation for new wiring and the new furnace, and a ready answer
each time the owners' swift departure and motivation to sell the house,
along with most of its furniture, was mentioned.

     And how could he stand to take Blair's study away from him? 
//Shit, if the roof caves in the next week, we'll deal with it,// Jim
concluded.

     "I'll let you two have a few minutes to walk back through and
talk," Lauren offered, smiling as she headed for the living room,
leaving the two men in one of the upstairs bedrooms.

     "Well?"  Jim asked, smiling a little.  Surprisingly, Blair
hesitated a moment before answering. 

     "There's just one thing..."

     "What?"

     "Could we...in the study...could we put a TV or another desk or
something in there?"

     "We can do anything we want with it.  Any special reason?"

     "Yeah.  I don't want to start spending all our evenings apart.  I
mean, at home, I do my work in the same room where you read or
watch TV.   If I use the study, I'm always going to be shut off in it by
myself the way it is now.  Does that sound too stupid?"

     "Not at all."  Jim slid an arm around Blair and kissed his
forehead.  "I can see myself flaked out in one of those wingback chairs
reading.  And we can stick a TV in there.  Plus, just because you put
your stuff in there and use the room doesn't mean you're going to have
one ankle chained to the desk.  You can still bring what you're working
on wherever I am and camp out there.  I don't want to split us up either. 
But there are some hours when I'm at the station that you're working at
home, and that would be a hell of an office for it."

     "I probably sound really ungrateful.  I mean, it's the room with
the most character in the whole house, and I'm still complaining."

     "Blair, if this is going to be our home, we both need to tailor it
to *our* needs."

     "I really like this place."

     "Me too, Chief.  Think we should go for it?"

     "Yeah.  I think it's perfect!"  Blair enthused.  

     Despite the low asking price for the house, Jim thought they
should try a lower offer, just in case.  Shockingly, the offer came back
accepted unconditionally.  It was then that Jim truly started getting
nervous about their dream house.  He knew he'd gone against a nagging
little voice inside him as soon as he'd seen Blair's reaction to the study,
but he honestly couldn't find anything wrong with the place.

     Blair was in a good mood that Wednesday afternoon as the last
of his students filed out of the lecture hall.  The realtor felt it would
take about three weeks for the paperwork to go through and the deal to
close on the house.  If all went well, they would be moving into their
new home by the third or fourth week in April.  A slight frown crossed
his face when he thought of the timing in relation to finals, which
would hit about the same time, but dismissed that thought and decided
to stick with his original good mood.

     "Sandburg.  What the hell is this?"  Mark Borden, one of the
two football players who had flunked his mid-term, tossed the test
paper on the podium, interrupting Blair from making a few notes in the
margin of his lecture notes.  

     "Excuse me?"  Blair's tone was not receptive and his irritation at
the student's rude behavior came through loud and clear.  Normally,
Blair was tolerant, friendly and casual with his students, but behavior
like this in an academic setting was the fastest way to incur all his
"professorly" wrath.

     "Where do you get off?  I deserve better than an 'E' and you
know it, man."

     "First of all," Blair removed his glasses, tucking them in the
pocket of his dark blue shirt, "it's not 'Sandburg' or 'man'.  It's Professor
Sandburg to you, unless I tell you differently.  Secondly, I had to be
creative to find 35 points out of 100 to give you on this...piece of work. 
And where I get off is that the last time I looked, I was doing the
grading in this course, not you."

     "Well, *Professor* Sandburg, you'd be real smart to rethink
your grading curve."

     "Is that a threat?"  Blair challenged, sounding much braver than
he felt when faced with this hulking student.

     "Take it any way you want to.  But I need a C in this class to
stay on the team."

     "That shouldn't be a problem," Blair responded calmly, handing
the irate student his test paper, and gathering his own papers into a neat
stack, laying the textbook on top of them.

     "Glad to hear it," he replied, with great satisfaction.

     "There will be one more small exam and the final before the
end of the semester.  All you have to do is study, show up regularly, 
write two B-quality exams, and complete the extra credit paper, and
you should be all set.  If you're having problems with the material in
the text, or something I'm presenting in class isn't clear, I'll be glad to
work with you individually."

     "Maybe you don't realize who I am.  It sounds like you don't
understand me."

     "Now *you* don't understand *me*.  Your degree is not based
on how many points you scored on the football field this season.  It's
based on how many points you score in the classroom.  And that's my
concern.  Your grade in this class isn't beyond repair.  All you have to
do is a little work.  Now the best I can offer you is individualized help
and I will keep you updated on your average as the semester progresses
so you can do what you need to get that C--or better.  I think you're
capable of more than a C, quite frankly."

     "Good.  Then give me a B.  It'll off-set my Chemistry grade."

     "I don't *give* you a grade.  You earn it."

     "Maybe you didn't hear me, man," Borden said menacingly,
leaning on the sides of the podium and hovering over Blair. 
Unexpectedly, the smaller man raised the stack of notes with the heavy
textbook on top of it and slammed it all down with a resounding boom
on the lectern.

     "And maybe *you* didn't hear *me*!  Now get out of my face
and get the hell out of my classroom!  When you're ready to have this
conversation like a rational adult, you come talk to me.  Until then, you
don't need to bother coming back to class at all!"

     "You can't do that."  The other man responded smugly.

     "Watch me."  Blair met the other pair of eyes with a fiery anger
that seemed to forestall any further discussion of the matter.  

     "You haven't heard the end of this, Sandburg," he grumbled,
heading toward the door.

     "Neither have you," Blair retorted, his tone deceptively calm
and even.  As soon as the student was gone, he collapsed into the desk
chair and ran a shaking hand over his pulled-back hair.  Pulling off his
glasses, he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

     "Nice going, Chief."  The familiar voice startled Blair out his
daze.

     "How long...?"

     "I was going to wait for you in the truck, but I figured it was
pretty late, and this is the last class letting out in this building, so I
decided to come in and wait in the student lounge down the hall. 
Pretty impressive stuff, professor.  You really kicked his ass."  Jim
smiled a little as he leaned against the door frame.

     "Then why can't I stop shaking?"  Blair held out his hands, both
trembling visibly, even from across the room without sentinel eyesight.

     "Because you just took on your first overgrown steroid-junkie
since Watson.  Only this time you won."  Jim moved across the room
and squatted by Blair's chair.  "I'm really proud of you, Blair.  You
didn't back down from him at all."  He took a hold of one shaky hand
and squeezed it.

     "I feel like I'm gonna be sick."

     "No you're not, Chief."  Jim reached his free hand around to
Blair's back and rubbed it in slow, soothing circles.  "Breathe.  Come
on, buddy.  You're the breathing expert here."  Jim smiled.  "You need
a mantra.  Instead of 'I *am*...relaxed', how about 'I *kicked*...his ass'. 
Try it with me now," Jim chuckled as Blair started to shake with
laughter.  "Come on, I'm getting into this meditation stuff and you
laugh at me.  Now, 'I *kicked*...his ass'," Jim recited and Blair chimed
in once before he trailed off with a laugh and stroked Jim's face
quickly.

     "Thanks.  I needed that."

     "See?  Meditation's a wonderful thing."  Jim straightened up
and pulled Blair to his feet by the hand he still held.  "Want me to carry
your books, sweetheart?"  Jim smiled good-naturedly while Blair tidied
the large pile that had to travel back to his office.  "Come on--load it
up," he prodded, holding out one arm.  Blair did as directed, and slid
into his coat.  He was pulled under a large protective arm as they
walked out of the classroom.

     "He's not going to let this go."

     "You might be surprised.  But just in case, I'm going to pick you
up from any of your nighttime activities out here for a while--I mean
I'm going to come in like this and get you.  No use taking dumb
chances."

     "I love you, did I mention that lately?"  Blair looked up at Jim.

     "Not nearly often enough," Jim responded, planting a kiss on
Blair's mouth as they made their way down the deserted hall to the
stairs.  

********

     Jim requested a week's vacation to work on the inside of the
house, and Blair planned to spend as many hours as his schedule would
permit helping with the painting and clean-up work.  Their hope was to
bring the upstairs up to par with the first floor before moving into the
house.  They planned to use the loft as an investment property, and
therefore had the flexibility to live in it until the second floor of their
new home met with their approval.

     Blair was glad to finally see the driveway in front of their new
house that dreary Thursday afternoon.  After two faculty meetings, a
class, and office hours, the thought of papering the upstairs bathroom
was sounding better by the minute.  

     He pulled the Volvo up behind Jim's truck and headed for the
front door, regretting that he was there two hours later than he'd
originally promised. //This is Jim, not Vince,// Blair told himself as he
began to feel his muscles tensing up at facing his lover.  He stood on
the porch a moment, willing his heart beat and respiration to slow
down, repeating the mantra, "This is Jim, not Vince."  He almost
jumped a foot when the front door opened.

     "Blair?  I thought I heard you out here, Chief."  Jim stepped
back while Blair entered.

     "Sorry I'm late.  I had those two faculty meetings after my class
and then a student came in and she was upset because I gave her a 'D'
on her paper and then the department head came in and he asked me if
I could cover--"

     "Sweetheart, slow down."  Jim took a hold of Blair's shoulders
with an affectionate smile.  "I didn't really notice the time.  I've been
busy."

     "But I promised I'd be here two hours ago."

     "Shit happens.  You're here now, aren't you?"  He watched
while Blair nodded.  "Did you think I was going to be pissed off at you? 
Is that what this is about?"

     "You should be.  I deserve it."

     "Why?  Were you out having burgers in the campus food court
while I was working?"  Jim asked with a faint smile.

     "No!  I told you I was--"

     "Blair, baby, that was a joke, okay?  Calm down."  Jim pulled
the smaller man into his arms.  "Old responses die hard, don't they,
Chief?"

     "I used to get in trouble for being late," Blair said quietly.

     "You know the worst thing I'll ever do if I'm pissed off at you is
yell, don't you?"  He slid a hand into Blair's hair and stroked it
soothingly.

     "I know.  It's just...I can't help it sometimes."

     "Six months of intense conditioning put those responses there,
sweetheart.  I know they take time to fade away.  It's okay."

     "I wish I could just forget it.  Move on."

     "You *are* moving on.  It just takes time."  Jim stood there
holding his lover in silence for a few moments.  "Come on, time to get
your lazy butt in gear and do some wall papering."

     "Lazy butt?!"  Blair pulled back, eyes wide.  "I guess you
*didn't* listen to anything I said when I came in!  I've been running all
day--"

     "Yeah, yeah, cry me a river.  I left my violin upstairs," Jim
quipped back as he headed for the stairs.  It was bickering business as
usual as the two men headed upstairs to work on the bathroom.

     Jim showed off the two newly painted rooms that were the
fruits of his day's work, and then led Blair to the ominous task of
papering the bathroom.  

     "Aren't you warm?"  Blair finally asked, pulling his sweater
over his head about halfway through the job.  Jim was still dressed in a
turtleneck and an old heavy sweater he didn't mind spattering with
paint and wallpaper glue, while Blair was now down to his t-shirt.

     "Feels ice cold in here to me."  Jim didn't seem to give much
thought to the statement as he finished smoothing out another strip of
the blue, linen-textured paper over the sink and under the medicine
cabinet.

     "Do you feel okay?"  Blair pressed the back of his hand against
Jim's forehead.  

     "I'm fine.  Just don't make me fuck this up," he said a bit tersely
as he finally committed to pressing the paper in place perfectly.

     "Like you'd put wallpaper up crooked, Mr. Human Level," Blair
retorted.

     "It's been cold in here all day."  Jim rubbed his hands together
as if to warm them.  "I'm bringing those old leather gloves tomorrow."

     "Jim, it's not cold in here.  It's probably 68 or 70 degrees."

     "So the thermostat says.  I'm calling Lauren tomorrow.  There's
something wrong with that damn furnace."

     "I'm usually the one who hollers uncle for the cold first, and I'm
warm.  I'm serious, man.  Something's wrong here."

     "Maybe you're just nervous."

     "About what?  Cutting the wallpaper crooked?"

     "I don't know.  I feel fine, so let's drop it."

     "Okay.  Sorry, love."

     "Nothing to be sorry about."  Jim spared a second to kiss the top
of Blair's head while he reached past him grab the little cutting tool. 
He carefully sliced away a tiny uneven edge of the paper where it met
the back of the sink.  "Perfect."  He stepped back to survey their work. 
Blair joined him near the doorway to the large, square bathroom.

     "Looks great, man.  So what's left--just the last two bedrooms?"

     "And the hall, Chief."

     "Oh, yeah, that."

     "Yeah, that.  That one's yours, sweetheart."

     "Hey, with all those doorways?  That's *so* not fair, man," Blair
followed Jim down said hall and the stairs.

     "So far, I've painted two bedrooms, cleaned the kitchen--including a range that hasn't seen
oven cleaner in a good five years--
ripped up old carpeting, dusted and polished the downstairs woodwork
and hauled all the old shit out of the garage they saw fit to leave
behind.  What have you done?"

     "I unpacked all that stuff we brought over, vacuumed all the
carpeting and furniture downstairs, cleaned and painted the first floor
bathroom and I haven't had this week off!"  Blair responded, only
mildly into the mood of really arguing.

     "Okay, well, I figure the hall ought to about square it.  I still
have two bedrooms to do, and I have a feeling the professor is going to
be busy most of tomorrow, too?"

     "I have a morning class, and I canceled my office hours.  I
should be here by one o'clock."

     "Good.  You get the little bedroom then, to go with the hall."

     "Slave driver," Blair grumbled, washing his hands in the kitchen
sink.

     "I might let you off the hook for that one bedroom in return for
services rendered."  Jim slid his arms around Blair from behind,
leaning down to nibble at his lover's earlobe.

     "Oh yeah?  Will I like it better than painting?"

     "You better," Jim replied, half snickering.  "I was thinking we
ought to test the mattress in the back bedroom."

     "There aren't any sheets on it, man!"  Blair laughed, partially
from the suggestion and partially from the nimble fingers that were
skimming his ticklish midsection as they raised his t-shirt.

     "So we'll use a dropcloth."  Jim surprised Blair by hoisting the
smaller man into his arms and heading for the back bedroom.

     "What about the dropcloth?"

     "I'm prepared already."  Jim deposited Blair on the top of the
dropcloth-covered mattress.  As he started to remove his sweater, Blair
shed his t-shirt and stripped off his jeans, shoes, socks and boxers until
he was waiting naked for Jim.  The larger man pounced, covering
Blair's body with his own.  "God, I wanted you all day."

     "You got me know, lover," Blair whispered against Jim's ear
before tracing the shell with his tongue.

