Jim paced around the living room, then finally made his
decision and headed for the phone.  It was almost ten o'clock, and even
if it made him look like a nagging wife in front of the dean, he was too
worried not to check up on Blair.  He had his hand on the telephone
when he heard the Volvo approaching.  Letting out a sigh of relief, he
went out on the porch, shivering a little at the chill of the ocean air of
the mid-October night.  

     Blair brought the car to a stop not far from the house, next to
the pick-up.  Getting out, he retrieved his briefcase and headed up to
the porch.  

     "I'm sorry about the time.  Did you eat already?"  he handed Jim
a large bag from Antonio's Pizza.  "One of those pizza subs you like."  

     "Blair, what happened?"  Jim caught him by the shoulders
before he could walk in the door.  He let go when Blair flinched.  

     "Nothing, okay?  I just want to go in.  It's freezing out here." 
Blair went inside, and Jim shut the door behind them.  

     "Chief--"

     "I blew it.  I lost my job.  It's over."  Blair laughed an ugly little
snort of a laugh.  "Actually, I *didn't* blow it, and that's why my job is
history."

     "What the hell happened to your hand?"  Jim picked up the
hand and examined the bruised, swollen knuckles.

     "Whitcombe ran his face into it," Blair snapped back.  In the
middle of all his distress, he would have paid for a snapshot of Jim's
expression.  His smaller partner, the pacifist academic, punching out a
dean.  That had to be good for the shock of a lifetime.

     "I want you to park your ass right there and tell me what
happened."  Jim set the bag with the sandwich on the table near the
couch.  Blair sat on the corner cushion, and Jim sat next to him.  He
didn't, however, venture to touch the human hornet's nest virtually
buzzing with a mixture of anger and well-disguised disappointment.

     "This big meeting Whitcombe just had to have with me after
class?  He offered me a permanent job on the faculty."

     "This is a bad thing?"

     "By itself?  Hell no.  When it comes with a part time job as
Whitcombe's whore, it's a lot less attractive as a career option."

     "What?"  Jim demanded, cold anger in his voice.

     "He made it really clear that I had no chance in hell of making
it in the academic world on my own merits--because according to him,
I don't have any.  Except for two--my ass and my mouth--or words to
that effect."
     
     "That son of a bitch."  Jim was out of his seat, pacing.  "Where
does the bastard live?"

     "Jim, I took care of it."

     "You took care of it.  He's firing you for not blowing him or
letting him fuck you!  That's not taken care of in my book."

     "You know what, Jim?  He's right.  A college with Bayport's
reputation accepting me, even for a temporary job, was unheard of
under the circumstances.  I thought he was doing it all out of friendship
for Eli, but apparently, he had this in mind all along."  Blair shook his
head, still smiling sourly.  "Kicking his miserable ass isn't going to
solve anything.  He'll have you arrested for assault and battery."

     "You're assuming he's going to be able to talk when I get done
with him."

     "He got the message loud and clear.  But you can't beat
someone into giving me a job.  That part of it's history.  He doesn't
have to keep me on there--I have no contract, and if he says I did a half-assed 
job on the class, he can kick my ass out the door and there's
nothing I can do about it.  Besides, even if we accomplished something
with strong-arming Whitcombe, it would be an untenable situation to
work in."

     "Stoddard'll be a bit surprised to find out about his good buddy."

     "Maybe.  Maybe not."

     "Maybe not?  Meaning what?  That he set you up for this?"

     "Maybe Eli knows Whitcombe has a thing for younger men, and
maybe he thought since you and I are in a relationship, I wouldn't mind
putting out that way to get my career back on track."

     "If that's what he was thinking, he can get his sorry ass off our
property tonight," Jim shot back.   "Do you really think he'd do
something like that?"

     "I don't know."  Blair slumped back in his seat.  "I think it's
possible that he knows it's the only solution.  If I got a full-time, tenure-track
position in a college with a good rep, getting into a good Ph.D.
program would certainly be easier, and once I had that credential under
my belt, I could probably move on from Bayport.  I'd only have to
service Whitcombe for three or four years to make all that happen, and
then the rest of my life would be on-track.  Maybe he figured that if I
were a sexually liberal type, it would be a good opportunity."

     "Does he have some reason to think of you as a sexually liberal
type?"

     "I've never been with a man before you--dammit, Jim, I can't
believe you asked me that."

     "I didn't mean with Eli, Chief.  I meant, did he really have much
chance to see you interact with the women you were dating, to know
what kind of lifestyle you led?"

     "I'm sorry I jumped on that question like that."  Blair sighed. 
"Not really.  He knew I had a lot of female friends--I talked that up
more at the PD to build my rep than I ever did with Eli, but if he
wanted to assume I was having sex with all the women I spent time
with, then he could have the idea that I was casual about it.  And
knowing I'm in a relationship with a man now--maybe he just figured I
would play along, and it would be a way for me to get a career position
in my field."

     "Even being sexually liberal is a hell of a long way from being
someone's kept whore."

     "I'm sorry about dinner.  I didn't mean to take so long getting
home.  I got lost three times on the way."

     "Don't worry about dinner, Chief."  Jim snorted dismissively. 
"It's not important."  He sat back down next to Blair, sensing that he
was more physically welcome now as he slid his arm around his lover's
shoulders.  "I'm so, so sorry about this, baby.  I know what this
opportunity meant to you."

     "I should've known better."  Blair turned and leaned into Jim,
resting his head against Jim's chest, letting the strong arms close
around him.  "I just want to stay here with you and leave all that
shit...*out there*.  All I wanted to do was get away from the mundane
work around here and do something I considered worthy of my talents. 
All the time I was gone, I just wanted to be back here."

     "If it makes you feel any better, sweetheart, this is mundane at
times for me too.  We're going through a real hard time with this place,
getting it started.  We aren't making a lot of profit, so we can't hire a
staff to do anything, and yet things are moving fast enough that we
have to do a lot of mundane housekeeping and maintenance work, not
to mention cooking that stupid breakfast every morning for whomever
happens to be staying here at the moment."  Jim kissed the top of
Blair's head.  "We'll get things going so we can have a little more time
to do something a bit more interesting than tidying up after the guests."

     "I really thought...I was getting this job because I was *good*--and 
because Eli believed in me.  But you know, Whitcombe was right. 
I was kidding myself if I thought I could get a job like that."

     "You deserve a job like that."

     "I feel like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz--you know, when she
figures out happiness was in her own backyard?"  He tightened his
arms around Jim's middle.  

     "Home feels pretty good when the world kicks you in the ass,
doesn't it?"  Jim smiled, rubbing Blair's back.  "There'll be another
chance, baby.  You deserve something more than this."

     "There's nothing more than this, more that being here with you. 
I love you so much...I just want to be with you."

     "You've got me, Chief.  I'll always be here with you--whether
we're running this Bates Motel by the sea or if you're teaching in some
Ivy League college someday.  When you come home, I'll be here."

     "I feel so...*stupid*.  That I fell for this whole thing.  It was the
typical 'if-it's-too-good-to-be-true-it-probably-isn't' scenario."

     "You wanted to believe in it, and there was no reason to think
this was the way it would turn out."  Jim cuddled his lover close,
planting little kisses on the top of his head.  "Whitcombe said some
really shitty things to you, didn't he?"

     "One or two.  But he was right.  That's why it hurt so bad to
hear it."  Blair closed his eyes and soaked up the closeness, Jim's heart
thudding reassuringly beneath his head.  

     "We're going to have a little chat with Stoddard in the morning,
get to the bottom of this."  Jim smiled when he heard Blair's stomach
growl.  "I take it you didn't get anything to eat?"

     "I couldn't have eaten anything to save my life.  I thought I was
gonna puke when I left his place.  Then I had to walk back to my car,
and even when I picked up your sandwich, the smell of food made me
nauseous."

     "But now?"  

     "Now I'm starting to think it doesn't smell too bad," Blair
admitted.

     "Tell you what.  I'll heat up the sandwich and we'll split it, and
we can finish off the leftover chicken from last night."

     "You didn't eat either?"  Blair pulled back, shocked.

     "I got busy fixing up some stuff at the motel, and then I came
up here and decided to fix the squeaky floorboards in the kitchen, and I
guess I just forgot.  By the time I thought about it, I was getting worried
about you."

     "Let's get some food then.  You must be starved."  Blair got up
and picked up the bag with the sandwich in it, heading for the kitchen. 
Jim followed close behind him.

     "When I touched you before--you flinched.  Did he hurt you at
all?"

     "I think my arms are a little bruised, but it's nothing serious.  I
think when you took a hold of me, you just grabbed onto the same area
and it hurt a little."  Blair was busying himself now with putting the
sandwich in the microwave.  "I'm okay, Jim.  I was just shaken up
about everything."  He paused.  "I just needed to get home and be with
you--I knew that would make everything okay.  And it did," he added,
smiling.

     "You're my whole life, Blair.  You know that, right?"  Jim took
his lover's tired face in both hands.  

     "Yeah, I do.  As long as I've got that, I can handle the
Whitcombes of the world pretty easily."  Blair held onto Jim's wrists,
leaning into one of the palms.

     "You really decked the old bastard?"  Jim asked, grinning a
little.

     "Well, he's a little big for me to knock him on his ass, but I
daresay he's going to be nursing his jaw for a while."

     "Good going, Chief."  Jim kissed Blair's forehead and chuckled,
moving back and grabbing an ice cube tray out of the freezer.  "Sit
down and relax.  I'll fix the food.  I want you to put some ice on that
hand."  Jim fixed up an icebag using a freezer bag into which he
dumped some ice cubes.  "We're out of peas," he apologized, handing
Blair the bag.  Blair laughed, sitting down and holding the ice against
his abused knuckles.  He hoped Whitcombe's jaw felt ten times nastier
than his hand, and suspected it probably did.

********

     Blair slid the cholesterol free "Egg Beaters" onto the plate and
added two fat turkey sausages and the wheat toast.  The other four
guests were already eating, Stoddard having made it to the dining room
just minutes before Blair called it a day slinging hash.  