     Jim gave up on words, showering Blair's body with gentle
caresses and kisses.  He found a nipple with his mouth and licked and
nipped at it until it became a hard little pebble beneath his tongue. 
When he fastened his mouth on its mate, Blair was making the little
moans and whimpers of pleasure that were always Jim's undoing. 
Strong thighs parted and closed around Jim, pulling his hardness closer
to his partner's.

     "Got anything?"  Blair panted.

     "On the nightstand, baby," Jim responded, reaching for the lube
and flipping the cap.  "Let me get you ready, sweetheart."  Jim
encouraged Blair gently to release the grip his legs had on the larger
man, and to draw his knees up, exposing his center.  Before using the
lube, Jim peppered the underside of Blair's thighs with kisses, letting
the sounds and scents of his lover fill his senses.  He leaned in close
and flicked his tongue over the little pucker, drawing a muttered plea
from Blair, who was thrusting his hips to meet Jim's tongue.  "It's
coming, baby."

     Preparing Blair was something Jim would never rush.  He knew
his lover was consciously working on his breathing, and actively trying
to relax into this act.  The sex between them had always been beautiful,
and while Blair often was the one who asked for them to do it this way,
he still had to pass a little barrier of fear each time.

     "I'm coming inside, sweetheart.  Nice and slow," Jim
whispered, coating himself with the lubricant and then sliding slowly
and steadily into the tight channel that relaxed and accepted him. 
When he was fully sheathed, he leaned down and took Blair in his
arms.

     "Move, lover...please..."  Blair gasped as he fastened his arms
loosely around Jim's neck, the last of his tension easing under the
gentle hands that were stroking his sweat-dampened back.  Jim started
a gentle rocking motion that Blair picked up with his own hips, and
soon they were moving together, filling their new home with the
sounds of their passion.  Blair reached his climax first, calling out Jim's
name followed by a little outcry as he slumped bonelessly against the
mattress.  Feeling the spasms of Blair's internal muscles, Jim picked up
speed with a few swift, firm strokes that led to his own completion.

     "Love you, sweetheart," he mumbled against Blair's ear, then
kissed it.  "You feel so good...smell so good..."  He carefully withdrew
from his lover and lay back on the bed, bringing Blair with him, held
tightly against his side under one strong arm.  

     "Guess we messed up your dropcloth," Blair said, grinning.

     "This is perfect.  I'll use this one tomorrow, and then I can focus
on smelling you all day instead of the paint."  He stroked Blair's back
gently, his fingers unconsciously trailing over one of the invisible scars.

     "How many of them are there?"  Blair asked quietly.

     "How many what, baby?"  Jim found Blair's hand where it was
resting on his chest and brought it up to his mouth, kissing it and
holding it against his face.

     "Whip marks."

     "You don't have any scars, Blair.  You know that."

     "No *visible* scars.  But I know you can find at least a couple
of them, because when you're kissing my back, you always spend more
time in a couple spots."

     "I didn't know you were analyzing it that much, professor," Jim
teased.  "I must be doing something wrong."

     "I'm serious, Jim.  Does it gross you out?  Or do you dial down
your senses?  Turn you on?  What?"

     "How in the hell could that turn me on?"  Jim's words were
angry, but he kept his voice even.  He had made a vow to himself never
to shout at Blair in anger.  Nothing was worth the fear response that
could still evoke.

     "It turned Vince on."  Blair shook his head.  "I thought he was
gonna kill me that night.  For a long time after, I wished he had."

     "Thank God he didn't, sweetheart.  I wish it were possible to kill
someone over and over again.  There are so many ways I'd like to make
that bastard suffer.  What I'd do to him...it'd make the Black Dahlia
murder look like a Scooby-Doo mystery."

     "So how many are there?  You didn't answer me."

     "Probably because I didn't want to.  Why think about that, baby? 
None of them are visible or discernible by a normal sense of touch."

     "None?  Sounds like more than two, man."  Blair sat up with his
back to Jim.  "I wanna know.  I want to know what you feel when you
touch my back."

     "I feel you.  I feel love.  I feel the softness of your skin,
sometimes I feel your sweat if things are going well.  Yeah, I might run
into a line or two, but it doesn't gross me out.  It's barely noticeable to
me, and when I do find it, I remember how much you love me because
you endured that to keep Watson from smearing my name at the PD. 
As if my reputation was anywhere near worth the price you paid. 
Come on, lie back, baby.  It doesn't matter."

     "It does to me."  Blair didn't move, and soon, Jim sat up on the
mattress and enfolded the smaller body in his arms.

     "You really want to know?"  Blair only nodded an answer. 
"Okay, Chief."  He kissed the side of Blair's head and shifted a little so
he was in a comfortable spot behind his lover.  He began gently
mapping the territory of Blair's back with his right hand, skimming the
fingers just firmly enough over the skin to avoid tickling.  "There's a
tiny one here," Jim said, pausing on a shoulder blade.  "And another
tiny one here," he explained, tracing an invisible line somewhere in the
middle of Blair's back.  "*I* can't even see it.  It's just a variation in the
skin texture--microscopic variation."  Jim felt a tremor pass through
Blair's body.  "Do you want me to go on, sweetheart?"

     "Yes," Blair answered in a choked voice.  "I need to know."

     "There's only one more.  The deepest one is right here," Jim
said gently, touching the middle of Blair's right side and around his
back.  "The goddamned pervert had to have drawn blood," Jim ground
out, tears stinging his eyes.  Blair just nodded.  "Do you want to tell me
about it, baby?"  A vehement shake of the head was his response.  Jim
dropped a kiss on Blair's shoulder and pulled his lover back against his
chest, enfolding him in strong arms.  Arms he wished he could have
put around the Blair that had suffered that whipping almost a year
earlier.

     "None on my butt?"  Blair asked in a small voice.

     "None I've found.  And believe me, I've done plenty of
exploring."  That brought a watery chuckle from Blair.  "You could
have a city street map of Cascade on your back and it wouldn't matter,
sweetheart."  Jim rocked them back and forth a little, feeling the slight
vibration of quiet tears from Blair.  "The son of a bitch is dead.  He
can't touch you now.  You don't ever have to be afraid again.  Please
hear me, Chief.  You don't have to be afraid.  You're my treasure.  I'd
cut off my hand before I'd use it to hurt you."

     "I'm sorry I brought all this up again."

     "Shhhh.  No apologies, sweetheart.  I want you to talk to me."

     "You used to get so mad.  I thought you were going to explode
sometimes."

     "I still do get mad, baby.  But the person who deserves that
anger is dead.  I don't ever want you to be afraid to talk to me.  You can
tell me anything...for that matter, you can *do* anything...and I won't
ever hit you."

     "I know that."  Blair rubbed his hands over the big arms that
criss-crossed his body.  It felt so remarkably safe there against Jim. 
"Thanks for reminding me, though.  It's just...I can't get out of the habit
of being afraid when I screw up."

     "You do know that 9 out of 10 times Watson hit you, it was for
no reason other than to satisfy his own sadism, don't you?"  Blair
nodded and sighed a little, relaxing against Jim.  "And the 10th time
was unforgivable because even if you did something that pissed him
off, he had no fucking right to hit you for it.  You know that too, don't
you?  That no matter what you do, nobody has a right to hit you for it?"

     "Sometimes...it's funny, but sometimes that's the hardest part. 
Remembering that I don't deserve to get swatted for screwing up.  I
mean, I'm getting to the point where I can pull myself back from the
fear, remind myself that it's you, and that you won't treat me that way. 
But I still feel like you're doing me a favor when you don't backhand
me for arguing with you or...or get rough with me to punish me for
being late."

     Jim closed his eyes against the pain those words carried.  He
kissed Blair's temple and nosed the curls there.

     "You're doing me a favor by just being in my life, sweetheart. 
Every time I look at you...I wonder what I did to get so lucky.   You're
the one doing the favors here, Chief.  Not me."

     "Why do you love me so much?"  Blair asked, cocking his head
to the side so he could get a marginal glimpse of Jim's face.  He smiled
himself when Jim's face broke into a grin.

     "You mean besides the fact that you're the most beautiful
person I ever met--inside and out?  I love your gentleness, I love your
unselfishness, I love your intelligence, I love your smile, I love your
laughter, I love your patience, I love the way you feel in my arms when
you're sleeping after we make love, I love the way you smell, the way
you taste...I love your loyalty, I love your...your uniqueness, I love the
softness of your skin and those eyes that dig right into my soul, I love
your hands.  Do you know you have great hands?"  Jim smiled as he
picked one up and held it, stroking the fingers.  "Strong, graceful, small
but powerful, kind of like you.  I love the way you cook and the way
you make me laugh...and the way you fill every part of my heart until it
overflows.  And I love the way you look at me.  No one's ever looked at
me the way you do.  I love that you trust me.  I love it that you take me
into all the secret places you won't take anyone else, and I love you for
forcing your way into all of mine, even when I didn't think I wanted
you to."  Jim resumed his slight rocking motion when he felt Blair
crying again.  "Don't cry, baby.  You've had so many tears.  But you
know what?  I love those too, because they're yours.  And because
you're mine."

     "It was worth...everything it took...to get here," Blair managed. 
Jim tightened his embrace.  "I'd do it all again for just one night we
could be together."

     "We have a lifetime, sweetheart."

     "I love you, mine."

     "I love you too, my dearest little guppy."  Jim smiled into Blair's
hair.  He felt Blair laugh a little.  "Okay, so it isn't the most dignified
love name in the world.  You're still my little guppy, professor."

     "Always will be," Blair sighed, allowing Jim to move them to
lie down again, drawing up the corners of the dropcloth like a blanket. 
"Kind of like a big cloth burrito, isn't it?"  Blair observed, surveying
their "bedding".

     "Go to sleep, Blair."  Jim laughed a little and kissed Blair's
forehead.  "We'll catch a nap and then go get some dinner and go home
for tonight, huh?"

     "Feels pretty much like home right here."  Blair snuggled
against Jim and soon dozed off to sleep.

     "It sure does, baby," Jim whispered softly, holding the warm
body close to him.

********

     Blair arrived at the house a little before one o'clock the next
day, bringing with him a few supplies Jim had asked him to pick up at
the store.  The weekend would probably see the end of the painting
project, which left window trimmings and carpeting.  Blair had the
assignment of overseeing carpet layers the next week, as Jim would be
heading back to work.  Both of Blair's "flexible" days at the U had been
appropriated for this project, but he didn't mind.  He was anxious to see
the end of the renovations so they could take up residence in the big
house that was looking and feeling more and more like home everyday.

     As he opened the front door, it was a draw who looked more
startled: Jim, who was so intently focused on something as he slithered
down the stairs with his gun drawn that he didn't hear Blair
approaching, or Blair at seeing Jim carrying his weapon through the
house.

     "Jim--what's up, man?"  Blair asked quietly.

     "Goddamn footsteps again!  Shit, I feel like I've been stuck in
the middle of a bad horror movie all morning."

     "I don't hear anything."  Blair shrugged.  Jim cocked his head
and gave Blair an annoyed expression, as if to ask 'did you expect to?'

     "Stay there."  Jim motioned to Blair to stay put and followed the
direction he had heard the elusive sound moving before Blair's arrival. 
Now, there was no sound, and a thorough search of the first floor and
basement produced nothing.

     "Jim?  Anything?"  Blair asked as the other man appeared,
carrying the gun loosely in his hand, his posture relaxed.

     "Nothing, Chief."

     "Maybe it's just old house noises."

     "Maybe I'm high on paint fumes."  Jim leaned forward and
kissed Blair's lips quickly but completely.  "But I doubt that.  I've been
using our dropcloth all morning."  He grinned wickedly at Blair, whose
face flushed all the way into his hairline before he smiled back.  "I had
better things to smell."  He slid an arm around Blair's waist.  "Eau de
Blair."  He fastened his mouth on Blair's neck, working on producing a
healthy hickey.

     "I thought you wanted me to paint."  Blair groaned a little at the
hot wetness against his neck.

     "We could break in another dropcloth."  Jim stuck his gun in the
back of his belt and used both arms to pull Blair close, finished with
one passion mark and working on a twin next to it.

     "Oh, God, Jim, give me a break.  I can't paint with a hard-on."

     "Guess we better take care of you then," Jim responded huskily,
slipping a hand between them to gently massage the growing bulge in
Blair's jeans.  "Wanna try out the mattress in the guest room upstairs?  I
have another dropcloth," he added, dragging little groans and whimpers
out of Blair with the insistent massaging of the other man's overheating
groin.

     "Want you," he gasped, fastening his mouth to Jim's.

     "What do you want, baby?"  Jim goaded.

     "Want to...ugh...ugh," Blair lost himself in the sensations of the
steady rubbing of his cock and balls through his jeans.  He started
thrusting his hips in time with Jim's hand, but the larger man pulled
back then. 

     "What do you want?"  He slid his hands around to grasp two
handfuls of Blair's rear end, kneading the cheeks through the denim.

     "I want...to be...inside you," Blair panted.

     "Upstairs," Jim breathed against Blair's ear, then grabbed the
unsteady man by the hand and led him up to the bedroom, where he'd
already tossed the dropcloth over the bed.

     Clothing flew in all directions, and when the two men were
nude, they fell together in a tangle of limbs on the mattress, hands and
mouths everywhere at once.  Jim rolled over and grabbed the lube from
under the bed where he'd stashed it and handed it to Blair, who
spooned up behind him and carefully prepared Jim's entrance,
stretching and lubricating, even in their current frenzied state.

     "Enough already.  God, Blair, just fuck me!"

     "Here it comes, lover," Blair warned, pressing against Jim's
anus, then pushing himself inside with one long, fluid stroke.  He
rested there a moment, curled around Jim's back, waiting for the larger
man to adjust to the intrusion.

     "Give it to me, Chief.  Come on."  Jim made one backward
thrust firmly against Blair, and it was the smaller man's undoing.  With
a strangled cry, he started pumping into Jim, their hips rocking together
in a frantic rhythm while Blair regained the presence of mind to find
Jim's hardness and stroke it firmly in time with their sex.  Jim let out a
wild moan when Blair found his prostate, and began massaging it
relentlessly.  

     Jim's body spasmed, his internal muscles squeezing Blair's cock
as he screamed his lover's name while Blair continued to milk him in
time with their rhythm.  Blair's climax followed quickly, with a few
broken cries of pleasure before he stilled and breathed heavily against
Jim's sweaty back.  He waited a while for them both to calm down,
then slid out of Jim and began lazily kissing the broad back.

     "You should paint more often," Blair commented softly.  "I
think it makes you horny."

     "It makes *me* horny?  Last time I looked, I wasn't here by
myself."  Jim's tone was affectionately teasing.


     "Oh, man, that was great," Blair gasped, winding his arms
around Jim's middle.

     "I can't reach you back there, sweetheart," Jim shifted positions
and Blair released him until the larger man was facing him.  Within
moments, they were an entangled mass of clinging limbs and damp
flesh.

     "Still cold today?"  Blair asked seriously.

     "Not now."  Jim chuckled a little and kissed the soft curls near
his face.

     "I meant before."

     "It feels really cold in this house to me.  I've got the furnace guy
coming out here this afternoon to take a look at it.  I'm wondering
there's something in the duct work--it seems coldest in that second
bedroom--the one we're using for the gym."

     "Then we oughtta switch the gym with the guest room.  If you're
uncomfortable..."

     "Then I'll have to not use the upstairs bathroom either, because
that feels cold as hell too.  Those two are the worst, though I can feel it
a little in the hall and in the stairs--more like a draft."

     "I really don't feel that at all, man.  Actually, it's kind of stuffy
in here."

     "Probably because I keep turning up the heat."

     "Yeah, you sure do," Blair retorted, stretching up for a long,
lazy kiss.  The doorbell and the sound of loud knocking made them
both jump.

     "Oh, shit," Jim groaned, hauling himself off the mattress and
going to look out the front window.

     "Furnace guy?"  Blair had pulled himself into a sitting position
now.

     "Worse.  Banks and Taggart.  We look fucked over and smell
like...well, fucked over."


     "They know the score, Jim."  Blair smiled a little as he got up
and slid on his boxers, wrinkling his nose a bit and wiping at his damp
groin with a corner of the dropcloth before pulling the waistband into
place.

     "That's fine, Chief, but I still don't like to advertise when I have
sex."

     "I'll go down and talk to them.  You make yourself beautiful for
the company, dear," Blair teased, zipping his jeans and buttoning his
shirt.  "And get rid of the dropcloth, and spray some of that bathroom
spray in here."

     "Bossy little fella, aren't you?"  Jim smiled as he began
following Blair's instructions.

     "Jim?"  Blair paused in the doorway, jumping a little at the next
sharp knock from below.

     "What?"

     "You're naked."

     "Oh, yeah, that..."  Jim laughed a little and reached for his
clothes and Blair hurried downstairs to greet their first guests.

     "Simon, Joel, hey-ey, come on in," Blair stood back with his
best happy face and let their two visitors in.

     "Things were a little slow downtown, so we thought we'd come
check out the mansion Ellison was bragging about," Joel explained. 
"Did we catch you at a bad time?"  His eyes seemed to be attracted to
Blair's hair.  Upon reaching for it, Blair found it to be something of a
tangled fuzzball on his head.

     "Oh, no, not at all.  Man, it was windy on campus today," Blair
added, smoothing his hair with a nervous hand.  As if on cue, Jim came
bounding down the stairs, with one shirttail hanging out of his jeans.  

     "Still painting the upstairs, eh, Jim?"  Simon asked, smiling
knowingly.

     "Yeah, I'll tell you, it's a job."

     "Wears you right out, huh?"  Joel added, exchanging a knowing
look and grin with Simon.

     "You guys want a tour?"  Blair interjected, trying to motion to
his shirttail while Simon and Taggart glanced away, taking in their
surroundings.  On cue, Jim stuffed his errant shirttail back into his
jeans.  

     "I guess I had to stretch a little farther than I thought to reach
that ceiling."  Jim chuckled a bit tightly.

     "This is quite a place," Joel commented, moving toward the
staircase and admiring the woodwork.

     "Let's cut the crap here," Simon cut in.  "Are you two all done
or should we leave?"  

     "Sir?"  Jim asked in his best innocent tone.

     "Don't 'sir' me, Ellison.  Daryl was smoother than this the last
time I caught him on the couch with his girlfriend."  Simon was
chortling a little now.  "It's windy on campus?"  He turned toward Blair
and just shook his head, still grinning as he moved toward the living
room.  "And he's supposed to be the good liar in the pair?"

     "I think you mean to say 'obfuscator', Simon," Blair corrected,
grinning a little himself now.  He was surprised to feel Jim's arms come
around him from behind.

     "Just breaking in the new house, gentlemen."

     "So how many bedrooms are there?"  Something about Joel's
honest question struck Jim and Blair funny--as they had already
"tested" two of them--and soon all four were laughing.

     Jim and Blair led their guests on a tour of the house, ending up
in the kitchen having coffee around the table.  They were soon
interrupted by the arrival of the service man from the heating and
cooling business Jim had called.  While Jim showed him to the furnace
in the basement, explaining the problem, Simon shot a strange look at
Blair.

     "Are you sure he's all right?  Feels pretty stuffy in here to me."

     "He says he feels fine.  Just that it feels cold in a few places
upstairs.  Must be drafts."

     "Or ghosts," Joel said, laughing a little.  "Cold spots."

     "Oh, yeah, right," Simon shot back, shaking his head and
drinking the last of his coffee.

     "Joel's right, actually.  Well, I don't mean I think *we* have
ghosts.  But they do sometimes manifest themselves as cold spots,"
Blair concurred, nodding.

     "I hate to break up this little seance, but I have a meeting back
at headquarters at three.  Some of us have to work for a living," Simon
quipped, standing up.

     "If you don't think explaining the characteristics of the
australopithecus to a bunch of brain-dead freshmen is work, I'll trade ya
next Friday," Blair responded, laughing a little.

     "No, thanks, Sandburg.  You can have the wonderful world of
academe all to yourself."  Simon chuckled, then became more serious. 
"This is a really nice place you've got here."

     "Thanks.  We're pretty psyched about it."

     "Sorry about our timing," Joel added as the two men headed
down the porch steps.

     "Well, it was either you guys or the furnace man.  Maybe it was
*our* timing that wasn't so hot," Blair responded, laughing.

     Jim emerged from the basement, leaving the repairman to his
inspection.  Blair was rinsing coffee cups, staring out the kitchen
window when Jim approached him from behind.  He started and tossed
the cup he was rinsing into the sink, where it shattered.

     "Didn't mean to scare you, sweetheart," Jim apologized,
drawing back from sliding his arms around Blair.
     
     "Oh, man, I'm really sorry."  Blair reached for the broken
pieces, but Jim intercepted his lover's wet hands and wrapped a hand
towel around them.

     "Dry off.  I'll take care of it.  No big deal."

     "We just bought those last week, and they were expensive."

     "So?  They're open stock.  We'll pick up an extra."  Jim
carefully fished the shards out of the sink and tossed them in the trash. 
A quick tune-in to Blair's heart rate and respiration revealed both in a
heightened state.  "It's a cup, Chief.  Not Armageddon."  Jim reached
up to touch Blair's hair and noticed the barely achieved stillness.  Blair
wanted to flinch away.  "Accidents happen.  It's okay."  He completed
the motion he'd begun and stroked Blair's hair gently.

     "I flinched."

     "I know.  It's okay."

     "Sometimes...nosebleeds are hard to stop."

     "Blair?  Sweetheart, look at me.  Are you okay?"  Jim was
troubled by the incoherent statement, and the glassy look in Blair's
eyes.  Blair seemed to snap out of it then, and Jim assumed that Watson
must have given Blair a bloody nose at some point for breaking
something.  "Tell you what."  Jim picked up a cup off the counter and
smashed it in the sink, making Blair jump a little.  "Now we're even. 
And the earth is still turning."  He pulled Blair into a hug.

     "Love you," Blair whispered.

     "Love you too, baby.  More than all the expensive mugs in the
world."  Jim chuckled a little, and was relieved to feel Blair join him. 
"No more bloody noses, sweetheart."

     "No more what?"  Blair pulled back and looked up at Jim,
confused.  

     "I...I just mean you don't have to be afraid anymore, Chief." 
Jim opted not to bring up Blair's past statement again.  It was obviously
something that was very deeply buried and had slipped out
accidentally, and now Blair wasn't even aware of it.  Bringing it up
again would probably only upset him more.

     "I'm working on it."  Blair smiled, then looked back at the
ruined cup in the sink.  "Thanks."

     "Just a cup.  No big deal."  Jim smiled easily as he cleaned up
the second broken cup and disposed of it.

     "Joel and Simon seemed to really like the house."

     "Yeah," Jim said, laughing a little.  Catching Blair's puzzled
expression, he clarified, "I heard the meeting of the local chapter of
Ghostbusters up here.  Cold spots, huh?"

     "Hey, that was Joel, not me."

     "Joel brought it up, but you ran with it, Darwin.  Now all we've
got is a little problem with the furnace."

     "What about the footsteps?"

     "Sometimes, furnaces can make strange noises.  Hell, it's an old
house.  Probably my imagination, the paint fumes and the house
creaking."

     "Okay, if you say so."  Blair, sounding wholly unconvinced,
headed for the front of the house and the stairs.  Before he'd gotten so
wonderfully side-tracked, he'd been on his way up to start painting.

     He had no sooner begun the process of taping the woodwork
when he heard elevated voices from the foot of the stairs.  Climbing
down off his ladder, Blair walked into the hall so he could hear what
Jim and the agitated furnace man were saying.

     "I'm sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Ellison, but there's nothing
wrong with your furnace.  The ducts are clear.  There's a little dust in
there, but that's pretty normal.  I can clean all those out, but what's
there isn't signficant enough to cause any change in the effectiveness of
the heating system."

     "Then how come I've got cold rooms upstairs, huh?"

     "Are your registers open?"  Blair cringed a little at that
question, since suggesting to Jim something that simplistic and obvious
when he had spent considerable time investigating the problem was the
fastest way to make all the veins in his forehead pop with rage.

     "Look, I don't need a service call to tell me to open my damned
registers!  They were never closed.  The damned rooms upstairs are
cold.  Period.  Something isn't working."

     "Why don't you show me the rooms?"  the man suggested
reasonably.

     "Fine.  Right this way."  Jim led the way upstairs, and Blair
ducked back into the room where he was working.  Jim was angry and
involved enough that he probably didn't notice his lover hovering
upstairs listening in on the argument.

     "This is one of them," he announced, stopping in the doorway
of the room where Blair was putting the protective tape on the
woodwork before starting to paint.  The service man walked into the
room, located the register and proceeded to remove the covering plate
with a tool, casting his light into the duct.

     "To be honest, Mr. Ellison, it doesn't feel cold in here to me,"
the man concluded as he stared into the duct.  Jim was already rubbing
his hands together.

     "How about it, Chief?  Is it cold in here?"  He shot an angry
look toward Blair.

     "Um...well, I, uh...yeah, I guess it's kinda chilly," Blair
stammered, his eyes never moving from Jim's angry face.  The larger
man's expression changed to one of frustration, then a little self-deprecation.

     "The truth, buddy."  Jim kept the endearment neutral, but the
warmth in his voice soothed Blair's nerves. 

     "Honestly?"  Blair looked back and forth between Jim and the
furnace man, who seemed puzzled why this was such a dramatic
moment.  "It feels fine in here to me.  Same as the rest of the house." 
Blair shot out the response and then watched Jim intently.

     "Okay, I give up.  It's me then.  Sorry to waste your time, Hal," 
Jim read the name off the man's jacket.

     "Hey, no problem.  Sometimes these old houses get drafts.  I'd
check the window casements, find out what kind of insulation you've
got--things like that.  Plus you could probably be catching a draft from
the front door the way this room is positioned."  The two men
continued to talk over these possibilities as they descended the stairs,
and Blair exhaled completely for the first time since Jim had asked the
question, going back to covering the woodwork, muttering his "Jim not
Vince" mantra and scolding himself for reacting like an oft-whipped
dog when Jim asked him a question.

     By the time he was filling the roller pan with paint, Jim
returned to the room, and squatting down to the level where Blair was
crouched to pour paint, kissed Blair's forehead.

     "It's okay for you to disagree with me, sweetheart."  He drew
back and smiled.  "But it's still cold in here to me," he added,
straightening to stand.  "I keep trying to figure out if I'm sick but I feel
fine and I only notice the cold in this room, the bathroom and the little
bedroom--and part of the hall and down the stairs."

     "You know, Jim, maybe there is something you're picking up on
that I can't.  Can you dial it down?"

     "Probably.  I didn't want to because I figured if there was
something wrong with our heating system, we should look into it.  But
if you don't feel it and the furnace is okay..."  Jim trailed off with a
shrug.

     "The hall could just have a real subtle draft--I mean, maybe
what he said was true--that we've got drafts--but maybe they're really
minor so I don't feel them."

     "Maybe."  

     "You don't sound convinced, man," Blair said, smiling a little as
he soaked the roller in the rich, creamy-beige color that was destined
for the walls of the soon-to-be gym.  "We could put the gym in the
guest room and make this one the guest room."

     "Probably doesn't hurt for the gym to be a little brisk."  Jim
headed for the doorway.  "You got things under control here, Chief?"

     "Yeah.  You going somewhere?"

     "Well, I figured I'd get the dropcloth and lube out of the linen
closet in the hall."  He smiled as Blair laughed.  "Then I thought I'd
take a shower.  You could do with one yourself."  Jim tossed over his
shoulder.

     Blair looked from the paint pan to the well-sculpted back and
rear end of his retreating lover, then back to the paint pan.  He
scrambled to his feet and followed Jim to the bathroom.

********

     Jim and Blair moved into their new home the following week. 
Blair had been on hand to oversee the laying of carpeting during the
early part of the week, and both men had hung new drapes and blinds
in all the freshly painted and carpeted upstairs rooms.  

     The master bedroom, a large square room with a double-arched
window overlooking the front yard and a single side window, was
decorated in various soft shades of green.  They added their own
mattress to the existing antique bedroom set, which included a carved
wood headboard and foot board, an oak dresser with a large oval mirror
and a massive armoire it had taken Jim, Simon and Blair full strength
to move away from the wall long enough to paint behind it.  Blair had
found a chaise lounge chair that bore a subtle leafy print on its
upholstery to add to the room.

     The rest of the carpeting upstairs was a medium tan plush, with
most of the walls being a creamy beige.  

     The gym equipment was brought in the day before they
officially moved in, with both Jim and Blair in enthusiastic attendance
as the delivery men hoisted the various pieces up the stairs.  Jim had
been more than pleased at the thought of working out at home, and
since Blair had gotten into the habit of a much lighter version of the
routine Jim did, the thought of working out together in their own home
was more than a little appealing.

     The third upstairs bedroom was furnished as a guest room, and
the downstairs bedroom was to be used as a TV room and den.  Both
men decided to leave the TV out of Blair's study, since Jim did plenty
of reading anyway, and could still spend some time in there doing that
while Blair was working.