     He served the professor his breakfast, waiting for the inevitable
"join me" invitation, which would no doubt be followed by a "how did
it go?"  What he got wasn't exactly what he expected.

     "I understand things didn't go well yesterday."

     "That's an understatement.  Where'd you hear that?"  Blair
asked, as if he didn't know.  "From Whitcombe?"

     "He called me late last night.  He was very disappointed."

     "I reckon he was.  Got all charged up and then didn't get any."

     "Excuse me?"  Stoddard almost choked on his coffee.  

     "You heard me.  How much did you know about
his...extracurricular expectations?"

     "Have a seat."  Stoddard motioned to Blair, who sat down at the
table.  "What are you talking about?"

     "I'm talking about Whitcombe informing me that I could give
him anal sex and blowjobs in exchange for a permanent faculty
position.  Well, I'm sorry, but that's one *position* I think I'll pass on."

     "There has to be some misunderstanding.  I've known Art--and
Nancy both--for over twenty years.  I know that he occasionally
mentors a young man either just starting out in teaching or sometimes
one of his brighter senior students--guides them in getting into grad
school.  But this is preposterous."

     "Mentoring.  There's a new name for it.  I don't recall that being
part of the package when you were mentoring me."

     "You must have grossly misunderstood his intentions, Blair."

     "I don't think so.  When he told me the only credentials I had
were my ass and possibly my mouth, it was pretty clear cut."

     "You're saying he came out and said something like that to
you?"

     "Yes.  In so many words.  Then I got up to leave and he grabbed
me and threw me on the couch.  I got up again and tried to leave, and
he grabbed me again and started insulting Jim, so I let him have it and
walked out."

     "Let him have it?"

     "A right hook, to be exact."  Blair sat back in his chair.  "I'm
sorry to break this to you, Eli, but your friend is a predator, and not
even a very discreet one."

     "I find this all very difficult to believe."

     "So did I.  Whether you believe it or not is up to you.  But that's
what happened.  I suppose he told you I was poorly prepared and
couldn't manage the class well."

     "Essentially, yes, and that he had dismissed you."

     "Well, that's what he said he'd say if I didn't come across."

     "Really, Blair--would he be foolish enough to behave in the
manner you're describing?  I can't envision him risking his career for a
little slap and tickle while Nancy's out of town."

     "He knows he's safe.  Either the person he harasses falls into
line and wants the favors, or they refuse and either keep quiet or make
allegations no one believes, because he discredits them."

     "In any event, I'm certainly sorry I made that recommendation."

     "You don't believe me, do you?"  Blair asked, stunned at
Stoddard's reaction.  He'd run through all sorts of scenarios in his mind,
including that Stoddard was pimping for Whitcombe in bringing Blair
into his sphere, but had finally concluded as the early hours of dawn
approached and he was still lying awake, that Eli Stoddard was too
good a man for that.  "You think I'm lying about this whole thing?  That
I made the whole thing up?"

     "It wouldn't be the first time you've bent the truth a bit lately,
would it?"

     Blair stared at the other man, a bit slack-jawed.  Stoddard knew
the truth, knew why Blair had done what he'd done...

     "You know, Blair, when you and Jim first told me your heartfelt
tale of how you were lying all along just to save him, I bought it.  But
after this, frankly I think you're a nasty little fraud who got caught--and
you lie like a rug when you get caught.  The press hounding Ellison day
and night was a downside you hadn't planned when you cooked up your
fraudulent dissertation that was 'leaked' to a publisher-- so you had to
say something to get him out of the line of fire.  And now this--you
didn't perform well yesterday, and when you were fired, you turned it
around on a man who has been a friend of mine nearly as long as
you've been alive.  What's worse are the horrendous and repulsive lies
you're using to do it."

     "Stoddard, you've got one hour to pack your bags and get out," 
Jim announced from the door, startling the other guests who had been
eating the last of their breakfast, far enough away from the two
conversing men not to have heard any part of their discussion.  

     "With pleasure."  Stoddard rose from his chair and strode out of
the room, only slowed briefly by Jim, who finally stepped aside to let
him pass.

     "Chief--"

     "I've gotta get out of here."  Blair moved swiftly past Jim and
rushed across the leaf-covered lawn, disappearing onto one of the
nature trails leading into the nearby woods.

     "Sorry for the disturbance, folks," Jim said to the other diners,
backing out of the room and starting out across the remarkably prolific
covering of leaves toward the trail Blair had taken.  

     It didn't take Jim long to track his partner.  The younger man
was sitting in the crotch of a giant tree that formed a sort of natural "U"
a few feet above the base of the trunk.  His hands were loosely clasped
in his lap, his eyes focused on the ground a few inches beneath his feet.

     "Blair," Jim said softly, waiting for his lover to look up.  The
other man continued instead to stare at the ground.

     "I'm done, Jim.  I've had it.  I don't want to fight this anymore."

     "Fight what?"

     "It's time for me to face reality and move on."  Blair looked up
with a little smile.  "They say you can't go home again.  And I think
that's true.  I've been trying to recreate the past, to go back and do
something I closed the door on already.  And it's been one big disaster.
But you want to know the funniest part of it?"

     "What?"  Jim moved closer, sitting on a nearby rock.  Their
setting in this place was nothing if it wasn't beautiful.

     "I didn't even really want to be there yesterday.  I was up in
front of the classroom, giving this lecture...and it just felt...*wrong*.  It
felt like a *job*."

     "In all fairness, Chief, you were stepping in as a temp.  That's
always less enjoyable than going in where you're a permanent part of
things."

     "Yeah, I know all that.  But this was different.  It wasn't that I
didn't like Bayport.  It was that I wanted to be here."  Blair shook his
head.  "I really was getting stir crazy, and all I wanted to do was get out
of here.  And when I did, all I wanted to do was get back here.  Maybe
because we're building something together here, struggling together,
getting pissed off at the stupid, boring work together...  And we're
making love on the beach, taking walks in the woods, eating picnic
lunches overlooking the ocean...we could probably play basketball
overlooking the ocean if we could afford to pave something near the
house and stick a backboard up there."

     "So if you had the chance, you wouldn't want to have it all
back?"

     "I thought I had the chance for a few days, and for a few hours
yesterday, I was back there.  You know what?  I'm always going to love
learning and teaching, but this is where I want to be.  Maybe someday
I'll get a chance to teach a class in something, or maybe I can do some
work with kids--even volunteer stuff.  But I like our life."

     "This isn't just because Stoddard turned on you just now?  I
mean, it's easy enough to retreat into something safe--"

     "Is that so bad?  To want to be somewhere where you're loved,
where the work you do is building on your future with someone you
love?  Where everywhere you look, you see something beautiful?"

     "I have to admit, I get pissed off at this place sometimes, but
I've never felt more at peace with myself and my senses than I have
since I got here."

     "So maybe we need to just concentrate on being innkeepers for
a while and let nature take its course?"

     "What about Stoddard?"

     "What about him?  He wants to think I'm a fraud.  It's easier
than believing an old friend is a lecherous old pervert who trades
favors for sex and victimizes students and faculty under his influence."

     "I'm so sorry you had to get hurt by all this again."

     "And I'm sorry you're sorry.  Like you and this place and our life
together is some sort of consolation prize for me.  It's not, love.  It's
*the* prize.  The thing I wanted, and still want, most.  Whether we're
here playing chambermaid in the motel or somewhere else doing
something else.  As long as we're together, I'm okay.  And you know
what?  I realized that when I came out here a couple minutes ago, all
freaked out by what Eli said.  I was getting ready to hyperventilate, hurl
in the shrubs or something equally panic-induced until I realized that
everything that mattered was still intact.  After that, none of this shit
could hurt me."  Blair propelled himself out of the tree to his feet. 
"Let's go back before our guests try to check out and we're not there." 
Blair held out his hand to Jim who stood, taking it and pulling Blair
into his arms.

     "I think we're going to be okay, Chief."

     "We're great, Jim.  Right now, as we are.  We're just gonna get
better."  Blair stretched up and Jim leaned down, the two of them
meeting in a fiery kiss.  

********

     Blair logged onto his e-mail, curled up on the couch with his
laptop while Jim watched TV.  It wasn't long before his curled up legs
were stretched out, since Jim had decided he wanted a couple of
stocking feet to play with while he stared at the TV.  It was a bit of a
challenge to stay focused on answering e-mail with Jim rubbing his
feet gently, but it felt good, and relaxing, and there were 45 new
messages in the Inbox.

     "Anything interesting?"  Jim asked, most of his attention on the
movie playing on the TV.  Blair glanced at it, smiling to see that it was
"Lethal Weapon 2".  Jim had only seen that one four times before that
Blair could recall.

     "Just a few tips on slave training from that leather list I'm on." 
Blair waited for Jim's slightly stunned expression, and wasn't
disappointed.  "I'm *kidding*.  That is, unless you don't stop watching
Mel Gibson's butt with so much interest."

     "I'm *not* watching Mel Gibson's butt."

     "Better not be," Blair chided.  "Looks like a bunch of crap from
that Anthro list I'm still on--mostly some guy whining about this article
he's trying to write, and everyone's decided to get altruistic and help, so
we've got, like, thirty messages about the proper format for citing
references.  Can we say *DELETE*?"  Blair clicked what Jim figured
must be the Key of Death for the thirty messages in question.  "Other
than those...oh...one from my mom."

     "You haven't talked to her in a while, have you?"

     "Just when she called a couple months ago."

     "Still avoiding talking things out with her?"  Jim asked, no trace
of reproach in his voice and he picked up the pace of the foot massage. 
Blair wiggled his toes appreciatively.

     "Sort of."

     "Everything okay with her?"  

     "Ummm..."  Blair opened the e-mail.  

     "You don't have to read it to me, Chief.  Just want to be sure
everything's okay with your mom."

     "You want to hear about it?  She always talks about you in it
anyway." 