     The loft had a prospective tenant planning to move in three
weeks later, a cop from the Missing Persons department.  Both anxious
to be done with the hassles of moving, Jim and Blair managed to clear
the apartment of all personal effects on moving day.

     "I've got a lot of mixed feelings about this place," Blair said
quietly as he carried the last carton of his belongings to join the final
stack by the door that was destined for the truck.

     "We've had a lot of good times here, Chief," Jim said, hoping to
keep things light.  Blair had seemed more melancholy and haunted in
the last few days than he had for months.

     "I remember the day I packed and left here the last time...  But I
remember coming home from the hospital, and you taking care of
me...us finding each other--finally," Blair said, smiling a little sadly.  "I
was such a mess."  He hugged himself against an internal chill.  

     "I was so damned glad to have you back with me.  In any form." 
Jim felt a shudder of his own.  "There are still days I wonder how I
could have let you walk out that door at all."

     "Stopping me would have meant us becoming lovers right then. 
You weren't ready for that idea.  That's not your fault, Jim."

     "I should have just pushed past it.  Gone for it.  I already loved
you.  It was all the physical stuff I couldn't deal with."

     "We'd have probably been a dysfunctional mess if you'd pushed
something like that when you weren't ready for it."  Blair looked
around, sitting against the back of the couch.  "I was so glad to see the
inside of this place when you brought me home from the hospital.  It
was like finally making it to a safe place."  Blair shrugged.  "In a way,
though, a new beginning is good.  The house is just for us, with just our
memories, and we picked it out together--as lovers, life partners."

     "Are you feeling okay, Chief?  You've seemed a little down the
last few days."  Jim moved over toward Blair, sliding an arm around
the smaller man's shoulders.

     "Maybe it's saying good-bye to the past...and then finding out
that the past comes with me anyway."  He leaned into the solid support
of his lover.  "I'm tired of him, Jim.  I want him gone.  I don't want to
think about him anymore."

     "I know, baby, I know."  Jim coaxed Blair into his arms and
rubbed his back in slow, lazy circles.  "It's getting better, isn't it?"  He
felt Blair nod.  The younger man wasn't crying, but he was clinging. 
"It's not just you, Chief.  Thinking about him, I mean.  I still think
about what that bastard did to you, and I think about all the times he
hurt you and that you were scared or in pain...I want to go back
somehow and help that person you were then.  I want to take that whip
and wrap it around his throat and pull both ends so I can watch his
fucking eyes pop."

     "You saw that tape, didn't you?"  Blair pulled away and looked
up at Jim.  "Before you destroyed the tapes, you watched some, didn't
you?"

     "I wanted to know that I had the right stuff.  If the tapes I'd
found in Watson's storage room weren't the ones, I had to know so I
could look for the right ones.  I found the tape of us together, then I
found the tapes he made of...well, of the two of you together.  I only
saw a few seconds, but...it was enough to give me nightmares the rest
of my life," Jim answered honestly.

     "Why didn't you tell me?"  There was no accusation in the
question, just confusion.  Honesty was a cornerstone of their
relationship.

     "You were so embarrassed about that whole aspect of the abuse,
and after you'd had to describe so much of it during our session with
the DA...I didn't want you to worry about it anymore.  To feel self-conscious with me about it."

     "Did you see the rest of the tape?"

     "No."

     "Good."  Blair nodded a little and looked down.  "He...tortured
me, Jim."

     "I hope that son of a bitch is burning in Hell."  Jim pulled Blair
tightly against him, resting his head against the top of Blair's.

     "I don't know...if I can ever talk about...all the things he did that
night.  I was in bed for two days."  Blair's voice was steady and calm,
but his arms were like steel bands around Jim's middle.  "I knew it was
as bad as I thought, because even he was afraid to touch me for a
couple days while I got over it.  Mrs. Halstead took care of me while he
was at work."

     "She saw you like that and didn't report it?"  Jim stood back
from Blair, truly shocked that anyone could nurse someone
recuperating from torture and not give them the ultimate help--intervention to save them from
more of it.

     "She was my friend.  She did what I asked, because she knew if
she pushed me about calling the cops, I'd just keep it to myself from
then on and then I'd have nobody.  I needed somebody real badly, and
she knew that.  I called her in the morning.  I was a mess.  I was crying
and there was blood on the sheets and I was scared to death."  Blair
shuddered.  Jim couldn't resist pulling his lover back into a firm
embrace.

     "She didn't do you any favors by listening to you about not
calling the cops, Blair.  That was insanity."

     "It felt like a favor at the time.  See, I wouldn't speak up when
the cops did get there.  And they couldn't strip me down and examine
me against my will.  So calling the cops didn't help. *I* didn't
cooperate.  Plus, every time the cops came, even if I played my part,
Vince usually slapped me around when they left.  Maybe because he
thought I'd been spilling my guts to the neighbors and that's why they
called.  So calling the cops over my objections was no favor, man,
believe me."

     "I'm glad you told me, sweetheart."  Jim took Blair's face in
both hands.  "Anytime you need to talk about it, I'm here.  You know
that."

     "I know."  Blair took a gentle hold of Jim's wrists, stroking
them a little.  "I'm glad you didn't watch that tape.  It seems...less
scary...like I have more power over it...since I'm the only living person
who was there that night.  I can keep it buried.  I won't let it out of its
box."

     "I'm no therapist, baby, but is that a good idea?"

     "I think...I think if the time is ever right for me to talk about it,
I'll know.  Right now, I feel like it would be falling into an...an abyss...a
nightmare.  I don't know if I could get back out of it."  He ventured a
look into Jim's eyes.  "It's sick stuff, Jim.  I don't want you to touch me
or look at me and think about sick stuff."

     "Oh, Blair."  Jim pulled the other man into his arms, stroking
his hair gently.  "What am I gonna do with you?"  he asked softly,
though a little frustration came through in his voice.  "I don't see 'sick
stuff' when I look at you.  What Watson did...it's no reflection on you,
baby.  You survived.  That's what I see when I look at you.  A survivor. 
Not to mention the love of my life."  Jim let the silence reign for a few
moments.  "If you ever feel like you need to talk to someone, to a
counselor, you know I'm behind you.  I won't be mad if you can't tell
me but decide that you need to tell *someone*."

     "If I ever told anyone, it would only be you."  Blair tightened his
hold on Jim.  "But right now, I want to move forward, not backwards.  I
don't know why I've felt so...well, it's been like I backslid or something. 
For a while there, I was feeling pretty good about things."

       "You're always hardest on yourself, Chief.  Maybe the stress of
the semester, us house-hunting, trying to work cases with me in your
spare time--maybe it's been an overload."

     "I used to keep up a frantic schedule before...  God, I don't want
to think he took that away from me too."

     "He didn't take it away, sweetheart.  But maybe it's too much
too fast.  You taught before but this is your first semester as official
faculty.  You've got meetings, departmental stuff you didn't have
before.  You're still wrestling with finishing the dissertation and they've
turned the heat up on you for that.  You've got a couple of tense
situations with your students you're worried about.  Now we're moving--which is a big change,
even if it's a good one.  I think you're a little
burned out, and that's normal.  If I had your schedule, I'd be dead by
now," Jim said with a laugh in his voice.  He was relieved to hear Blair
share it.  "When people get tired, sometimes they get ornery. 
Sometimes they get weepy, and sometimes crap that shouldn't bother
them, does.  That's all it is."

     "You think so?"

     "I think so."  Jim kissed Blair's hair and pulled back a little.  "I
also think I'd like to haul this stuff to our new home, take a shower
together and fool around with you."

     "Sounds like a plan to me," Blair replied, grinning.

     By the time the last carton had been laboriously dragged into
the house, both men collapsed on top of their bed, barely managing to
join hands and lace fingers before a joint groan escaped them.  That led
to a little fatigue-induced laughter.

     "Think we ought to rest a bit before the shower?"  Blair
suggested.

     "Yeah, sounds good.  I can't move anyway," Jim responded,
chuckling a little.  Blair made the supreme effort to flop himself over
so he was snuggled in Jim's arms, and they dozed off to sleep.  Neither
man stirred until a pesky ray of morning sun bathed the bed with
unwelcome light.

     Blair yawned and stumbled his way downstairs to the kitchen to
start coffee.  Jim had stirred when he got up, but once rolled away from
the sunlight, the older man had started snoring again.  Blair figured the
smell of coffee brewing and the sounds of the shower would get him
moving.

     What he saw in the kitchen made him smile.  The coffee was
just starting to brew, two cups were set next to the coffee maker, and
the shade in the window over the sink, which had been drawn, was now
up to let in the morning sun.  Jim must have gotten up at some point
during the night and set the timer on the coffee machine and gotten
ready for morning.  But why would he set the timer for an odd time like
10:20?  Blair wrinkled his brow a little at that and moved closer to the
machine, watching it do its work. 

     "'morning, Chief." Jim's voice made Blair jump a little.

     "When did you start the coffee?"  Blair asked, not even
bothering with the amenities.

     "When did *I* start the coffee?  I didn't.  I just got up."  Jim
yawned the last sentence and stretched, looking disgusted at himself
and the clothes he'd been in since the previous day.  "Time for a
shower."

     "Jim, I didn't start the coffee."

     "Maybe you set the timer last night and forgot it."

     "No, I didn't set the timer.  I didn't even think about it last night. 
I didn't know we were going to sleep all night when we crashed out on
the bed.  I didn't set any timers."

     "Maybe the wiring shorted out or something.  Terrific."  Jim
moved over to examine the working coffee maker himself.

     "And did the wiring put coffee in the basket and pour water in
the top?"

     "You didn't do that either?"  Jim looked back at Blair, confused.

     "No.  If I had done all that, I would have turned the damn thing
on and we wouldn't be having this retarded conversation," Blair
snapped.

     "Okay, okay.  Just calm down, Chief."  Jim exhaled.  "There has
to be a logical explanation for this.  Someone has to have done this. 
Let's check the house.  Come on upstairs with me while I grab my gun."

     "They broke in and *made coffee*?!"  Blair stared at him
incredulously.

     "A prank, maybe," Jim offered weakly.

     "A prank my ass," Blair responded, shaking his head. 
"Something's going on here."

     "I agree.  Now come upstairs with me while I get the gun.  I'm
not leaving you down here in case someone *is* in the house.  Of
course now that we've argued about it, I imagine they're not hanging
around."

     "Did you hear anything?"

     "No.  Well, I heard you moving around."

     "But nothing out of the ordinary?"

     "No."

     "So what garden-variety burglar do you know of who could
break in, and make coffee, for whatever reason, and then leave without
your hearing picking up on it?"

     "Humor me, professor," Jim retorted, taking a hold of Blair's
arm.

     "Don't pull me where I don't wanna go, man," Blair responded,
yanking his arm away and pinning Jim with an angry glare.

     "I wasn't doing that, sweetheart.  But I *am* losing my sense of
humor with this."

     "So am I supposed to be scared now?"

     "Oh I get it.  This is another experiment.  Let's push Jim's
buttons and see how long he goes before he smacks me.  If that's what
you're testing, Chief, you're going to be wasting a hell of a lot of time."

     "I'm not doing that."

     "Yes, Blair, you are.  You've done it before.  You pick these
damn fights with me for no good reason and wait to see if you can piss
me off enough to swat you.  Do you need to reassure yourself with that
or something?  I mean, I'm trying to understand this concept.  Do we
not fight enough, so you make one up?"

     "No!  But I don't like you grabbing me," Blair replied
defensively, holding his upper arm as if Jim had grasped it much more
tightly than he actually had.

     "I didn't grab you.  I took a hold of your arm.  That hardly
qualifies as a manhandling grab."  Jim shook his head.  "Look, you stay
here then, hold this," Jim yanked a drawer open and placed a large
butcher knife in Blair's hands, "and I'll go get the gun, all right?"  Blair
nodded, and Jim shook his head, muttering something about it being
Blair's time of the month as he stormed up the stairs.

     When Jim returned with the gun, having made a thorough
sweep of the house, Blair was still standing in the middle of the kitchen
floor, holding the butcher knife, staring at it like he'd never seen it
before.

     "Jim, you gotta help me here, man," he said in a shaky voice.

     "What's the matter, Chief?"  Jim's voice was immediately
gentle, earlier irritation forgotten.  He moved toward Blair and took the
knife out of his loose grip.

     "I don't remember how I got that knife.  Jim, I...I came down
and found the coffee on, and then I know we talked a little, but I don't
know how I got the knife!"

     "I gave it to you, baby.  Remember?"  Jim tucked the gun in his
belt and took a gentle hold of Blair's shoulders.  "Think back,
sweetheart.  I wanted you to come upstairs with me to get the gun
because I thought someone might be in the house, and you didn't want
to come, so I gave you the knife."

     "Why didn't I want to go with you?"  Blair looked up at him,
genuinely puzzled.

     "I don't know, sweetheart.  But you didn't, so I went without
you."

     "Oh, God, Jim...I don't remember any of that."  

     "Come over here and sit down."  Jim led him to the kitchen
table and deposited him in a chair, pulling another chair up so he sat
across from Blair, their knees touching.  "You were upset because I
took a hold of your arm.  I shouldn't have done that, but I really didn't
think I grabbed you hard or anything.  Let me take a look."

     "Jim, I overreacted...I guess."  Blair objected, but didn't pull
away as Jim took a hold of his arm and pushed the sleeve of his baggy
sweater up far enough to see for himself that he hadn't left any marks.

     "Looks all clear."  Jim planted a quick kiss on the questioned
area and pulled Blair's sleeve back down his arm.

     "I am *so* sorry I acted like such a jerk.  I don't know what's
wrong with me."

     "Maybe when I took a hold of your arm, you panicked.  Maybe
it even brought on a flashback, or upset you enough that you got
confused.  I don't know."  Jim slumped back in his chair.  "You're
usually the one explaining things to me, Chief."

     "Maybe I really am going crazy here, man.  Maybe I made the
coffee myself and don't even remember doing it..."

     "Look, sit tight.  I'm going to take a look around the basement,
and check the doors and windows one more time to make sure
nothing's been disturbed.  Then we'll have some coffee and make some
breakfast and try to figure this thing out."

     "Okay,"  Blair agreed, sounding much calmer than he felt.

     Jim returned a short time later reporting that there were no
signs of forced entry, everything was still secure and no one was
lurking in any places they shouldn't be.

     The two men made a simple egg and toast breakfast, and sat
down at the table with it.  Blair pushed his eggs around with his fork
and nibbled the corner of a piece of toast.

     "Am I going to have to put some on a fork and make those little
choo-choo noises, or are you going to eat that yourself?"  Jim finally
said, trying to get Blair to smile a little.  It worked.

     "You can feed me anytime, big guy.  Don't know as I care much
about eggs, though."  Blair flexed his eyebrows.

     "Don't tear yourself up about this coffee pot thing.  Maybe one
of us hit the timer button by mistake last night when we pushed it out
of the way--remember when we set that carton of glasses on the
cupboard?"

     "Nice try, Jim.  But how'd it get coffee and water in it?"

     "Okay, so it's a mystery.  It's not like you dress up like your
mother and stab women in shower stalls or something.  So you filled
the coffee maker and set the timer and forgot it.  Or I did.  Big deal. 
It's hardly psychosis we're talking here."

     "Well, I guess it's one of those things we just can't figure out." 
Blair took another drink of the infamous coffee.

     "There's something I've been wanting to ask you, Chief."  Jim
looked up to meet Blair's inquisitive expression.  "Remember the other
day when the furnace guy was here, and you dropped the mug in the
sink?"

     "Yeah, and you tossed another one in for good measure," Blair
retorted, grinning widely.  Jim smiled back.  It had been a mug well-spent.

     "When you were upset about it, you said 'nosebleeds are hard to
stop sometimes'.  When I mentioned something about it a few minutes
later, you didn't remember it."

     "Oh, yeah, I remember you saying something about 'no more
nosebleeds', and I thought it was a weird thing for you to say.  But you
mean *I* said something about nosebleeds first?"

     "Yeah.  I wondered if Watson gave you a bloody nose for
breaking something, and you remembered that, or what it meant."

     "No.  Oddly enough, he didn't.  I got a few bloody noses while I
was with him, but not over that."

     "You were still pretty unnerved when you broke it."

     "I didn't say he didn't do *anything* when I broke something. 
Just not that.  I only remember one incident--I knocked over a glass,
with water in it, which managed to pretty much soak him and his food--we were at the table. 
The glass broke, and it was part of a set.  He was
pissed."  Blair paused.  "He grabbed my wrist and put a couple pieces
of the broken glass in my hand and squeezed my hand shut."  Blair
stated it matter-of-factly, as if he'd just described the weather
conditions.  "But I don't know why I would have made the nosebleed
comment."  He took another drink of coffee.

     "Which hand?"  Jim asked softly, his voice noticeably strained. 
Blair looked up, surprised to see a hint of tears in the other man's eyes.

     "This one," Blair responded, turning his left hand back and forth
slightly.  Jim scooped up the hand in question and turned it over,
planting four little kisses in the palm, then holding it in both of his own
larger hands.

     "God, Blair, is there anything that bastard didn't do to you?" 
Jim drew the hand up to hold it against his face as tears slid out from
under lids that drifted shut at the contact.  

     "Yeah.  What you do for me all the time.  He didn't love me." 
Blair managed to get his trapped hand free enough to flatten it against
Jim's cheek, where the other man held it firmly.  A thumb caught as
much of the moisture on Jim's face as it could.  "It's okay for you to feel
bad too, love.  I dump all this ugliness on you right along, and you
listen to it, and hold me and make me feel better.  But I know it eats
you up inside.  I can see that."

     "I want you to talk to me," Jim responded, swallowing hard and
using his free hand to wipe the side of his face Blair couldn't reach.  He
reluctantly lowered Blair's hand from being pressed against his cheek,
and clasped the smaller hand in both of his.  "I don't want you to worry
how I'm going to react and not feel free to tell me anything you want
to."

     "Are there lines there too?"  Blair asked, noticing that Jim was
stroking the palm of the hand Watson had cut on the glass with his
thumb.

     "Yes.  I thought they were just part of the pattern of your palm,
but I thought there was something...  They must have been pretty deep
cuts."  Jim held the hand palm up, open, and Blair knew he was getting
a sentinel-scan.  "I can see a couple of tiny lines.  Lines that aren't part
of your natural pattern.  I never looked before."  He closed up Blair's
hand and held it tightly in both of his again.

     "They bled quite a bit.  You know how it is when you cut
yourself on glass.  Compared to everything else going on at the time, it
was no big deal."  Blair smiled a little.  "I was so skinny then he could
get my whole wrist in one hand and his thumb would overlap his
fingers.  He had big hands, too, but I was pretty thin.  My hand had just
totally healed up when you came and got me."  Blair's smile widened. 
"Hey--let's get off the gloom and doom a while.  We've got a ton of
unpacking to do, and a whole Saturday ahead of us to get it done."

     "Blair, was he ever good to you--even for a few minutes?"

     "Yeah," Blair said with an ironic smile.  "After he whipped me. 
The next night.  He came home from work, and I was still in bed.  He
didn't yell at me for not getting up or not fixing dinner.  He had to
know Mrs. Halstead--or *somebody* had taken care of me, because the
bed was changed, I was in a pair of her husband's old pajamas, of all
things.  That was kinda funny.  Her husband had been dead about six or
seven years, and she had these old silk pajamas of his.  He was a big
guy, but the pants had drawstrings, which just about went around me
twice," Blair said, laughing.  "I needed something soft and slippery that
wouldn't hurt my back or my butt.  So he knew she'd been there and he
didn't bawl me out for that.  He ended up fixing me some soup and
feeding it to me.  I said I didn't want to get up and sitting wasn't too
comfortable, for a whole lot of reasons, so he brought it into the
bedroom, and fed me.  It was so weird..."  Blair trailed off.

     "That he was nice to you, you mean?"

     "Well, yeah, that too."  Blair shook his head, smiling a little
sadly.  "But in those few minutes, he was so damned...gentle with me. 
He fed me, talked to me about his day, and there was this look in his
eyes...it was like for just a minute, I saw what Vince was underneath
the monster that lived in his body all the time.  And when he finished
feeding me, my stomach went a little nuts and I threw up into the
wastebasket.  I think it was nerves.  I figured he'd start in on me again,
but it was like this...magic window.  I started crying because everything
hurt again after I threw up, and he sat there and stroked my hair, and he
kept saying over and over again, 'I'm sorry, Blair, I'm sorry, I'm really
sorry this time, I didn't mean to hurt you this bad'--over and over again
like a chant.  And the funny part is, I believed him.  He really meant it. 
At least at that moment."

     "How long did it last?  This...'window'?"

     "Not long.  He slept on the couch those two nights, and he made
me food both nights, but he never said anything else about being sorry. 
The third day, I got up because I had a test to proctor, but I still looked
like hell.  I wasn't moving very fast.  Most people bought the story that
I had a terrible bout of the flu."

     "Then he started hitting you again?"

     "Not for a while.  And we didn't have sex for a couple weeks.  I
was always in fear of it, but he just didn't touch me that way during that
time.  The floodgates opened when I talked back to him for throwing
out some of my stuff that I had left out on the table.  He snapped, gave
me a bloody nose and told me I needed to learn some manners.  It all
started up again."  Blair looked past Jim for a moment, as if deep in
thought.  "But for those two nights, he was someone else."

     "Yeah, someone who was afraid you'd call the cops."

     "Maybe."  Blair nodded.  "But I think it was more than that.  I
had lots of chances to do that, and he never made nice with me any
other time.  It was like what he had done was bad enough that it cut
through the monster and touched the man underneath."

     "You keep speaking of the 'man' and the 'monster' like Watson
was some kind of...of werewolf."

     "Actually, that's a pretty good analogy.  It was like I was getting
a look at the human side.  I believe something had to happen to make
Vince the way he was.  I don't think anyone's born that way.  Someone
had to hurt him so much that he had so much hate and anger inside that
he couldn't overcome it. *It* overcame *him*.  Except for those two
nights.  The man was horrified by what the monster had done."

     "Your ability to cut him any slack never ceases to amaze me,
Chief."

     "Well, it's either that I'm cutting him slack or I'm still looking
for an answer to why I was stupid enough to get tangled up with him at
all."  Blair stood up and gathered a few breakfast dishes, heading over
to the sink.  "At any rate, it's over, and he's dead, so I don't suppose it
matters a hell of a lot now."  Turning hot water on the dirty plates,
Blair stared out at the sorry excuse for a backyard.  "I'm going to invite
Mrs. Halstead over sometime soon.  I want her to look over the garden
with me, give me some ideas.  You mind?"

     "No."  Jim picked up the cups and joined Blair at the sink.

     "You're still pissed at her because she didn't call the cops, aren't
you?"

     "You care about her.  She was kind to you.  That's what counts,
Chief."

     "I care how you feel."

     "You want to know how I feel?  I can't fathom anyone nurse-maiding someone who's been
tortured and not helping them.  There are
times I wonder if she was just a lonely old woman who liked having
someone to need her."

     "That's an awful thing to say, man."  Blair finished rinsing the
plates and set them in the rack.

     "Think about it.  What you needed was for her to get you some
help.  She saw the marks all over you.  Hell, she knows more about
what that son of a bitch did to you than I do."

     "Is that what bothers you?  That she knows more?  It's not a
pretty story, Jim.  And she only knew the outward signs.  I didn't tell
her anything either."

     "I'm sorry, sweetheart.  I just feel...sick to my stomach every
time I think that someone saw what he did to you, knew he was
torturing you, listened to you screaming and didn't find a way to force
you to get help."

     "She wasn't big enough to just blast her way in like you did,
Jim.  She's an old lady who's all alone who risked her neck to come into
Vince's home and take care of me practically under his nose.  Look, if
you don't want her here--"

     "This is *our* home.  If you want to invite her, you should do it. 
And I will be my usual charming self."  Jim smiled slightly, and Blair
caught his eye, and began to laugh a little.

     "She'll swoon at your feet for sure, man."  

********

     Blair was settled on the couch, chest against the back of it,
folded arms and chin resting on the back, watching out the living room
window for Ellen Halstead's car to pull in the long driveway. //This
must be what it's like to wait for a visit from Grandma,// Blair thought,
laughing a little to himself at the picture this fully-grown man watching
out the window like a five-year-old probably presented to the outside
world.

     Blair had missed seeing his old friend, but hadn't really felt
ready to spend any length of time with her before now.  The memories
he feared that would evoke were ones he didn't want to revisit.  

     Jim wasn't back from the store yet.  He had made a run into
town to pick up groceries, including a couple of items Blair wanted to
fix for the Sunday dinner he'd invited Mrs. Halstead to share with them. 
He knew Jim wasn't thrilled to lose a whole day of unpacking and
settling to entertain a woman he had ambivalent feelings about in the
first place, but as he usually did, he'd gone along with Blair's wishes.

     The old blue Buick LeSabre made its way up the driveway, and
Blair bounded from his spot on the couch and out the front door.  As
she stopped the car and got out of it, Ellen Halstead was laughing,
obviously having seen Blair spot her from the window and then appear
on the front porch in record time, literally bouncing where he stood.  In
a flash, he was down the steps and out to greet her.

     "Blair, how are you dear?"  she asked warmly, accepting
happily the bear hug in which Blair enclosed her smaller frame.

     "It's *so* good to see you."  He held on for a moment and then
stepped back.  "I didn't realize how much I've missed you 'til right
now."

     "You look wonderful!  This one's good to you, isn't he?"

     "Treats me like royalty," Blair responded, smiling.  "Come on
in.  I want to wait for Jim to get home to show you the whole house,
but you've gotta see my study."

     "You have a study now?  Well, congratulations, Professor
Sandburg," Ellen quipped, smiling as they walked arm and arm up to
the house.

     "It's the most *amazing* room in the house.  And the first thing
Jim thinks of when we're looking at the house is that it would be a good
place for me to work."
     
     "Oh, my goodness," Ellen said as she took in the impressive
sight of the open oak staircase.  "This is lovely, Blair."

     "We're pretty excited about it.  Come on, I want to show you the
study."

     "Is that the closet, dear?"  She pointed to a small door in the
foyer, and Blair turned an appropriate shade of pink.

     "Oh, wow.  I'm sorry.  Let me get your coat."  He took the coat
from his guest and hung it in the entry closet.  "Man, I guess I don't
have this hosting thing down yet," he said apologetically, closing the
door.

     "I'd much rather have had that welcome than all the etiquette in
the world.  I don't think I've seen anyone waiting in the window for me
like that since my son was a little boy."  She referred to her only son,
who had been killed in a car accident as a teenager many years earlier. 
"Now let me get a real look at you."  She took both Blair's hands and
stood back, spreading his arms.  While he was still slender, there was a
fullness and definition to his form that hadn't been there before,
noticeable in the brown plaid shirt and jeans he was wearing.  She
released his hands and took a hold of his chin, turning his face side to
side gently.  "This one doesn't hit you, does he?" she asked bluntly.

     "If you're looking for bruises, you're wasting your time.  Jim
handles me like fine china.  There aren't any."  He smiled proudly.

     "You look so...healthy!"  she exclaimed.

     "You never knew me when I looked normal.  I'm about twenty
or twenty-five pounds heavier than I was the last time you saw me."

     "You were such a skinny little thing," she said with great regret,
patting Blair's face.  

     "Yeah, well, I'm not so skinny anymore.  Matter of fact, if Jim's
guilty of anything, it's feeding me too much pizza."  Blair patted his
still-flat stomach, and she laughed.

     "Don't pay attention to anything Vince told you.  You look good
with a little meat on your bones."

     "I know that now.  Hey, come on in and sit down."  He led her
into the study, which was graced with a light glow of the early
afternoon sun.  The bookshelves were full already, and Blair had begun
adding his trinkets to every gap between books on the shelves.

     "What a charming room," she commented, sitting in one of the
large wingback chairs while Blair occupied the other.

     "Would you like something to drink?  Coffee, tea...?"

     "No, I'm fine," she responded, smiling.  "Where is Jim?"

     "He's at the store.  We needed a couple things for dinner."  Blair
paused.  "I'm sorry I fell out of touch for so long.  I just...wasn't ready to
face any part of my life before--even the good parts--before this."

     "I can understand that.  And you've kept in touch with me with
your letters.  Those were such beautiful photos you and Jim took on
your vacation in New England.  I just can't get over how well you look
now, even compared to then."

     "I feel good.  I'm working out a little, everything's all healed
up."

     "How are you doing in here?"  she asked, covering her heart
with one hand.

     "Better.  I've got a few problems yet.  Jim's really great about
everything.  He's patient."

     The two old friends spent the next half hour visiting,
reminiscing about more neutral neighborhood events both recalled,
Blair encouraging Ellen to update him on all the latest news from Vine
Court.  By the time Jim arrived home, the conversation was light and
relaxing.

     "Mrs. Halstead, it's good to see you again," Jim said as he
entered the room, crossing to where the older woman extended a hand
to shake his.