     "Sure."  Jim turned off the TV and gave Blair his full attention,
easily choosing Blair in his sweatpants, t-shirt and old plaid robe over
Mel Gibson any day of the week.  Blair began to read the message,
laughing when Jim pulled one of the stocking feet up to his mouth and
kissed the big toe, then hugged the foot as if it were a separate little
person.

     "She tells a whole bunch of stuff about this retreat she went on,
so I guess I can read that later.  Then..."  He scrolled down a ways. 
"She says 'I hope you and Jim are getting some customers for your new
project.  I wouldn't object to seeing some photos sometime, just to get a
feel for the place.  I'll be in New York this spring to visit an old friend
of mine--I'd like to include a trip up the coast to see my favorite son
and Jim, of course.  How *is* Jim?  Still working out?'" Jim chucked at
that question and Blair shot him a look.  "She says, 'Don't worry,
sweetie, I'm just kidding.'  Hear that, Jim?"

     "What, you think I'm going after my mother-in-law?"  Jim
flexed his eyebrows.  "Why would I do that when I can devour her son
anytime I feel like it?"  Jim slid out from under the feet in his lap and
moved, not unlike a big jungle cat, across the expanse of couch toward
Blair, who set his laptop to safety just before the pounce.  "Wanna
make out?"  he asked Blair, lying on top of the younger man, their faces
only millimeters apart.

     "All night, man," Blair responded, curling an arm around Jim's
neck and pulling him down so they could start kissing.  That alone took
many long minutes, the two of them just flaked out on the couch,
exploring each other's mouths, enjoying the closeness.  

     Jim finally had mercy on his squished partner and turned them
on their sides, trapping his "prey" between the back of the couch and
his own body.  Blair snuggled happily there, content to be kissed into
oxygen deprivation all night, sliding one leg over Jim's, arms wrapping
tightly around the larger body.  

     "I could kiss you all night," Jim said a bit breathlessly against
Blair's lips, before kissing him again.

     "You hear any complaints with that plan?"  Blair smiled, but
only briefly, since his lips were quickly in demand again.

********

     When Blair came to, he was lying in a wet spot.  Only this wet
spot was too high to be one of *those* wet spots, and they definitely
weren't in bed.  He moved his head, opened his eyes, and looked
around the living room, vaguely gray in the first hint of dawn.  He
looked down at Jim, still sleeping soundly, beneath him, one strong
arm still around him.  

     The wet spot was a nice big puddle of drool on Jim's robe. 
Blair's big puddle of drool. //Guess that's what we get for falling asleep
kissing and making out like teenagers on the couch,// Blair concluded,
chuckling a little.  With no alarm to move them along, Blair sought out
the clock, worried that their guests would be milling around down at
the motel, starving.  It was almost seven.  

     "Shit."  Blair pulled himself up, then smacked down on Jim's
chest again, the arm not giving way.  "Jim.  Come on, lover, wake up.  I
gotta go make breakfast, babe.  You have to let go."

     "Mm-mm."  Jim grinned fiendishly, shifting them back to their
sides and pinning Blair against the back of the couch.  One light blue
eye opened, then the other.  "Gonna kiss you all night, remember?"

     "Jim, it's not night anymore.  It's almost seven, and I'm still in
my robe with drool on my face.  I have to go make breakfast down at
the motel."

     "Fuck 'em.  They'll live another ten minutes."

     "Jim, let go, man.  I really have to get up."

     "Fine."  Jim was up off the couch like a shot, then discovered
the patch of drool on his robe.  "Just like sleeping with a fucking
bulldog," he observed, his momentary foul humor seeming to abate as
he caught Blair's eyes, a little smile curling his mouth.  Blair chuckled
at that.

     "Sorry, man.  My mouth was probably open when I fell asleep."

     "Sorry I bit your head off a minute ago.  I'm just sick of this
'every morning at seven' routine.  We had more mornings off than this
when I was a cop."

     "I know.  Not too hard to have more than nothing," Blair
observed, sighing heavily.  "We've been on the ball to cook breakfast
for strangers every morning for how long?  Four months?"

     "Five next week, but who's counting?"  Jim walked to the living
room window and pulled the curtain back.  "There's a light on in Room
12, and one in Room 16."

     "Swell.  I had hoped maybe they'd sleep in once and miss the
free food."

     "Not Room 16.  They smell food faster than *I* do."

     "I'll go."  Blair ran his hands through his hair, pulling it back,
and found a hairband in the pocket of his robe.  "I can just throw on
jeans and a sweater.  Hopefully the aroma of cooking bacon will
overpower the eau de Sandburg.  I'll shower when I get done."

     "I happen to like eau de Sandburg."  Jim caught him around the
waist.  "Your lips are swollen.  Cook fast.  I don't think we'll leave the
house at all this afternoon."  He kissed the inviting lips, and lingered
there as long as Blair would let him before pushing away.

     "Hold that thought."  

     Breakfast was cooked and cleaned up, and by the time Blair
returned to the house for his shower, a showered Jim was already
dressed and clanking around in the basement.  Finally feeling like his
old self in fresh clothes, Blair headed down to see what his partner was
up to, shivering a little at the chill in the air.

     "What's up, man?"

     "The fucking furnace just croaked.  Dead.  Caput.  Finished. 
Expired.  Deceased.  Fried."  Jim scratched his head.  

     "Can it be fixed?"  Blair asked.


     "And you say *I* don't listen to *you*.  What part of 'croaked'
don't you understand?"

     "You mean we're talking new furnace here?"

     "Uh huh.  Oh, I'll call the heating and cooling guy because I just
have this overpowering desire to part with another $250 so he can tell
me it's dead."

     "Oh, man."  Blair dropped onto the bottom step, resting his
elbows on his knees.  "We can't pay for this, can we?"

     "Well," Jim opined, staring at the large metal enemy in front of
him, "we can do it on monthly payments.  Like everything else in this
goddamned money trap.  Or we can take out the last of our savings and
pay for it.  Or we can sell the loft."

     "But isn't that overkill to pay for a furnace?"

     "Not if you don't have the money, it isn't."

     "I thought we were doing okay.  The books looked pretty good,
and things haven't been so tight--"

     "We've got a long, cold winter ahead of us, Chief.  Our
reservations aren't going up.  They're static.  As long as nothing else big
happened, we were okay."  Jim shrugged, then shook his head.  "I'm out
of money--ready cash."

     "We could sell the Volvo.  I don't need a separate car.  We can
share the truck."

     "Let's not get hasty here, Chief.  We'll figure something out. 
First step is to get somebody out here to look at this piece of shit and
then haul it away and put in a new one.  We'll slap it on plastic and
work out the details later.  That's all we can do."

     "I should probably get back down to the motel.  We've got a
couple people checking out this morning."  Blair hauled himself off the
step.  "So what next with this?"  he gestured at the furnace.

     "I'll call the nearest heating and cooling place and get somebody
out here to take a look at it, and see if I can get an estimate.  Hopefully
get a *furnace* installed in this place soon."

     "At least we can stay in the motel if we have to," Blair
responded, leading the way upstairs.  
     
     "We'll probably have to for a night or two."  Jim picked up the
scrawny Gull Coast phone book where it lay on the kitchen counter and
started thumbing through it, locating the tiny yellow pages section
while Blair hurried back out to the motel office to get their guests
through the check out process.

********

     Jim paced around the same little patch of ground again, sighing
and checking his watch.  It hadn't been that long since he'd reached the
heating and cooling place, but he was anxious to get the show on the
road.  

     It was a brisk, sunny October day, with Halloween just over a
week away.  Thanks to Blair's insistence that they get in the holiday
spirit, the house and grounds were bedecked in Halloween style.  His
partner had made ghosts from a bunch of big styrofoam balls and some
cheap white sheets, both of which he'd picked up on one of their supply
runs to Bangor.  The sheets were placed over the ball and tied, to create
the ghost's head, and then suspended from the trees between the
keeper's house and the motel.  In the sunlight, it looked cute, but in the
moonlight at night, with the wind whistling through the trees, it looked
perfectly eerie.

     On the porch sat four fat, carved jack-o-lanterns.  Jim evaluated
their faces now, smiling at the memory of creating them with his
partner.  Blair's pumpkins reminded him completely of Blair--free
spirited.  The eyes were a bit lopsided, and the expressions were a bit
bizarre--Blair had taken nothing but pure joy in the activity, having fun
while Jim had evaluated the exact distance apart the eyes should be
from one another, and had carefully calculated the curve of the smile
until he figured it was probably geometrically correct.

     That precision had gotten him through the first pumpkin--until
Blair had decided he'd enjoy the project more with a pair of warm arms
wrapped around his neck and his lover leaning against his back,
nibbling at his earlobe and offering suggestions for the gourd's
expression.  Jim's second pumpkin looked like it had had one too many
drinks down at the local pub in Gull Coast.

     Laughing at the memory, Jim realized that he hadn't even heard
the approach of the pick-up truck that was now emerging from the trees
on their private road, pulling up near the house.  A middle-aged woman
got out, carrying a clipboard with her.

     "Marge Donner," she said, holding out a hand, which he shook. 
"You Mr. Ellison?"  the heavyset lady with the short brown hair asked. 
Dressed in a navy blue jacket bearing the "Donner Heating & Air
Conditioning" logo, she wasn't what Jim had expected.

     "Yes, we spoke on the phone, I think."

     "You were expecting a man, right?  Well, don't worry, honey. 
I've been doing this work for fifteen years now.  My husband started the
business, but he's disabled now, and I do all the calls.  So where's the
patient?"  

     "In the basement, this way."  Jim led the way into the house and
down the basement stairs, waiting while the woman evaluated the giant
monstrosity that had been heating the house.  After checking several
different parts of the outdated old furnace, she shook her head.

     "You're right.  It's had the course."

     "Is that your technical opinion?"  Jim quipped, and the woman
laughed.  She then proceeded to explain in painstaking detail just how
the old machine had met its untimely end.  As they headed back
upstairs, Jim asked her how long she thought it would take to replace
it.