     "It's Ellen, to anyone who's making my Blair this happy," she
commented, smiling.  "It's good to see you again, too."

     "Have you guys done the grand tour yet?"  Jim moved to Blair's
chair and sat on the arm, taking his lover's hand.

     "Not yet.  We were waiting for you," Blair responded.

     "I guess we should get to it, then."

     The rest of the afternoon passed pleasantly, with a dinner in the
elegant dining room and light conversation.  Vince Watson was
conspicuous by his absence in their choice of topics.  When Blair got
up and hurried into the kitchen to answer the phone, Ellen seized the
opportunity to draw Jim out.  He had become more and more reserved
during dinner, and she appeared to want an answer as to why.

     "I have the feeling you have something on your mind, Jim," she
said directly.

     "Why?"  He gave her a forced smile and refilled her coffee cup
from the pot on the table.

     "You aren't very pleased with me for some reason.  I'd like to
know why."

     "I appreciate that you were there for Blair during a time I
couldn't be, and that you took care of him when he was hurt badly.  I
guess it's just that you knew what Watson was doing to him--"

     "And I didn't stop it?  What would you have me do, Jim?  When
I called the police, Blair was afraid to cooperate with them.  When they
left, I had to listen to Vince beat him because they'd come at all."

     "Beat him?  We're not just talking a couple of swats here, I take
it?"
     
     "Sometimes that's all it was.  Usually, it was worse."

     "Blair said Vince only beat him up severely three or four
times."

     "You have to realize what the word 'severe' meant to Blair at the
time he told you that.  Severe meant he was unable to move for a
couple of days.  If he could get up and stagger away, it wasn't severe." 
She glanced nervously at the door between the kitchen and dining
room, and then heard Blair's animated voice on the phone again,
muffled through the door.  "I soon realized that every time I called the
police, Blair took a beating for it.  I suppose that was Vince's way of
training all the neighbors too.  Well, it worked.  I couldn't stand
listening to it, or watching him come out of the house to go to his car in
the morning, and see how slowly he was moving.  So I stopped
calling."

     "That time...the really bad time--didn't you think of making him
go to a hospital?"

     "I tried.  I can't carry him.  Even as thin as he was then, he was
still a man, and still larger than I could carry.  He wouldn't go.  So I did
the most I could for him.  If I had known about you--how to reach you--I would have called you
then.  But he had never told me your name. 
Only that there was someone he loved and it didn't work out."
     
     "Blair said Watson tortured him.  How could the neighbors not
hear that?"

     "He was gagged," she responded simply, taking a sip of her
coffee.  "It was an ugly contraption.  Blair showed it to me.  It
reminded me of a dog muzzle."  She shuddered and set the cup back
down on the table.  She noticed that Jim's eyes were closed, and he was
taking in and expelling a prolonged breath.  

     "I have to keep reminding myself Watson's dead."  Jim reached
for his own coffee with a slightly shaky hand.  "I wish it were possible
to kill him again."

     "I thought about poisoning him," she said calmly.  Jim choked
slightly on his coffee and setting it back down, stared at her.  "I even
bought the powdered diazanon.  I had seen a program on TV about a
woman who killed her husband by lacing his thermos of coffee with
diazanon--the stuff you use to kill pests in the garden?"  She watched as
Jim nodded.  "The only reason I didn't do it was that I was afraid he'd
get sick and it wouldn't work, and he might blame Blair for cooking
something bad and beat him for it--or, God forbid, Blair might end up
eating some of it.  I couldn't be sure enough how much to use."

     "I have to say I'm surprised," Jim said, shaking his head a little.

     "Are you?  I didn't have the physical strength to challenge
Vince, and I couldn't convince Blair to leave him.  I had to listen to
most of what went on in that apartment.  Does is still surprise you I
wanted Vince dead?"  She paused, then smiled slightly.   It was a tired
smile, in which all of her 76 years seemed evident.  "I'm a very old
woman, Jim.  At best, I might live another five or six years,
realistically.  Blair is barely 30 years old.  He has his whole life ahead
of him, unless some animal like Vince snuffs it out.  If I had to spend
those years in prison, they would have been well-spent if I
accomplished what I set out to do."  She smiled slightly.  "Am I under
arrest?"

     "No," Jim responded, chuckling a little.  "No harm, no foul,"
Jim concluded.  

     "Even if I made the cheese danish with a little extra oomph?"

     "You actually made the stuff?"  Jim asked, wide-eyed.

     "I know Blair hates cheese danish.  He told me one time,
because Vince always wanted him to buy that at the bakery, and Blair
wrinkled his nose at it every time and used to go on and on about how
much cholesterol was in it and how horrible and mushy it tasted.  So I
made some cheese danish, and figured I'd take it to Vince after Blair
left for the campus.  I heard the beating Blair took that night, so I
consoled myself by baking while it was going on.  But you showed up
the next morning, before I could go next door with my 'treat' for the
bastard."

     "You guys ready for dessert?"  Blair stuck his head around the
edge of the swinging door.

     "I'll give you a hand."  Jim rose from his chair.  "Excuse me." 
He smiled toward Mrs. Halstead and joined Blair in the kitchen.

     "I can get this Jim.  It's just the cake," Blair said, heading
toward the plate that bore the banana cake he'd asked Jim to pick up at
the store.  He was surprised to be turned around and pulled into a tight
embrace.  "Is everything okay?"  he finally asked, returning the
pressure.  "Ellen telling you horror stories?"  he probed in an annoyed
tone.

     "I just needed this right now."  He slid his hand into Blair's hair
and pressed the smaller man's head against his shoulder.  "I love you."
     
     "I love you too, mine.  More than anything.  But what's this
about, man?"

     "I guess it's for all the times I wish I could have held you and
comforted you and been there for you."

     "Ellen has a big mouth, apparently."

     "Why didn't you tell me how bad it really was, baby?"

     "Another time, Jim.  Not now."  Blair pulled back assertively. 
"I can't do this now.  I might not ever be able to tell you more than I
have.  But I sure as hell can't do it with a dinner guest in the dining
room.  Please go back in there and keep her company while I get
dessert.  Okay?" 

     "Okay."  Jim kissed his lover's forehead and returned to the
dining room as instructed.

     The rest of Ellen Halstead's visit was uneventful, and by late
afternoon, she took her leave.  As soon as Blair closed the front door,
he turned to Jim, who was making a futile attempt at retreating
upstairs.

     "What did she tell you that freaked you out, Jim?"

     "I don't want to upset you, Chief."

     "Upset me?  I lived it, man.  I *know* what happened.  I just
want to know what she said to you."
     
     "That Watson used to beat you after the police left.  Worse than
what you told me."

     "Worse how?  I didn't give you blow-by-blows before."

     "You acted like he swatted you once or twice.  It sounds a hell
of a lot worse than that."

     "Well, life with Vince was a matter of degrees.  If I wasn't
bleeding and I could walk, it wasn't too bad."  Blair's matter-of-fact
tone surprised Jim a little.  "Look, all the gory details do is piss you off
at someone you can't go after anyway.  It's counterproductive.  Negative
energy, man.  Let it go."  Blair made his way back toward the kitchen
and Jim followed him.  The younger man began the task of washing
dinner dishes.

     "I couldn't get over how alone you must have felt, and I guess
that's why I had to hold you right then.  For all the times I didn't when it
mattered."

     "Damn it, Jim, it always matters!  You talk about me feeling
dirty or guilty about something Vince did to me.  It's no more
ridiculous than you beating yourself up all the time because I hooked
up with an asshole after I left you.  That was all my doing, brain
surgeon that I am.  You couldn't help that.  And you couldn't help me
because you didn't know where I was or who I was with."

     "I should have kept better track of you."

     "Why?"

     "Because maybe I could have stopped this from happening."

     "And if you hadn't gotten what was left of me back in a bloody
heap, we might have never ended up together this way.  We might have
been friends for the rest of time--platonic friends.  And quite frankly,
Jim, that was killing me.  Getting my ass kicked by Vince was less
painful than that.  At least it didn't tear my heart out."

     "I knew I loved you."

     "But NOT THAT WAY!  God, I'll never forget those words
coming out of your mouth.  'You know I love you, Chief.  Just NOT
THAT WAY.'  I wanted you to love me THAT WAY.  And if spending
six months with Vince was what it took to get there, so be it."  Blair
wiped his hands on a dishtowel and leaned against the edge of the sink. 
"You started falling in love with me because I almost died."

     "That's not true, Blair.  Maybe I needed a wake up call, but I--"

     "So Vince was the wake-up call.  You knew how you felt about
somebody beating on me, and you knew how you felt when I was
hemorrhaging internally and you thought I was going to die.  That
pushed you past your barriers."

     "You think I would have never fallen in love with you any other
way?"

     "I lived with you for almost four years, man.  And when I
walked out, you still didn't love me THAT WAY.  So no, I don't think
you would have.  I think I'd still be living with Vince if he hadn't been
such a violent bastard, and you'd be married or still doing your lone
wolf routine."

     "Blair, dammit, I love you.  I would have realized that, dealt
with it, somehow.  Eventually."  Jim slid his arms around Blair from
behind.  "Yes, your brush with death moved me along faster, but that
doesn't change how much I loved you then, or how much I love you
now."

     "I know.  I'm sorry I'm being such a jerk.  I guess seeing Ellen
again upset me more than I thought it would.  I love her like a
grandmother, but I don't know if I ever want to see her again."

     "It's okay, baby."

     "No, Jim, it's not okay.  I get upset about this stuff and then I
take it out on you.  I never have thought any of this was your fault. 
And I'm standing here trying to hang the blame on you.  I don't know
why you even put up with me."

     "You know the answer to that one, professor."  Jim smiled
against Blair's hair, tightening his hold a little.  "It's pretty normal for
you to be a little pissed off once in a while.  Along with all the other
shit, there has to be some anger in there somewhere."

     "Oh, you mean just because I'd like to beat Vince's ass with a
2x4 but then realize I can't because he's dead?"  Blair snorted a little
laugh.  "It's not fair for me to beat up on you verbally when I feel that
way."

     "None of this is fair, sweetheart.  We just have to get through it
the best we can."

     "I just hope that you won't get sick of me and my moods."  Blair
took a deep breath.  "I couldn't stand it if I lost you, mine."

     "Listen to what you just said, baby.  I *am* yours.  I'm not going
anywhere.  I know we can't have the same last name and all the
paperwork, but this is forever, Blair.  I'll never leave you."  Jim
loosened his grip to turn Blair in his arms so they could share a tight
embrace.  "Besides, we have a mortgage together now," Jim quipped,
smiling.  He felt a little rumble of laughter from Blair.

********

     Blair watched the shadow of bare branches in the moonlight as
it danced and swayed on the wall of the bedroom.  Jim was sound
asleep, spooned up behind him.  They hadn't made love that night.  Part
of Blair wanted to, almost *needed* to, but another part was so twisted
up with memories that had been dredged up by Ellen Halstead's visit
that he feared mixing the two.  He never wanted to associate their
lovemaking with flashbacks of Watson, and they were abounding at the
moment.

     His unease obviously wasn't severe enough to wake his sleeping
lover.  Jim was capable of deep sleep, despite his heightened senses. 
Blair knew the other man would be alert, attentive and loving at the
first sound of distress from Blair, even if it was just a request to talk. 
Still, there was no point in both of them lying there watching the
shadows.  

     The unpacking was mostly done now, thanks to a marathon
session of hauling storage items to the attic, putting books and
accessories on shelves and stocking the kitchen cupboards with their
dishes, pans and other supplies.  It had been a full several hours, and
Jim was tired.  Blair was also tired, just unable to shut his mind down
for the night.  

     He smiled when he thought of the endearment Jim had used
before they settled down for the night.  Jim had called him "angel". 
Very softly, he'd said, "Sleep well, angel.  I love you."  Blair closed his
eyes, feeling the sting of tears behind closed lids.  He struggled to
remember Vince ever using any endearments at all with him, even
when they had sex.  It was "Blair" if things were going well, and from
there, could be anything from "you"--as in "hey, you"--to "bitch",
depending on the situation.  The things Vince had called him during
the torture session that haunted Blair's nightmares made his blood run
cold.

     A series of loud, crashing noises made Blair sit bolt upright in
bed, his heart pounding.  Jim was up an instant later, sitting next to
him.

     "What is it, sweetheart?  Nightmare?"  Jim asked softly.

     "No.  I was awake.  It was a noise--lots of noise.  Crashing
noises."  He turned to look at Jim, his face partially obscured in the
shadows of the room.  He could see a skepticism in the older man's
face.  After all, if Jim didn't hear it, it most likely didn't exist.  Jim
spared him the challenge of voicing that opinion and swung his legs
over the side of the bed to get up and investigate.

     "Okay.  I'll check it out."

     "We both will," Blair responded, swinging his legs over his side
of the bed as Jim got up and retrieved his gun.

     "Stay behind me, Chief."

     "No problem, man," he answered, hovering so close to Jim's
back that he ran into him as soon as the larger man slowed his pace
upon entering the hallway.

     "Not that close," Jim said, momentarily relaxing his tense
stance and looking back at Blair.

     "Sorry."

     The hall was dark and silent, but Jim moved through it easily,
guided by his flawless night vision.  Blair, on the other hand, slammed
into Jim twice, unable to see where he was going.  Finally, Jim's left
hand reached back and took a firm grip on Blair's right, leading him
through the dark.

     "Where do you think it came from?"

     "It sounded like it came from near the staircase," Blair
whispered back.

     "There's no one else in the house," Jim said calmly, flipping on
the light in the hall.  "No heartbeats, no odd noises, nothing."  Jim
smiled at their still-joined hands, and kissed Blair's before releasing it. 
"I'll make a quick check of things downstairs, but there's nobody here
who shouldn't be."

     "But I know what I heard.  Jim, it had to be *something*."

     "Maybe the pipes or the furnace?  But if it was that, I should
have heard it before you did."

     "No.  It was a crashing and banging sound, and it came from
right here somewhere," Blair explained, moving toward the staircase.
     
     "Are you sure you didn't doze off for a moment and then
imagine it--kind of like the dream people have about falling?"

     "I was wide awake, man.  I heard it."

     "Okay.  Let's have a look around."  Jim started downstairs,
carrying the gun limply at his side, flipping on lights as they went.  As
he had assessed from the upstairs hall, nothing was out of order.

     "I know I heard something," Blair muttered as he climbed back
into bed.  Jim didn't say anything at the moment, stashing his gun in the
night stand again and sliding under the covers.  "I know what I heard." 
Blair was still sitting up, shivering a little from the cool air in the room
chilling his now-dormant body.