     "Well, you're in luck there.  I think I can pick up just what you
need over in Bangor, and probably get it out here by this afternoon--if I
can get a hold of the guys who do the installation."

     "Can you write me up an estimate?"

     "Sure thing.  If you want me to figure central air in the deal, I
can give you a pretty good discount, doing both at once."

     "Sure.  Figure it both ways, huh?"

     "Will do."  She sat at the kitchen table and started scribbling
figures on the clipboard, while Jim went in search of Blair, whom he
heard rattling around upstairs now.

     Surprised to see Blair packing an overnight bag, Jim chuckled a
little.  

     "You really think that's necessary for sleeping at the motel for
one night?"  Jim asked, still smiling.

     "I'm not packing it for the motel.  I'm taking a trip.  I'm going to
New York."

     "Whoa, whoa...back up a minute.  You're going where?"

     "New York City.  The Big Apple.  Home of Sid Graham, the
Demon Publisher from Hell."  Blair stuffed another wad of clothing
into the bag without benefit of folding.

     "And when you get there, you're going to do what exactly?"

     "Demand what I have coming to me.  Look, that son of a bitch
destroyed my career.  I can look at Naomi as being the one who started
the ball rolling, but she wouldn't have gotten very far with an ethical
publisher."

     "Why don't you just chill out and I'll go with you in a couple
days, when we get this furnace thing taken care of?"

     "And the good fairy is going to run the motel while we're gone? 
You know what, Jim?  I've fucking had it.  We're in the toilet
financially, and Sid Graham the fat cat is livin' large while we can't
afford a new furnace.  Well, that's all going to change.  And it's going
to change NOW."  Blair started to yank the zipper on the bag closed,
then stopped, taking a deep breath and looking at Jim, realizing his
somewhat baffled lover didn't deserve to take the blast of his anger. 
He'd save that for New York City.

     "Look, I have to do this, man.  I've been trying to come to terms
with everything that happened, and I realized that the circle isn't going
to be complete until I deal with this aspect of it.  And we need help. 
And I *deserve* some kind of...of...*restitution* for what he did to
me."

     "I don't think you should do this alone."

     "I *have* to, Jim.  It's sort of like this primal...I don't
know...*thing* inside of me.  I need to handle this, and I need to do it
myself, to set things right."

     "You've got a flight already?"  Jim watched as Blair zipped up
the carry-on bag and hoisted it on his shoulder.

     "Yup.  I called Bangor Airport, and they have one leaving in
like, two hours.  I have to practically fly to get there and pick up my
ticket."

     "Why is this an emergency right now?"

     "Jim, I'll be gone one, maybe two days.  Trust me on this.  I
have an idea, and I have to run with it before I lose my nerve."  Blair
started for the door.  

     "The furnace is dead, by the way."  Jim's tone was a little
irritated.  

     "Look, I'm not going to New York to see the Statue of Liberty. 
I've got some unfinished business to take care of before I can move on--and 
before *we* can move on.  I'm not running out on you here."

     "I didn't think you were.  I just don't understand the big cloak of
secrecy about your plan."

     "I'm going to go meet with Sid Graham, and demand what I
have coming to me for the way he fucked up my career.  I have *no*
idea how it's gonna go, but I've had it with this Mr. Nice Guy bullshit. 
We can see how far that's gotten us."

     "Why not have your lawyer talk to him?"  Jim protested,
following Blair downstairs.

     "What lawyer?  Besides, there's a certain satisfaction in going
after the son of a bitch one on one.  If I need a lawyer, I'll get one.  But
that might not be necessary."

     "You're prepared to sue this guy?"

     "I don't want it to come to that.  The thing is, that means I'd
have to lie under oath about faking the diss, and I *don't* want it to
come to that.  That's one of the reasons I didn't sue in the first place. 
But I have to do something here to take my life back.  To make things
better for us.  To get *our* life back."

     "I still think I should go with you."

     "And who's going to take care of this place?  We've got guests
down at the motel, the furnace needs replacing...we can't just both walk
out of here." Looking into Jim's still-unconvinced but considerably
more passive face, Blair stepped closer and wrapped both arms around
the larger man's body, hugging tightly.  "I love you.  I won't be gone
long."

     "I love you too, sweetheart.  And you better not be, or I'll come
and get you."  Jim kissed the top of Blair's head and squeezed him
tightly.  "You call me as soon as you get to your hotel, okay?"

     "I will."

     "Be careful--this is New York City we're talking about here,
Chief."

     "I'm a big boy, Jim," Blair pulled back with an affectionate
chuckle, then groaned as Jim reached down and squeezed the bulge in
Blair's jeans gently, smiling wickedly as the other man humped a little
against his hand.

     "So I've noticed.  Just watch your step."

     "Promise."  Blair looked into Jim's eyes for a long moment,
then both of them closed the distance for a long, slow kiss good-bye. 
"Hey, it's just a day or so," Blair said a little unevenly, moved by the
sadness in Jim's eyes and unnerved by the lump in his own throat at so
brief a separation.

     "You better get going, Sandburg, or I won't let you leave at all,"
Jim said in a hushed voice, kissing Blair's forehead quickly and then
walking toward the kitchen door with a loud clearing of his throat. 
"Gotta take care of the furnace thing, Chief.  Be careful."

     "I will.  Love you, Jim," he said quietly, knowing Jim would
hear him.  The other man turned just before entering the kitchen, and
the look they shared said more than words could have.  With more than
a little difficulty, both men turned away and headed in opposite
directions.

********

     New York City was every bit as crowded and hectic as always,
just as Blair had expected.  He'd been there only once before, when he
was much younger.  Somehow then all the crowds had been
fascinating--a living study in Anthropology.  Now they were just so
many bodies all between him and his goal.  

     Once the taxi dumped him off at the hotel--strategically located
about six blocks from Sid Graham's office--Blair checked in and finally
collapsed on the bed of his well-appointed room.  Getting a room in the
high rent district had just about polished off what was left of his credit
line, but still, he wanted to be handy to the offices of Berkshire
Publishing, and also able to give a reasonably good impression of
adequate affluence that he would be taken seriously.  If he could afford
the big ticket hotel, maybe they'd assume he could afford the big ticket
lawyer to take them to the mat.

     The phone call to Jim met with the answering machine, which
meant Jim was most likely either doing some work in one of the rooms
or had made a mad dash into town for supplies.  Either way, Blair
didn't have time to wait any longer.  It was three in the afternoon, and
he wanted to nail Sid Graham before he managed to slither out for the
day.  After a quick change into some fresh clothes--the same outfit he'd
worn on his one day of ill-fated teaching at Bayport--Blair headed
downstairs and made the short walk in the brisk October sunshine to
the skyscraper that housed the publishing company.

     He paused outside the door of the twenty-fifth floor office suite,
taking a deep breath and bolstering himself.  This was not only his life,
but his and Jim's life, he was fighting for.  They deserved much better
than the condition they were presently in, and Blair made up his mind
that he was going to do something about it.  Pushing open the glass
door etched with an ornate "B" above the "Berkshire Publishing, Inc."
title, Blair strode inside and paused at the receptionist's desk.

     "May I help you, sir?"

     "I'm looking for Sid Graham's office."

     "That would be down the hall, the third door on the right.  His
secretary can help you," she responded, smiling pleasantly.  

     "Thank you."  Blair headed down the hall, mentally noting the
heavy padding beneath the carpeting, the rich colors in the window
trimmings and the woodwork...yes, these people could well afford to
compensate him for what he'd been through...for the lives he and Jim
had both had to give up in order to be together and survive--thanks to
them.  

     An attractive middle-aged woman with short blonde hair,
dressed in a dark business suit, emerged from what Blair assumed was
Graham's private office.

     "May I help you?"

     "I'm here to see Mr. Graham.  It's extremely urgent."

     "Mr. Graham is in a meeting at the moment, sir.  I would be
happy to make an appointment for you."

     "This won't wait.  I'm only in town today, and I need to speak to
him.  My name is Blair Sandburg.  Please let him know that I'm here."

     "I have instructions not to disturb him, Mr. Sandburg."

     "Please let him know I'm here, and tell him he can either speak
to me now or he can speak to my attorney tomorrow.  It would be in
his, and the company's, best interest to speak to me now."

     "Just a moment."  She turned and walked back into the private
office, closing the door behind her.  A few moments later, Sid Graham
emerged, white shirt sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, pleasant smile on
his face.  

     "Blair, what a nice surprise," he said, extending his hand toward
the man who looked anything but friendly.
     
     "We need to talk.  Privately," Blair responded, ignoring the
outstretched hand.

     "Of course, Blair.  Right this way."  He paused and looked back
and the secretary.  "Linda, hold my calls, please."  She nodded and he
herded Blair into the office and closed the door behind them. 
     
     "Your secretary said you were in a meeting."
     
     "Corporatespeak for 'I'm trying to get some work done'.  Would
you like some coffee?"  Sid gestured toward a thermal pot that sat on
what looked like a fully-equipped wet bar.  

     "No, thank you."

     "My secretary said it was urgent.  Please, let's sit."  Sid led them
to a grouping of expensive, dark green leather furniture.  He sat in a
chair that shared a common end table with the one Blair occupied.

     "I'm not going to take up a lot of your valuable time, Sid.  I'll
get right to the point.  I would like to accept the book deal you offered
me."

     "I beg your pardon?"  Sid laughed a bit uneasily.  "You said it
was a fake."

     "Oh, not that book.  For a different book.  See, thanks to the
unauthorized release of passages from material you received without
my permission in the first place, I find myself short a career.  So I've
decided to become an author."

     "Blair, I *am* sorry for how things turned out, but I'm afraid
you've lost me."

     "Well, let me explain it a bit more explicitly then.  I never
authorized the release of my dissertation to you.  Furthermore, you
proceeded to release passages of that work to the press, after I had
expressly told you to forget you ever saw it and that I wasn't interested. 
As a result of your illegal actions, I was forced into an untenable
situation which resulted in the destruction of my professional
reputation.  Now, that's unfortunate, because Ph.D.'s make good
money.  Especially those of us, like me, who have strong publication
records and a number of academic honors under their belts.  See, those
Ph.D.'s often have a shot at one of the ivy league--i.e. *big paying*--
universities for their careers.  That's where I was headed, Sid, when
your little plan destroyed my career.  I figure I'm looking at a *lot* of
lost earnings there."

     "Your mother is the one who sent me your dissertation."

     "Yes, that's true.  And she wasn't authorized to do that. 
Furthermore, I'm not a minor, Sid. My mother is no more authorized to
release my work than you are.  And you certainly were well aware of
my feelings about the situation before you released anything to the
press.  Beyond that, you had *nothing* in writing."

     "What is it exactly you're asking for, Blair?"

     "Well, actually, I'm offering you quite an attractive way out of
this.  You obviously liked my writing style--'the next Celestine
Prophecy' were your exact words, I believe?  So what I'm proposing is
that you offer me the $250,000 advance on the book I plan to write on
the David Lash case--surely you remember that case?  Serial killer
whose trademark was a yellow scarf?  Left his victims nude in their
bathtubs?  Nice and lurid, huh?  And guess who he abducted and
almost murdered?  Your truly.  Now that sounds like a bestseller to
me."

     "Very possibly," Sid agreed, nodding. "But $250,000 in
advance?  Blair, that was in anticipation of publishing Nobel-nominated 
research--"

     "Do you have any idea how much I could sue you, and
Berkshire Publishing, for?  My lawyer's conservative figure was $10
million," Blair bluffed, pulling the figure out of the air.  It must have
been reasonably likely, because Sid seemed to stiffen a bit at that,
shifting in his chair.  "And that's not to mention what I could do to
*your* credibility by going to the press and elaborating on just how
grossly you steam rolled over my rights to my own intellectual
property."

     "I'd have to get my superiors' approval on a sum that size," Sid
hedged.

     "So call them and get it."  Blair leaned back in his chair.

     "It isn't that simple."

     "This is very simple, Sid.  You either get me the deal I'm
outlining, and put together a contract that would make Stephen King
jealous, or I'll not only take you to court and sue your ass, but I'll hold a
press conference that won't leave Berkshire Publishing with much of a
reputation."  Blair raised one eyebrow.  "Bet *that* would go over well
with your *superiors*."

     "Excuse me."  Sid got up and walked over to his desk, ringing
his secretary on the intercom.  "Linda, get me Ted Connell on the
phone."

********

     Jim listened to the message from Blair on the answering
machine.  He felt a momentary pang of relief that he was *not* Sid
Graham.  Blair's voice held that note of determination and assertiveness
that usually meant he was *going to have his way*.  With a little smile,
Jim turned off the machine, thinking that he probably shouldn't have
bothered warning Blair about New York City--he should have warned
them about Blair.

     Looking at the bill for the new furnace, Jim sighed and sat at
the kitchen table.  Another monthly payment.  Terrific.  Picking up the
cordless phone, Jim dialed Stephen's number.  He'd had a little plot of
his own nagging at his brain for days now, but it wasn't until Blair was
safely out of the house that he felt he could pursue it.  Blair probably
wouldn't approve, wouldn't want it done...but Jim couldn't let this go,
hard as he tried.

     "Ellison."

     "Ditto," Jim responded.

     "Jim!  This is a surprise," he said, a smile in his voice.

     "I need your help with something."

     "Name it, bro."

     "You told me once that you knew this private investigator who
could dig up dirt on the pope if need be."

     "Yeah..."  Stephen replied hesitantly.

     "Well, trust me, this guy ain't the pope, but I want some major
dirt.  The dirtier the better."

     "Sounds serious."

     "He deserves whatever he gets.  In the absence of going to his
house and beating the living shit out of him, which is my *first* choice,
this is the next best thing.  I want to ruin his career."

     "Who *is* this guy?"

     "He hired Blair for that teaching job, with the intention of
sexually harassing him.  He made a move on him, and offered him
continued employment based on Blair providing blow jobs and anal sex
in return."

     "Sounds like a great guy.  So that means Blair's teaching job is
history already?"

     "He taught *one class*, and the asshole invites him back to his
house for dinner, grabs him and throws him on the couch and basically
outlines the terms of the deal."

     "Geez.  Was Blair hurt at all?"

     "Actually, no.  He walked out--but before he did, I guess he
nailed the guy with a pretty good right hook," Jim said proudly, a smile
on his face.

     "Good for him."

     "The thing is, this jerk then goes to Stoddard and tells him that
Blair was ill-prepared and inadequate for the job, and since they've
known each other for years, Stoddard believed him over Blair."

     "So there goes Blair's good references, huh?"

     "Basically, yeah."

     "What an asshole.  I'll E-mail you the name and contact info. 
He's really good, Jim, but he's damned expensive."

     "I'll sell the loft if I have to, but I want this bastard nailed to the
wall."

     "Can't say I blame you there.  Look, Jim, if money's an issue--"

     "Thanks, but I don't do the charity thing well.  We'll manage."

     "Okay.  But if things change...I mean, it *was* my bright idea."

     "The idea was a good one.  We've been happy here.  We're just
a little tight right now."

     "Maybe once you go through a full year, things'll get busier."

     "Hopefully.  Look, I have to go.  I hear the furnace guy."

     "Up at the main road or in the driveway?"  Stephen quipped.

     "Asshole."

     "Yeah, love you too, Bro.  Talk to you later."

     "Thanks again, Steve."  Jim hung up the phone, chuckling a
little as he headed to the front porch to wait for the truck to emerge
from the tree-shrouded drive into view of the house.  

********

     Blair stood outside on the sidewalk, every nerve in his body
tingling and on full alert.  He hadn't felt a shot of adrenaline like this
since he'd turned the fire hose on a group of gunmen in the streets of
downtown Cascade. //Now *that* was a long time ago,// Blair thought,
grinning as he looked at the envelope in his hands.  He would review
the contract with his lawyer, then show up at Berkshire Publishing the
next day to sign it at precisely 10 AM.  Assuming, of course, that he
*had* a lawyer.

     Wandering down the sidewalk as dusk shadowed the city, he
decided to check out the directories in the lobbies of a couple other
nearby buildings.  There had to be attorneys' offices all over the place
around this area, and there was bound to be one specializing in
business law--or maybe in issues of publishing and copyrights.  This
was New York City, after all.  You were supposed to be able to find
anything here.

     After visiting two buildings with no success, Blair checked the
directory the third major office building, about four blocks from Sid's
office.  Trumbull & Trumbull was the name on the listing, and Blair
asked the building's security guard if he knew what kind of law they
specialized in.  The older man thought for a moment, then responded
"Corporate type stuff, business law, I think."

     Delighted with this find, Blair hurried to the elevator and rode it
to the fortieth floor, then walked slowly down the hall, checking the
suite numbers until he found Suite 4016.  He walked into the elegantly
appointed office, the business envelope holding the contract clutched
in a hand he hoped wasn't too sweaty.  He approached yet another well-
dressed secretary, this one young and dark-haired, and was greeted with
a pleasant smile.

     "Hi, Sheri," Blair read off her nameplate.  "I'm here in town to
sign a book deal with my publisher, and I need a legal opinion on the
contract.  I, uh, am between lawyers at the moment, and I really don't
want to sign this without someone good looking it over."

     "Well, let's see who's still here who could see you," she
responded pleasantly.  "Please, have a seat and fill out this information
form.  Your name?"

     "Blair Sandburg."

     "It should be just a few moments, Mr. Sandburg."

     "Thanks." He took a seat in the waiting area, watching as she
made a couple of intercom calls to the nearby private offices.  He
completed the form she had given him, and a few moments later, a
woman of about fifty, stocky with short, wavy brown hair and glasses,
dressed in a gray skirt and jacket, approached him.

     "Margaret Trumbull," she said, holding out her hand.  Blair was
on his feet in a moment, shaking the outstretched hand.  
     
     "Blair Sandburg," he responded, smiling.  

     "Right this way, please."  She led him back to the most remote
of the private offices, and Blair suspected, the largest.  He figured he
had just spent $500 walking across the burgundy carpeting and
probably another $500 when his butt hit the expensive leather chair he
sat in, across from her desk.  "Sheri tells me you're in need of some
advice on a publishing contract."

     "Yes.  I..."  Blair sighed.  "I don't have a lawyer, but I do need
an opinion on this.  I'm supposed to sign it tomorrow morning."

     "You don't have an agent?"  she asked, puzzled, as she took the
envelope from Blair and opened it to look at the folded contract inside.

     "No.  This...is kind of a one-on-one deal.  I know the senior
editor--the guy who came up with the deal.  But I want to be sure it's
not only fair, but outstanding--because he's claiming it is."

     "It *is* outstanding."  She raised her eyebrows as she read. 
"This is a very good deal, Mr. Sandburg.  I'm surprised I haven't read
any of your work before, if you can command a contract like this one."

     "I've never written a book before--well, I've written a number of
scholarly articles, but never a full length book."

     "I see."  She nodded, further confused.  "Well, everything is
certainly in order here.  The advance alone is highly unusual.  But
everything in the contract is on the up and up, and very lucrative for
you."  She proceeded to explain in layman's terms the language of the
contract, what it meant, and what Blair could expect from it.  She also
outlined what was expected from him--which was essentially an option
on his next two books, with the first one to be at the draft stage by the
end of one year.  All in all, the percentage of the profits he would be
allowed to keep was on the high end of the scale, usually reserved for
authors who could write their own tickets.

     "I really appreciate you seeing me without an appointment.  I'm
a little new at this, and I wasn't very well prepared."

     "We all have to start somewhere, Mr. Sandburg.  And you're
certainly starting off well, in my opinion.  If I were you, I would sign
that contract in a heartbeat."  She handed it back to Blair, who smiled
broadly.

     "That's great news.  I thought it looked good, but I'm not very
familiar with publishing contracts."