     "I want to know why you were awake, sweetheart.  Come on, lie
down and cover up."  Blair did as instructed, but still didn't scoot into
Jim's arms like he usually did.  The larger man leaned up on one elbow
and stroked Blair's cheek with the backs of his fingers.  "Watson?"  He
watched as Blair nodded slightly.  "You want to talk about it?"

     "It's...that night.  What he did.  I just keep...thinking about it. 
Must be after seeing Ellen, it's just...back."  Blair smiled a little.  "He
never called me anything special like you do.  He either used my name,
or nothing.  Or something really...bad."  Blair paused, leaning into the
caress of Jim's hand.  

     "I think I'm still looking for one that says enough."  Jim smiled
down at his lover's troubled face.  "Some of them are just too sappy. 
You'd probably hate them."

     "Would you...hold me and tell me the sappy ones?"  Blair asked
hesitantly, looking up at Jim with big blue eyes that were dependably
the larger man's undoing every time.

     "Okay.  But remember, you asked, Chief."  Jim smiled as he
gathered Blair into his arms, kissing the silky curls that came to rest
under his chin.  "I slipped and called you 'angel' already--"

     "I liked it," Blair said softly.

     "I've got a whole list, guppy.  Honey and sugar are right up at
the top of the list.  Then there's pumpkin and sweetie and sunshine and
cuddlebug and--"

     "Cuddlebug?"  Blair strained to look up at Jim, grinning a little. 
"I never hear that one before."

     "You weren't supposed to, remember?"

     "Oh, yeah.  What if I like one of them?"  Blair settled back
against Jim's chest, feeling incredibly sleepy all of a sudden.

     "You like cuddlebug?  I thought you'd laugh," Jim said with a
chuckle.

     "Well, it's kinda sappy, but I sort of like it.  I got used to guppy,
and that's a lot less flattering."

     "Okay, then, cuddlebug, it's time for you to close your eyes and
relax.  You need some sleep."  Jim slid his hand under Blair's tank shirt
and started slowly rubbing his back, smiling at the contented sigh
against his chest.

********

     Blair sat at the desk in front of the class, alternately grading the
exams from his afternoon class and watching the students.  He had
been relieved that Mark Borden had never returned to his class, but
also was wise enough to know it was only going to blossom into a full-blown "situation", since
the athlete hadn't dropped the class.  He had
just ceased showing up at all.  Now that finals were here, there would
be no hope for him to recoup his grade at all, short of writing a 100%
test paper.  Electing not to show up for the final wasn't really much of a
decision.  The die had already been cast when he eschewed all the
other sessions.

     The 90-minute exam period was uneventful, and concluded 30
minutes ahead of schedule.  Blair had made the final rather light, since
most of his students were overloaded and stressed out at finals time. 
He'd put the majority of tough subject matter in the mid-section of the
course, and then attempted to taper it a bit.  From his own experiences
as a student, he'd found he didn't retain much when he had to learn it
under extreme pressure.  

     The lecture hall finally emptied, the last student lingering to ask
about the next semester's courses.  A young co-ed who had been
obviously taken with her professor from day one, she had taken an
inordinate amount of time to write her test to gain this few moments of
Blair's time.

     After his admirer had gone on her way, Blair gathered up his
papers and headed for his office.  Jim was due to pick him up at nine,
and since it was only 8:00, Blair figured he could stop by his office to
put away the stack of graded tests and to pick up a few other items he
would need to work at home the next day.  The Wednesday night final
had been his last.  The course that met Tuesdays and Thursdays had
been wrapped up with the exam on Tuesday afternoon.  Grades were
due by the following Monday at the latest, but Blair hoped to get them
ready by Friday so he could devote his weekend to his dissertation. 
With a mid-May defense date set, he had his advisor's final suggested
revisions to make.

     He heard footsteps in the hall that stopped by the open door to
his office.  He smiled a little before he looked up.

     "I thought you were going to wait for me downst--" He stopped
abruptly as he saw that it was not Jim, but Mark Borden, who filled the
doorway.  

     "Just came by to check on my grade," he said, kicking the door
shut behind him.

     "Well, I'm afraid it isn't good news, Mark," Blair responded,
trying to keep his tone calm.

     "You told me I couldn't come back to class.  Now you're gonna
flunk me for not showing up?  That's a fucking crock."

     "I didn't say you couldn't come back to class.  I said that you
should refrain from coming back to class until you were prepared to
discuss the grading situation in an adult, rational manner.  Since you
never returned, I assumed you hadn't reached that point."

     "You're a real smart son of a bitch, aren't you?"

********

     Jim picked up his pace as soon as he found Blair's classroom
empty.  He'd had a feeling the class might dismiss early, but when there
was no sign of Blair, he hurried toward the nearby stairs in a slight trot
of a run.  As soon as he hit the bottom step, he could hear the familiar
heartbeat going all over the map, panicking.

     He took the steps two and a time and burst through the door of
Blair's office to see Mark Borden standing over Blair, who was
sprawled on the floor, trying to pull himself up and mop at a bloody
nose.

     "You son of a bitch!"  Jim shouted as he spun the startled
assailant around and landed a successful right cross which sent Borden
down on his butt on the floor.  "Come on.  Get up, you fucking jerk! 
Now!"  Borden didn't know enough to not to provoke Jim further.  He
got up and advanced toward him, this time caught by a drop-kick that
moved so fast even Blair was at a loss to describe how it had happened. 
On the floor again, Borden was considerably subdued.  "Come on, hot
shot!  Let's see what you've got, you snot-nosed little puke!"  Jim
shouted.  Blair had to almost laugh at that.  Jim was the perfect image
of the insulting drill sergeant.  

     "Just back off, man," Borden said, holding up a hand.  

     "What's the matter?  Can't handle somebody your own size? 
What's the matter, you goddamned sissy?  Can't even take on some guy
old enough to be your father?"  Jim smiled a little maniacally as he saw
the building rage in the younger man's eyes.  "That's it, come on, let's
see what you've got!"  Jim goaded.

     "Jim, let it go, man," Blair interjected, having pulled himself up
off the floor, holding his wadded up handkerchief under his nose.

     "I'm callin' the cops!"  Borden threatened, getting back on his
feet again.

     "Save yourself the change, asshole."  Jim flipped open his ID. 
"Detective Ellison, Cascade PD.  You're under arrest for assault and
battery.  Now turn around and put your hands on the wall before I kick
your ass again!"

     "I'll have your badge, man.  Police brutality!"  Borden protested
as he assumed the ordered position.

     "Give it your best shot, junior.  You have the right to remain
silent..."  Jim read the sputtering student his rights and slapped the
cuffs on him.  "You sit tight.  I'll be back," Jim directed at Blair, who
just nodded and slumped in the desk chair, still nursing his nose.  "Call
the campus police and have them meet me downstairs."  Blair nodded
again and picked up the phone.  Propelling his prisoner into the hall
with a few well-placed shoves, Jim soon disappeared through the door,
which he pulled shut behind him since a few curious faculty members
were now coming out of their offices to see what the commotion was.

     The campus police arrived quickly and took charge of Borden,
transporting him downtown for booking, with instructions to look up
Detectives Ryf and Brown to handle the situation.  Jim knew the other
two men were currently on the night shift, and that they would give
Borden all the hospitality he deserved.  A quick call downtown from
Blair's office alerted them to be waiting for the incoming prisoner.
     
     "Still bleeding?"  Jim asked Blair, the flurry of activity finally
dying down enough for him to check on his partner.

     "I don't think so.  But I've gotta get cleaned up.  It's so messy I
can't tell."

     "You're swelling up pretty good there, Chief," Jim commented,
taking a look at Blair's abused face.  "Did he hit you anywhere else?"

     "He only got one shot in before you showed up."

     "We better get you cleaned up and get downtown.  You'll have
to sign a complaint."

     "Jim, I don't know, I mean, if--"

     "He hit you.  That's assault and battery.  If you don't make the
complaint, he'll walk.  Which will mean you'll be right back to square
one with the whole situation with him."

     "He's going to be plenty pissed off at me if I press charges."

     "I'll be plenty pissed off at you if you don't," Jim snapped back,
not really intending to be quite that harsh.  Still, Blair's waffling on this
point angered him, even if he did understand its origins.

     "Guess I'm stuck then," Blair said a little defeatedly.  "That's
nothing new."  He hauled himself out of his chair and started for the
door.  "I have to wash up."

     "Blair, I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to snap at you, but for God's
sake, Chief, you can't just roll over and die here.  This guy slugged you. 
If you let him get away with that, you're in his pocket for good."

     "I know how that goes, Jim.  Better than anyone else."

     "Look, we're not talking about Watson here.  You don't live
with that jerk.  You live with this jerk," Jim said, indicating himself
with both hands and smiling a little.  "And this jerk isn't going to let
anything happen to you because you sign this complaint.  Got that?"

     "Got it," Blair said a little quietly.  "I just...you know I thought
that this profession...that my job--that it would different.  All my life,
I've dealt with bullies.  Vince was a bad one, but he was just the cherry
on top of the bully sundae.  I'm stronger now physically than I used to
be--I've been working out, and I've been trying to learn some moves
from you...and I didn't think that would matter here.  I thought it would
matter when I was riding with you...or maybe if I got jumped in a
parking lot or something.  I just didn't think the battles I'd have to fight
here would be physical ones, and that I'd always lose."  There was a
hint of tears in Blair's eyes and in his voice.  "He wouldn't have ever
thought of negotiating his grades with his fists if I had been bigger.  It's
like it doesn't matter how good I am up here," he continued, gesturing
to his head.  "This damn society boils it all back down to the physical
again.  He's a jock so he's special and expects preferential treatment. 
I'm not a large guy, so it doesn't matter if my credentials are ten feet
tall.  It still ends up with me on my ass on the floor because he's bigger
than I am and I'm sick of it!"  Blair concluded in an elevated voice.

     "He isn't going to get away with--"

     "Because you rescued me!  The big guy rescued the shrimp
again!  Do you know how that makes me feel?"  Blair demanded,
tossing the handkerchief aside to reveal his blood-stained nose.  "How
long would you feel like any kind of a man at all in my place?  All this
time, I've tried to compartmentalize what Vince did to me--to say that I
was somehow under his spell emotionally, or...or there was that award-winning twist of the
situation you came up with that turned me into a
hero!  I was strong because I rolled over and took it because I was
protecting you!  Who was I protecting tonight?  I couldn't even fucking
protect myself!  You had to do it for me!"

     "Blair, he was half again as big--"

     "Yeah, that's the point.  It's a size thing."

     "I don't think this has anything to do with Borden, sweetheart," 
Jim said softly, hoping to calm the outburst.  Blair wasn't pacified.

     "No, you're right.  It has to do with me!  Blair the sissy.  Blair
the shrinking violet that can't take care of himself!  I'm so goddamned
sick of being shoved around by muscle-bound jerks!  And I can't do
anything about it.  Not a fucking thing!"  Blair shouted, reaching up to
feel that his nose was, indeed, bleeding again, while a couple of tears
were trickling down his cheeks.  "Oh, shit."

     "Will you let me help you get cleaned up and take care of your
nose, Chief?"  Jim started to approach Blair, but wasn't about to
infringe on his personal space without permission at the moment.

     "I'm sorry," Blair finally responded through his tears.  "I'm
doing it again."

     "I'd be pissed off too in your place," Jim said calmly, pulling
Blair into his arms and stroking his hair as the other man cried against
his chest.  "Here, hold this under your nose, honey.  It's okay."  Jim got
his own handkerchief under the offending nose, which had left it's
mark on his shirt.

     "I bled on you," Blair muttered, covering his nose but still
staying in Jim's embrace.

     "So what?  You like to buy me presents.  Just make the next one
a new shirt."  Jim smiled as Blair laughed a little at that.

     "I feel like...like Vince used to make me feel.  Helpless."

     "You're not helpless, Chief."

     "I was with Borden.  He could have beaten the shit out of me."

     "Maybe it's your response pattern.  Did you ever think of that? 
Watson taught you to be submissive.  When he hit you, it didn't occur
to you to bounce back up and hit him back, did it?  And even if you had
some way to outwit him and get away, you didn't think to try it, right?"

     "He'd have killed me."  Blair sniffled a little.

     "Physically, you're strong.  The work you've done with me in the
gym has built up your muscle tone better than it was before everything
went down with Watson.  When we used to get in tight spots and
someone hit you, unless it knocked you out, you didn't just curl up in
the corner and wait for more.  Sometimes you used your wits to get the
drop on them.  The point is, you had that fighting spirit.  Maybe that
just needs to heal up too.  I think it will, in time."

     "But I don't have it now, right?"  Blair asked, no trace of anger
in his voice.  It was as if he were processing Jim's theory and seeing
some validity in it.

     "I'm just saying that what happened here tonight--the way it
went down--and a lot of the physical abuse Watson got away with had
to do with the way he taught you to respond.  Extremely painful
consequences shape behavior patterns very quickly.  If you mouthed off
to him or tried to fight back or shield yourself, you got it worse and
more of it.  Undoing those responses takes awhile, Chief."

     "You should've been a shrink," Blair quipped, smiling a little
against Jim's chest.

     "First thing we need to do is wash your face and get a good look
at your nose.  Then I need to get you checked out by a doctor for the
paperwork.  I think you're fine except for a messy nose and a headache,
but you know the drill.  Then we'll take care of the paperwork at
headquarters, and we can go home."

     "I want to go home now."

     "I know.  Me too, sweetheart.  Come on.  The faster we move
now, the sooner we'll get home."  Jim pulled back reluctantly and took
a hold of Blair's hand.  "What do you need out of here?"

     "Oh, man.  All that stuff on the desk."

     "All of it?"  Jim's eyes widened.

     "I mean the pile on the blotter."

     "Thank God," Jim responded, laughing as he squeezed and
released Blair's hand and gathered up the folders bulging with test
papers and tucked them in the overburdened backpack.  "Shit, Chief,
you didn't need to start working out with me.  Anybody who can heft
this thing on his back every day has his weight-lifting quota in."

     "I can take it," Blair said, holding out his hand as Jim
approached.

     "That was a joke, sweetheart.  I think I can handle it."  Jim
smiled and slung the pack over one shoulder, guiding Blair with an arm
around him toward the men's room.  

     The doctor declared that Blair's only ill-effects were a sensitive
nose, a headache and some swelling and bruising around the site of the
blow.  None of this was news to Jim, who had assessed the damages
that way himself, or Blair, who was tragically very experienced at
assessing the damage done to his own body by large fists without
benefit of medical attention.