     "Well, I am, and this is a fine one.  Berkshire rarely goes so
high for established authors, let alone new talent."

     "I guess I'm pretty fortunate then."

     "Very.  I'm afraid I have to be leaving.  I have a dinner meeting
at seven," she said, rising from her chair.  Blair followed suit, shaking
hands with her again, across the desk.  "Sheri will send you the bill. 
And I'd like to give you my card.  If you are interested in retaining an
attorney to handle your New York business interests, please keep our
firm in mind."

     "Thank you.  I certainly will."  Blair smiled and accepted the
card.

********

     "I miss you," Blair said into the phone as soon as Jim said
"Hello".

     "Good to hear your voice, sweetheart.  How's it going?"

     "Oh, man, I've got *so* much to tell you.  But I want to wait
until I see you, so we can celebrate."

     "We have a reason to celebrate?"

     "Oh, man, you wouldn't believe it.  But it's not official yet.  All I
know is that I miss you."

     "This place is a real rattletrap without you in it, Chief.  But at
least it's a warm rattletrap.  The new furnace is in."

     "That was quick."

     "Well, all the ductwork was okay.  They just had to take out one
and put in the other."

     "I thought maybe you'd have to stay at one of the rooms in the
motel."

     "I might anyway.  Our bed isn't the same half empty."

     "You ought to try one of these king-sized numbers in this hotel. 
I really hate being away from you at night."

     "So when are you coming home?"

     "My flight leaves at noon tomorrow.  I should arrive in Bangor
at..."  Blair found the scrap of paper, "three."

     "I'll be there."

     "My car's already there, Jim."

     "Good.  I'll keep it company until you show up."

     "You don't have to do that."  Blair smiled at the romance and
affection in the gesture of Jim driving all the way to Bangor to pick
him up when he could certainly drive himself home.  "But I'm glad
your going to."
     
     "Wouldn't miss it, baby," Jim said softly.

     "I picked up something special for us at this little shop I found
downtown."

     "What?"

     "They had an extensive collection of massage oils.  I picked out
a few things for us.  I figured we could spend all night testing them,"
Blair said into the phone, hoping he was using his best bedroom voice. 
Judging from Jim's silence, he figured he had.  "You're not doing
anything there you shouldn't be doing without me, are you?"  he asked.
     
     "Not anymore than what I've caught you doing every now and
then."

     "I seem to remember getting bent over the back of the couch for
that," Blair responded, smiling.

     "Guess you'll just have to deal with me when you get home."

     "God, Jim, I just want to *be there*."

     "What are you wearing?"  Jim asked.  

     "You shoulda been a 900-operator, man," Blair responded,
chuckling.

     "Good idea.  I could do that from home and make some extra
money while I run the inn. Now, what're you wearing, Chief?"

     "My robe and my boxers.  What are *you* wearing?"

     "An old suit of sweats."  Jim grinned.  "So lie back on the bed
and touch yourself."

     "Only if you do."

     "I only need one hand to hold the phone, baby.  What do you
think I'm doing?"

     "Oh, man," Blair gasped, reaching for his own aching cock,
freeing it from the boxers, pumping hard as he listened to Jim's
breathing get more rapid along with his own.

     "What're you gonna do with that big thing when you get home?" 
Jim asked, his voice low and strained with his own pleasure.

     "Slide into that perfect ass of yours and do it long and slow all
night," Blair managed in return, rewarded by a couple more grunts
from Jim.  He could tell his lover was getting close, as he was himself.  

     "I might have to...remind you who...you belong to," Jim ground
out, giving in to a symphony of heavy breathing.

     "Remember that morning you started doing me before I woke
up?  When we slept...with you...in me...oooh...Jiiiimm!!!"  Blair gave
up speech as his orgasm rippled through him, spurting over his hand
and staining his open robe and boxers.  He heard and answering shout
of his name from Jim, along with the attendant sounds of labored
breathing.

     "If I were there, I'd kiss you until you couldn't breathe at all,"
Jim gasped into the phone.

     "Tomorrow we'll spend all night in the sack--but I think we
should spend all evening on the couch licking tonsils--whaddya think?" 
Blair suggested, still panting a bit himself, lying languidly against the
headboard, his lax, sticky cock resting against him, sated.  

     "No arguments here, baby," Jim responded.  

     "I guess I should hang up.  The long distance from here is
probably expensive."

     "Can't put a price on love, honey," Jim responded in a thick,
clumsy Texas accent.  Blair laughed out loud.

     "I'll remind you of that when my credit card bill comes."

     "Put the massage oils on there too, huh, Chief?"

     "Uh, yeah.  And a couple other things.  But it's gonna be fine,
because I'm going to pay it off soon."

     "You are, huh?"

     "Yup.  I'll tell you everything tomorrow."

     "Okay, sweetheart.  Get some sleep and take care of yourself.  I
love you."

     "I love you too.  Get plenty of rest tonight.  You'll need it," Blair
added, smiling again.

     "Goodnight, Chief."

     "'night, Jim."  

     Blair hung up the phone and stared at it a moment. //Don't
worry about that furnace bill, lover.  We're gonna be just fine,// he
thought to himself, sliding off the bed to go wash up.

********

     Jim checked his watch for the fifth time in so many minutes. 
Blair's plane was late, delayed in New York.  All he wanted to do was
get his hands on that clinging, affectionate bundle of energy that should
have burst through the door two hours ago.  Getting up again, he
wandered around the waiting area.  Finally, the flight's arrival was
announced, and Jim began to circle the area where the passengers
would enter like a great white who hadn't eaten for two days.

     Blair's head was bobbing up from time to time among the
crowd of people, not that Jim would have needed any signal.  He knew
where Blair was the instant he left the plane.  And now, Blair fought
his way through the other passengers to make a flying leap at Jim, who
caught him and lifted him a couple inches off the ground, kissing him
soundly and then just holding on.  He couldn't remember ever being
this overjoyed to see and touch another person in his entire life.

     "Missed you," he said into Blair's hair, finally letting Blair have
his own two feet back on the floor again.  

     "You too, man.  Oh, it's *so* good to see you.  C'mere."  Blair
grabbed him by the hand and pulled him toward some unoccupied
chairs, where they both sat.  "Feast your eyes on this baby."  Blair
pulled an envelope out of his bag, and held up a check from Berkshire
Publishers for $250,000.

     "I don't understand...?"  Jim looked puzzled.

     "Well, it's a payoff.  See, I decided I'd still like to write, but
instead of the sentinel project, I thought I'd write a few books on some
of our more lurid cases--Lash, Hector Carasco, Quinn, Warren Chapel. 
Sid was convinced by yours truly that it would be in their best interest
to give me the same book deal for my proposed book on Lash that he
was offering for the sentinel project.  Since I told him I'd sue his ass
and make him a laughing stock in the publishing business for his
unthinkable violation of my rights in releasing my work without
permission--actually, releasing it *after* I had told him to forget he
ever saw it."

     "And he just caved?"

     "No, I had to pretend I'd talked to a lawyer and was ready to sue
for $10 million.  I actually did see a lawyer, but after I had the contract
in hand.  She said it was one of the best she'd ever seen--a really great
deal.  I get a good percentage of the take, this advance, and they're
agreeing to publish two more books for me. *Plus*, there's a nice
clause in there about how much they have to spend on promotions, so
they can't sabotage me."

     "So they gave you this much money without even an
*outline*?"

     "It was that or go to court and get smeared in the press.  They
figured this was the cheaper route.  And if I end up being a best-selling
author in process, well, everybody wins.  If not, we've got enough to get
our debts paid off, and they don't get taken to court for my lost lifetime
earnings."

     "I never pictured you being a corporate player, Chief."

     "I do what I have to do.  And I want us to have a good life
again.  We've got a good life together, but we aren't making it
financially.  Now, we are."  Blair tucked the check back in his bag.

     "You're really going to write about Lash?  Isn't that going to be
a little...unnerving?"

     "For this kind of money, I can do unnerving.  Besides, we
*lived* it.  Talking about it or reading about it isn't going to unnerve
me anymore than that did.  What I'm thinking is, people only buy books
on serial killers for the sensationalism.  Which is the way you hook
them.  But maybe taking a serious approach, doing some good
research, exploring what led someone like Lash to be what he was--
maybe there's some value in that.  And some of our cases have been
just plain...*interesting*."

     "I...I don't know what to say, Chief.  I'm really, really happy for
you--and proud."

     "Happy for *us*, man."

     "Yeah, for *us*," Jim repeated, smiling and leaning forward to
kiss Blair's mouth quickly.  "Let's go home, huh?"

     "I'm really ready for that!"  Blair agreed, the two of them
heading for the exit, each with his arm slung around the other.  

********

     "Did it start yet?"  Blair called out from the kitchen.

     "Not yet.  Still commercials."  Jim was situated on the couch,
television tuned to the network showing an all night Halloween horror
movie marathon.  It was just before eight o'clock, and the first film, an
old Christopher Lee version of Dracula, was about to begin.  

     The coffee table was laden with a variety of horribly fattening,
unhealthy foods--chips of several varieties, a few bags of Halloween
candy Jim reveled in not having to fight the trick-or-treaters for, and
enough beer and soft drinks to keep them happy for hours.  Blair was
bringing in the centerpiece of the debauchery--a giant bowl of popcorn
loaded with at least twice as much butter as Blair normally would
consent to use.  

     The heat was turned down intentionally low to encourage
snuggling, and there was a fire crackling in the fireplace.  The lights
were off, and the wind howled ominously outside.  

     "Get in here," Jim held up the throw, having saved the cozy
corner seat for Blair, so he could be tucked there between his partner's
warmth and the arm of the couch.

     "I think this might turn into my favorite holiday of the year." 
Blair snuggled up with Jim and they got the popcorn arranged to their
satisfaction.  

     "How's the outline coming for the book?"

     "Great.  I've got it pretty much outlined.  Now I just have to
rough it in--well, and I've got some research to do--say, do you think
Simon would send me some copies of stuff from the case files, just to
refresh my memory?"

     "I'm not sure if he'd send something out.  He might bring
something with him when he comes next month."

     "Great idea.  I'll e-mail him tomorrow.  Oh, hey, the movie's
starting."

     "Dracula--king of the hickies," Jim said, kissing Blair's temple
and turning up the volume.

     "Kind of takes the mystique out of it, doesn't it?"  Blair joked.

     "Got another reservation for next weekend."

     "All right!  Hey, maybe Stephen was right--maybe we'll get rich
yet."

     "Paying off all those loans helped a whole lot.  At least now we
just have the mortgage and taxes and operating costs.  Man, all those
little repair loans and credit cards were killing us."

     Both men were silent for quite a while, just relaxing and
watching the movie.  By the time Dracula had claimed his first victim,
the phone rang.  Annoyed at the disturbance, Blair wriggled out of the
warmth of the spot and picked up the phone, which they'd left on the
kitchen table.  After informing a persistent young man that he didn't
want to save 50% on his next hotel stay via an incredible offer through
his favorite credit card, he turned to head back for the living room
when something caught his eye.  The newspaper they'd been sharing off
and on during dinner was still on the table--a larger paper from Bangor
than the tiny little weekly published in Gull Coast--was open to the
middle of the section on area news.

BAYPORT DEAN SUSPENDED PENDING INVESTIGATION

     Blair picked up the newspaper and scanned the article, dropping
into the chair to read the details of how Arthur E. Whitcombe, Dean of
Social Sciences at Bayport College, was under investigation for
allegations of sexual harassment against a male faculty member and a
female student.  On the basis of an anonymous tip, police visited
Whitcombe's home, and saw evidence of pornographic materials,
which enabled them to search further, leading to the discovery of a
number of photographs of a young man in various sexual situations. 
Since the age of the subject had not yet been determined, and
Whitcombe was pleading the Fifth, it was unknown if child
pornography charges would be filed.  

     "Hey, Chief, Dracula get you?  Come on back in here!"  Jim
called from the living room.

     "Jim...did you see this article?"  Blair walked in, carrying the
paper folded open to the Whitcombe piece.  He climbed back into his
part of the little nest they had on the couch, handing Jim the paper.

     "Isn't that a shame?"  Jim asked sarcastically, a positively feral
grin spreading across his features.  "Sounds like the old son of a bitch
finally tripped himself up."

     "Funny how that happened right on the heels of what happened
with me, isn't it?"  Blair asked pointedly, pinning Jim with an intense
gaze.

     "Somebody like that was bound to get caught, Chief."

     "Jim."

     "What?"

     "Look, man, don't lie to me.  You had a hand in this, didn't
you?"

     "What makes you say that?"

     "Well, the timing for one, and the fact you're not denying it--because
 I know damn well you don't want to lie outright to me."

     "It was all perfectly legal."

     "Jim, I told you to let it lie."

     "And I couldn't, okay?  The son of a bitch sexually harassed
you.  I don't want to think how that evening would have turned out if
he'd decided to force the issue.  He dragged you up to the top of the
world and then stepped on your face the next day.  How did you expect
me to sit by and watch that?"

     "Maybe because I asked you to."

     "Chief, letting him slide was *not* in anyone's best interest--not
yours, and certainly not the students and faculty who would have to
either put out for him or face the consequences.  You were so close to
the situation--I could understand you not looking at the big picture. 
But Blair, this guy had to be stopped.  I don't blame you for not wanting
to be the one to do it, but when he messed with you, *I* became the
logical one to do it.  So now it's done."  Jim slumped back on the
couch, his anger still obvious.  He rarely said that much all at one time,
and when he did, he was usually upset.

     "How did you do it?"  Blair asked quietly.

     "I got the name of a top flight private investigator from
Stephen, and I turned him loose on the guy.  Told him to dig up dirt
anywhere he could find it.  He located a couple of people who had
verbally made complaints to friends and in one case, to another staff
member.  He also uncovered the rumor from a faculty member that
Whitcombe had some kinky pictures of boys stashed in his house. 
Well, as it turns out, the pictures that were there are of a kid who is
somewhere between 16 and 19, at least that's the estimate by the
experts, and until they can locate him and find out how old he was at
the time the photos were taken, the whole kiddie porn thing is
pending."

     "How were you planning to pay for this?  I'm assuming you
launched this plot while I was in New York."

     "Guilty as charged, and I figured I'd sell the loft if necessary. 
The way things turned out, I was able to liquidate a couple of stocks
and bonds left to me by my grandfather, and that covered it."

     "I know I should appreciate this.  It's just...I wish you hadn't
gone behind my back."

     "You didn't tell me what you planned to do in New York,
either."

     "Jim, come on, man.  That was a personal issue."

     "It affected both of us.  I let you handle things your way, and I
didn't intrude."

     "But you didn't let me handle things my way with Whitcombe."

     "You didn't handle it at all, Chief.  And I don't blame you for
that.  But you know, I used to be a cop.  And letting jerks like
Whitcombe walk around free grates on my nerves.  Aside from the
personal angle--he hurt you, which made it open season."

     "Were you really upset about my going to New York?  I told
you I was going to see Sid Graham."

     "But you didn't give me any clue what it was about, or how you
were going about it.  I wasn't exactly upset.  I just felt a little...*shut
out* I guess."

     "I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to do that.  I just had to go fast when
the thought struck me and ride the tide before I lost my nerve.  I didn't
mean to shut you out.  But I was afraid if I stopped and talked about it
and thought about it, I'd find something wrong with it and I wouldn't try
it.  So I wanted to just...*go ahead* with it."  Blair paused, looking
perplexed.  "I guess it's just that I feel like you waited until I got out of
here and then did this behind my back, and it feels really *weird*."

     "I didn't mean it that way.  I just knew if you knew about it,
you'd object to it."

     "So you don't tell me about it?"  Blair shook his head.  "Geez,
Jim, that's a great way to handle a relationship.  If it's something I'll get
upset about, or get in your way about, just don't tell me about it.  That
works," he concluded sarcastically.

     "What do you want from me?  Huh?"  Jim got up off the couch
and started pacing, finally grabbing the remote and dispensing with
Dracula more efficiently than VanHelsing ever could.  "I said I was
sorry.  I'm sorry I love you and I'm sorry I don't like some asshole
shoving you around and making sick remarks at you and crushing your
dreams just for sake of a cheap fuck!"  Jim continued to pace, only
pausing briefly.  "You know, Blair, I'd give you a bunch of flowery
promises to settle this argument if I thought there was a chance in hell
I'd keep one of them.  Or if I could honestly say I was sorry at all for
nailing Whitcombe.  But I know I'd do the same thing again if I had
half a chance.  So you want honesty, there it is.  I love you with every
cell in my body, and if somebody messes with you, I'm gonna mess
with them, and that's never going to change, no matter how pissed off
you get at me because of it."

     "Maybe I came down on you too hard about this.  I...I know you
did it because you love me.  I just...I wish you'd told me."

     "So you could fight me every step of the way?"

     "Maybe I wouldn't have fought you!  Maybe if we'd talked it
over like rational adults, maybe I would have seen it your way.  Maybe
I would have agreed that stopping Whitcombe was a worthwhile thing
to do!  But I didn't get the chance because you decided to sneak around
behind my back, and that's the part of this that really hurts."

     "Would it help if I said that it bothered me to keep it from
you?"

     "If it's true, yeah, it might."

     "So now you think I lie to you about everything?"

     "No, of course not!  I just meant that I didn't want you to say
that just to make me feel better."

     "I'm not saying it--well, okay, I'm partially saying it to make you
feel better, but it's still true.  I didn't like doing it behind your back, but
I wanted that SOB to pay for hurting you.  I couldn't think of any other
way to do it without involving you."

     "You think maybe we could finish fighting with you over here
on the couch with me?"  Blair asked, smiling a little.  Disarmed as he
always was by that smile, Jim settled back into his seat and Blair
snuggled back into his arms again.  "I want us to be partners, Jim.  I
want to share everything.  I know I was wrong to take off to New York
without filling you in.  I was just so...*nervous* about it."

     "And I should've told you about the Whitcombe thing.  I
promise you I'll try to avoid keeping things from you, but I don't
promise not to deal with it if someone hurts you.  I *can't* promise you
that."

     "Fair enough.  I don't want you to stop doing your Blessed
Protector gig.  I kind of like it.  I just want to know about it."  Blair
smiled as the large arms finally closed around him, holding him close. 
"I'm sorry I was so cagey about New York.  I should have told you what
I was up to."

     "You were jittery.  That's understandable.  You really did a hell
of a job on them, though."  

     "Are we okay?"  Blair asked, squeezing Jim's middle.

     "We're great."  

     "I love you."

     "I love you too.  You're not still pissed off at me?"  Jim asked,
kissing the top of Blair's head.

     "No.  You mad at me?"

     "Nope."

     "Should we watch the movies?"  

     "Absolutely."  Jim picked up the remote and flipped it on, then
tucked the throw around them again after retrieving a bag of Doritos
from their stash.

     "Thanks."

     "For what?"

     "For loving me enough to go after Whitcombe."

     "Nobody'll ever hurt you without answering to me, Chief."

     "I know I'm not exactly as formidable as you are, but I feel the
same way."

     "Huh, I don't know about that.  Ask Sid Graham."

     "Yeah, I did kind of stick it to him, didn't I?"  Blair asked
rhetorically, laughing and settling in to watch the movie.

********

     Blair picked up the phone and dialed Naomi's number.  As far
as he knew, she was at her apartment in L.A. at the moment, and he
hoped to catch her there.  

     "Hello?"

     "Hi, Mom."

     "Hi, sweetie!  Oh, it's been so long!  The email just isn't the
same.  How are you, honey?"  

     "I'm fine, Mom.  Really, really fine.  I'm working on a book." 
Blair leaned back in the chair, smiling at the computer screen in front
of him.  The first chapter of the first draft of "Yellow Scarf" was
finished, the project a reality now as Blair planned a long winter of
writing ahead.