     The paperwork at the precinct didn't take long to complete. 
The only hold up was that Borden had made his claim that Jim had
assaulted him.  Simon was satisfied with Jim's explanation that he had
come in on Borden attacking Blair and had engaged him in some hand-to-hand combat in both
Sandburg's and his own defense.

     By the time they pulled into the garage for the night, both men
were weary of the day and ready for a quiet night's sleep.  Simon had
okay'd Jim taking the morning off, provided he filled in for another
detective on a stakeout the following evening.  Jim happily agreed,
knowing Blair would be busily grading tests anyway, and having the
house to himself for some undistracted peace and quiet would move
the process along faster than if Jim were hovering around.  He
invariably noticed how sexy Blair looked in his professor mode,
especially when he'd slip downstairs to work in the middle of a
sleepless night.  Dressed in a robe that hung open to expose a
provocative "V" of his chest, glasses in place, hair hanging loose and a
little towseled...just the thought could get Jim's motor running, let
alone the sight of the real thing.

     "Penny for your thoughts?"  Blair asked as they trudged up the
stairs together.

     "These are worth at least a buck, Chief."  

     "I can't believe this is coming out of my mouth, man, but, um..."

     "What?"  Jim paused to look down into his lover's eyes as they
entered the master bedroom.

     "Not tonight.  I have a headache."  Blair grinned a little
devilishly, but Jim could tell by the faint undercurrent of discomfort in
the expression that it wasn't a lie.

     "Tonight, I'm giving you a bath and putting you to bed.  No
funny stuff."

     "That sounds great," Blair sighed, sitting on the foot of the bed
and pushing at the heel of his laced up shoe with the toe of the other. 
"Shit."  He started to lean forward but Jim stopped him.

     "Keep your head up, baby.  I'll get 'em."  Jim removed the shoes
and socks and left Blair to shed the rest of his clothes while he went
down the hall to the bathroom and started the water for Blair's bath.  It
took a while to get it warm, and Jim figured the hot soak would relax
the younger man's taut muscles.

     He shivered at the icy coldness in the hallway and the
bathroom.  Curious, he stepped into the bedroom they used as their
home gym, and then into the guest room.  The chill was present in each
room.

     "Ready for me yet?"  Blair came out into the hall in his robe.

     "Wait for me in the bedroom, sweetheart.  It's freezing out here. 
I'm going to get the space heater from the study."

     "Jim, it feels fine out here."

     "Humor me.  If you bare your ass in that bathroom, it's going to
get frostbitten."

     "Oh, come on, man.  It can't be that cold."  Blair walked down
the hall and stuck his head in the bathroom.  "It feels fine in here, love. 
The heat's on."

     "Bullshit.  Don't hand me that.  Feel my hands."  Jim held out
his hands and Blair took them, shuddering a little at what he felt.

     "You're cold as ice."  Blair's right hand released Jim's left and
came to rest on Jim's forehead, then his cheek.  "Your whole face is
cold--like you've been outside."

     "Now do you believe me?"  he snapped at Blair.  "Everything
has to be a fucking scientific test around this house!"  He stormed
downstairs in the direction of the study to get the heater.  

     He no sooner reached the study and picked up the small heater
than he felt remorse at having bawled Blair out for no apparent reason. 
He climbed the stairs quickly to apologize, and was almost thrown off
balance by the absence of the cold.  The temperature in the hall was
normal, and it was almost stuffy in the bathroom.  Blair was sitting on
the closed toilet seat, looking contrite, as if he'd just been given a very
deserved scolding. //Oh, sweetheart, when are you going to get your
spirit back?// Jim thought sadly as he set the unnecessary heater in the
hall and closed the bathroom door behind him to keep the warmth
inside.

     "I'm sorry I was such a pain in the ass about the cold thing, man. 
I didn't mean to be."  Blair's eyes never raised from their focus on the
floor.

     "You weren't, Chief.  I snapped your head off for no good
reason. *I* owe *you* the apology."  Jim quickly kissed the top of
Blair's bent head as he added some of his lover's favorite bath oil to the
filling tub.  Seeing that Blair still hadn't moved, Jim squatted in front of
him and placing a hand under the smaller man's chin, raised his face so
their eyes met.  "I'm sorry, Blair. You weren't out of line.  I was."

     "I shouldn't talk so much.  Sometimes I forget.  It used to piss
Vince off all the time."

     "You say anything you want, whenever you want, around me--got that?"

     "He asked me if I ever shut up.  I guess I don't too often."

     "Come on, sweetheart.  The bath's ready."  Jim took Blair's robe
while the younger man lowered himself into the water with an audible
sigh.  "How'd you get this bruise on your shoulder?"  Jim ran his thumb
lightly over the spot, then kissed it.

     "I think it hit the corner of the desk when I fell.  No big deal."

     "Blair, I don't want you to consciously stop talking to me," Jim
said softly as he soaked the sponge and soaped it up with some bath gel
and started gently washing Blair's back.  The long curls were restrained
in a sort of doubled up pony tail, since Blair had decided he was too
tired to go through the whole shampooing and drying ritual again that
night.  

     "But I get on your nerves sometimes."

     "So does life in general, but that doesn't mean I don't want to
live."  Jim smiled a little, moving to wash Blair's arms.  "I just mean
that all the talking you do is part of who you are.  And that's who I
love."

     "Are you still cold?"

     "No.  I don't understand what kind of draft operates that way. 
One minute, it was freezing up here, and the next minute, it was fine."

     "Maybe it's a sensory thing."

     "Maybe.  Don't worry about it tonight, Chief.  You look
exhausted."  Jim continued his efficient but gentle washing of his lover,
who was tired enough that there was barely a stirring in the limp
genitals when they were tenderly washed.

     "I've had better days," Blair responded, his voice a little shaky. 
"The bath feels really good."

     "How's your head?"

     "Still hurts.  I think I'll take some Tylenol before bed."

     "It's on the night stand for you, baby."

     "I hope things get better.  I feel like I'm falling apart all over
again, Jim.  And it scares me, man."

     "You're stressed out, sweetheart.  Things'll look better after you
get some sleep, and after the grades are turned in.  How about you let
me check the multiple choice and true-false ones for you?"

     "You'd do that?"

     "Sure.  We'll work on it for a while before I go in tomorrow." 
Jim smiled easily as he finished his washing duties and leaned in to
plant a kiss on Blair's lips.

     "How am I gonna get by if I can't handle stress?"  Blair looked
up at Jim from under a couple of curls that had broken free of the loose
restraint.  "I'm supposed to defend my dissertation in three weeks. 
Look at me."  Blair held out his hands, both of which were shaking. 
Jim took a firm hold of both of them.

     "Tonight had to bring back a lot of ugly memories.  That along
with the end of the semester and us moving *and* the dissertation
defense..."  Jim shrugged.  "It's just too much."

     "But I don't have any choice.  I have to be able to handle stress
and deadlines and schedules and I'm falling apart!"  Blair said, his
voice elevating with each word.

     "You're still recovering inside from Watson.  Maybe you have
to be a little more forgiving of yourself for not being able to do twenty
things at once without it catching up to you.  Blair, you nearly died less
than a year ago.  You've done great in that time, but it's still not very
long ago."

     "But I'm worse now than I was before.  Since we moved...it's
like I'm losing my grip on things."

     "It was pretty thoughtless of me to keep up this house-hunting
crap when you were coming up on the end of the semester.  Your first
semester as a professor, no less.  My timing on this sucked, Chief.  I
should have backed off until you had your Ph.D. in the bag."
     
     "I love this house, Jim.  I'm glad we moved."

     "So do I, but I love you more, and the move put a lot of extra
stress on your back when you didn't need it."  Jim lifted the stray curls
away from Blair's eyes.  "The Blair I hauled out of Watson's place
couldn't have picked out which socks to wear without help--or
permission.  You've got your health back, a new job, you're one hell of
a lover, and in your spare time, we moved into a new house, while you
were polishing up your dissertation.  If that's losing your grip, you're
going to be downright dangerous when you get it back."

     "But I'm fucking it all up.  Look at me," Blair said sadly,
gesturing at himself.  "Some guy punches me in the nose and I'm in as
bad a shape as I was when you took me home from the hospital."

     "You're tired, Chief.  You need some sleep."

     "I'm way behind on my dissertation.  I'm never going to be
ready--really ready--by the due date.  And I haven't published anything
since before Vince...  I'm scared, Jim.  I feel like it's all getting away
from me."

     "Can you change the date on your dissertation defense?"

     "No," Blair responded, looking down and shaking his head.  In a
moment, his shoulders were shaking slightly with his tears.  "W-with
Vince, and th-then r-recovering...and the n-new j-job...they've given
me...too many...extensions already."  Blair looked up at Jim through
wet eyes.  "I can't do it, Jim.  It's over.  I failed.  I can't do it."

     "Come on, baby.  You're turning into a prune in there.  Let's get
you dried off and into bed.  We'll talk more, okay?"  Jim watched while
Blair nodded.

     After getting Blair dried off and into the sweatpants and t-shirt
he had picked out to wear to bed, Jim led his unhappy partner into the
bedroom and tucked him in, giving him two Tylenol and some water. 
Jim hurried through a speedy shower and pulled on boxers and a t-shirt
before rejoining Blair in bed.

     "You want to talk, sweetheart?"  Jim asked in a whisper as he
slid under the covers, not wanting to disturb Blair too much if he was
drifting off to sleep.
     
     "If I can't complete my Ph.D., I'll lose my job.  I'm not tenured,
Jim.  They can fire me for this."

     "You think they'd do that?  It was your advisor that urged you to
apply for this in the first place."

     "Assuming I could get my shit together in time to complete my
degree."

     "You're worn out tonight.  It all probably looks impossible
now."

     "Because it is."

     Jim turned onto his side and spooned up behind Blair, pulling
the smaller body tightly against him.

     "Everything's going to be okay, sweetheart.  I promise you.  I
don't know how exactly right now, but we'll get through all this, and
we'll still be healthy, alive and together."

     "God, Jim, I'm so tired."

     "I know, baby, I know.  Just relax and let yourself sleep.  We'll
tackle everything tomorrow."

     "It's really funny."

     "What?"

     "All the times I got slugged or got bloody noses with Vince, and
I'd have a bad headache and feel lousy...it felt really good tonight...you
taking care of me.  And it feels real good to have you holding me and
not making me...you know, when I don't feel good."  Blair stroked one
of the strong arms holding him.  "You even let me wear my sweat pants
to bed when I'm cold," Blair added with a grin.  Jim squeezed him
tighter, kissing Blair's neck.  "I love you."

     "I love you too, cuddlebug."  Jim gave his lover a little squeeze
again and planted a soft kiss on his shoulder.  "Sleep tight, baby."

********

     Jim stirred, and in that foggy state between sleeping and
waking, tightened his arms around...nothing.  Coming to with a bit of a
start, he saw that Blair's side of the bed was empty and cooling. 
Wherever Blair was, he'd been up for a while.  Making an almost
automatic auditory scan of the house as he put on his robe, Jim located
the familiar heartbeat quickly.  Blair was nearby, probably in the hall.

     Jim strolled out toward the stairs, and found his lover sitting on
the top step, seemingly unaware of his presence behind him.  Not
wanting to scare Blair if he happened to be sleepwalking, Jim kept his
voice soft and stayed several feet away from the other man.

     "Chief?"  He waited, but there was no response.  "Blair?"

     "So many steps," Blair said absently.  "Long way down."

     "Blair, are you awake?"  Jim asked, still softly but a bit more
assertively.

     "He broke his neck, you know."

     "Who broke his neck, Chief?"  Jim wrinkled his brow at the
strange statement, then wondered if Blair was referring to one of
Watson's former lovers who had taken a mysterious header down a
flight of outdoor steps and died from a broken neck.

     "What?"  Blair turned around and looked back at Jim, then at
his surroundings.

     "I think you were dreaming, sweetheart."  Jim joined him on the
top step, draping an arm around the smaller set of shoulders.

     "I don't remember coming out here."

     "Maybe you were sleepwalking."

     "But I don't do that.  I never have."

     "Let's go back to bed, huh?  It's drafty on the stairs."

     "What?"

     "It's freezing out here, Chief."

     "No it's not."

     "You don't feel the cold at all?"

     "No."  Blair shook his head, then looked back down the stairs. 
"Something awful happened here, Jim."

     "Blair, are you with me now?  Awake?"

     "Of course," Blair turned away from staring down the steps to
look at Jim.  "Why?  Wasn't I before?"

     "You said 'he broke his neck'.  Right before that, you said 'long
way down'."

     "Oh, man.  I don't remember any of that."

     "What did you mean just now, when you said something awful
happened here?"

     "It's just a feeling.  There's a...sadness in this house.  It comes
over me once in a while.  But especially on the stairs."  Blair looked
back down into the shadows below them.  "And you feel the cold here
and in the hall and in a couple of bedrooms.  There's something wrong
here, man.  Don't you get it?"  Blair slapped his forehead with the heel
of his hand.  "Ouch.  Great thinking when you have a headache," he
berated himself.  "I don't know why I didn't get this before.  You're
detecting elements in the atmosphere of the house that normally would
take specialized equipment.  The cold spots, for instance.  And
remember when you thought you heard footsteps?  Maybe you did."

     "Whoa, just hold on there a minute.  This is starting to sound
like a cheesy haunted house movie.  Cold spots, footsteps.  Next thing
you'll want to do is have a seance."

     "Well--"

     "Don't even think about it, Chief.  The only spirits in this house
are in the six pack in the fridge downstairs."

     "Oh really?  How do you know there aren't any?"

     "How do you know there are?"  Jim retorted.

     "Cold spots.  Footsteps.  That horrible crashing noise I heard
last night--oh my God."  All the color seemed to drain out of Blair's
face.

     "What is it?"

     "Jim, that sound...it was just like someone falling down the
stairs.  Hard."  Blair shivered, and Jim took a hold of his hand, standing
up.

     "That's enough ghost stories for one night, sweetheart.  Time to
get some sleep."

     "How can you think about sleeping, man?"
     
     "Easily.  I go into the bedroom, get in bed, cuddle up to you and
close my eyes.  Out like a light."

     "What if there's something really going on here?"

     "Look, Blair, you're stressed out, and my senses aren't always
the most dependable things in the world.  I've been known
to...to...'short-circuit' once in a while.  I heard and felt some weird stuff,
and you had some dreams.  End of story."

     "I still think there's something more to it," Blair reluctantly
followed Jim back to bed, casting one eye over his shoulder at the
shadowed hall behind them.   He closed the door as soon as they were
both in the room, and turned the lock.

     "What's that for?"  Jim turned around, surprised.

     "So *I* can sleep."