     "That's wonderful!"

     "Sid didn't tell you?"

     "Sid?"  There was a pause.  "After everything that happened,
there was just...too much negative energy between Sid and me.  I
haven't spoken to him since."

     "Well, he decided it was in his best interest to work out a book
deal with me as opposed to being sued.  So now I'm writing books for
Berkshire Publishing."

     "What are you writing about?"

     "Our cases.  I'm working on the David Lash case first."

     "Oh, Blair, that's a horrible thing to have to write about!"

     "I lived it, Naomi.  Writing about it isn't going to drive me over
the edge."

     "But it's such...*negative energy*.  Couldn't you explore
something a little more...*uplifting*?"

     "This kind of book sells.  My writing options are a tad limited."

     "But if you could write your own deal with Sid--"

     "Okay, time out."  Blair let out a long breath.  "Mom, I love
you, you know that.  But it's taken me this long to call you because I
really, really had a hard time letting go of what happened about the
dissertation."

     "You said you forgave me, sweetie.  I thought--"

     "I did forgive you.  And I love you.  I just...I've had a lot of
negative feelings to work through.  They say forgive and forget.  Well,
I forgave you because you're my mom and I love you.  But I didn't
forget it.  I couldn't move past it exactly."

     "But you can now?"

     "I'm moving on with my life.  It's a good life now.  I have Jim, I
have a new career--two new ones counting the inn--and I'm
finally...*happy* again.  I like my life, and I'm okay with how things
turned out.  But one thing I can't handle in this new life--and won't--is
the constant second-guessing of my decisions.  I love you dearly,
Naomi, but you've got to start respecting my choices."

     "I hear that," she said softly.

     "Do you?  I guess...I wouldn't make a big issue out of it, but
every time in the last few years you haven't liked a path I've chosen,
you've taken some steps to change it.  And that's the part that scares me
about even sharing what I'm doing with you.  And I don't want us to be
that way.  I want to be able to tell you everything, share things with
you--without worrying that I'm walking into another disaster."

     "I'm so sorry about sending your work to Sid.  I never meant to
hurt you."

     "I know that, Mom.  I know you love me, and that you mean
well.  But I'm asking you to please, please, let my decisions and my
choices stand.  If you want to 'help' me, ask me first, okay?"

     "That's fair enough," she said, a little smile in her voice.  "I
guess I just...Blair, honey, sometimes I just miss the little boy you
were.  You know, when I could make everything right for you so
easily."

     "I'm not a little boy anymore, Mom."

     "I know.  It's just hard to...let go of that time."

     "It's been over a long time."

     "I know that too.  And you're right--I won't interfere in your
choices unless you ask for my help.  I promise."

     "That's all I ask, Mom.  Hey--you free for Thanksgiving?"

     "Oh, no, honey, I'm sorry.  I'm going to get together with a
friend of mine and her family for the holiday.  You remember Trisha?"

     "Sure.  You guys met at a commune back in the 60s, right?"

     "You'd never know it to see her now," Naomi observed,
laughing a little.  "Poster girl for corporate America.  But I'm taking it
on myself to remind her of her roots just a bit."

     "Have mercy on her family."

     "Me?  Oh, honey, you know me!  I'll be perfectly charming."

     "That's when you're most dangerous, Mom."

     "You're bad, Blair.  Very bad."  She laughed again.

     "I learned at the feet of the queen," he retorted, smiling.

     "Watch your mouth, sweetie.  I am still your mother," Naomi
said good-naturedly.

     "I'm glad."

     "Me too.  I have to run.  Love you!"

     "I love you too, Mom.  Talk to you soon.  I'll e-mail you and
keep you posted on everything."

     "Great.  Take care, honey.  Give Jim a hug for me--I know what
an effort that will be!"

     "Oh, yeah, but I'll do it for you, Mom."

     "You're all heart.  Bye, sweetie."

     "Bye, Mom."   

     Chuckling and shaking his head, Blair turned his attention back
to the computer and began typing furiously as he recounted the
moments when Jim and he had first entered Susan Fraser's house.  It
was a less than ideal subject to dwell on as night fell, casting the big
old house into shadows.  Jim was down at the motel, working on the
books on the office computer, and waiting for a couple of new guests
to arrive and check in.

     There was something about this project that felt frighteningly
like having made a deal with the devil--getting a career from Sid
Graham.  Still, it had paid off the crippling debts from the motel and
house renovations, and left them with a decent little nest egg.  And that
wasn't counting royalties Blair would make from the book.  The book,
and hopefully, movie rights. //Maybe they'll have to dig up old Pauly
Shore yet,// Blair thought, laughing a little to himself as he tried to
detach himself from reliving the moment of finding Susan Fraser's
body...

     "Hey, Chief."

     "Oh, shit!"  Blair jumped almost a foot out of his chair and
landed back in it with a thud.  

     "Sorry, sweetheart.  Didn't mean to scare you."  Jim came up
behind him, his hands going to Blair's hair, scooping up the loose
strands and gathering them together, off Blair's shoulders.  "The guests
are checked in, and everything's shut down for the night.  I thought we
could get some dinner."

     "Oh, man, it was my turn..."  
     
     "No harm done.  I'll get something.  The way those keys were
going, it sounds like you're on a roll."

     "Yeah, but it's a roll I can do without for a few minutes."

     "I see what you mean," Jim said, reading a little over Blair's
shoulder.  He released the hair he'd been casually playing with and
rubbed Blair's shoulders.  "So that's why you jumped out of your skin
when I came in, huh?"

     "I guess it makes me more jittery than I thought.  But once I get
through this part, it'll get easier."

     "I hope so, for your sake, Chief."  He dropped a kiss on the top
of Blair's head, leaving him to his grim task as he sat at the computer
desk in the corner of the living room, clicking away at the keyboard.

     "Jim?"

     "Yeah?"  the other man called back from the kitchen over the
sounds of pots being put on the stove.  

     "Do you miss it--the PD, the whole...cop thing?"  Blair asked as
he walked to the door of the kitchen and leaned on the frame.  Jim
paused where he stood, holding a pot that he used for spaghetti. 
"Please, be honest."

     "Probably the same way you miss the whole doctoral student
thing."  Jim turned to look at his lover.  "It's something I loved to do,
something that was a big part of who I am...but it's over, and it's time to
move on."

     "Are you happy, though?  I mean, God, Jim, you're so smart and
so talented, and I just feel guilty that you're stuck out here with me."

     "I love being stuck with you, Chief."

     "But here?"

     "Wherever."  Jim filled the pan with water and dumped the
uncooked pasta into it.

     "You're not a good liar, man."

     "I'm as happy changing beds and cleaning toilets as I was three
months ago."

     "I just feel...sort of guilty, I guess.  I'm at least writing, doing
something else, and you're picking up more slack around here because
of it--"

     "Yeah, you've got a real sweet deal.  You're reliving Lash's
depravities all day, every day until you jump three feet when I walk up
behind you.  You made a deal with Sid Graham to get our asses out of
the financial sling.  Hell, we would have gone under trying to pay for
the new furnace, not to mention the central air and the other repairs we
could afford thanks to that check you came home with."  Jim started
the stove and pulled out some of his sauce that they had canned for
quick meals, opening it and dumping it in another pan.  "Are you really
enjoying revisiting the whole Lash thing?"

     "*Enjoying* isn't exactly the right word, no.  But this had to
start off with something lurid if I'm going to get an audience.  A reader
base.  Lash was the kind of sicko that sells books."

     "So the guy who should be writing scholarly journal articles and
ground-breaking books is writing to give a bunch of half-wits cheap
thrills so we can make ends meet.  Neither one of us ended up all that
well, here, sweetheart.  Not professionally."  There was a long pause in
the conversation.

     "It'll be good to see everybody again," Blair said, changing the
subject as he went to the cupboard and took down the plates.

     "Yeah, it will.  Naomi coming?"

     "No.  She's spending Thanksgiving with an old pal from one of
the communes she lived in back in the 60s.  I guess she's gone
corporate and Naomi feels obligated to help her re-discover her true
self--or something like that." 

     "Should be an interesting holiday for that family," Jim
commented, chortling a little.

     "No doubt."  Blair stood there a moment, silent, holding the
plates.

     "What's wrong?"  Jim frowned as he turned away from the
stove.

     "It's weird.  I just had this feeling--like I used to get when I was
little...you know, when I really wanted her to do something and...she
was busy, or going somewhere else..."  Blair shrugged.  "It's silly."  He
shook his head and started to move away from the counter, but Jim
stopped him, taking the plates out of his hands and setting them aside,
pulling him into a tight hug.  

     "I'm sorry she turned down the invitation, baby."

     "I really wanted a chance to see her...  I just, I wish sometimes
she'd...*want* to plan on spending a holiday with me--that she'd like,
check with me before she got all booked up."

     "You missed holidays together when you were a kid, too?"

     "Yeah, sometimes.  Not usually, but sometimes.  But once we
weren't living together, it's like she just sort of moved on and she was
never big on the 'commercial' holidays, so..."

     "Maybe Christmas?  Maybe if we get our bid in early..."

     "Maybe."  Blair tightened his hold and smiled.  "This feels
good."

     "Always does," Jim responded, hugging back.  "We'll call her
back real soon and try for Christmas--or Hanukkah--whatever you
want."

     "All I need for my holidays is right here."

     "Me too, baby.  Me too."

     "Hey, I'm getting hungry."  Blair pulled back, grinning and
reaching for the plates to carry them to the table.  

     "How about we build a fire after dinner and watch a movie or
something?  Maybe there's even a good game on."

     "Yeah, but we don't want it to be too good."  Blair smiled at
Jim's confused pause.  "Because about ten minutes into it, we're going
to start making out on the couch and we won't see it anyway."

     Jim had to laugh at that, and as he went back to stirring the pot
of sauce, had to admit to himself that he had it pretty damn good after
all.

********

     "I have to admire your sense of style here, Chief," Jim said as
the two of them stood outside the white stretch limo Blair had rented to
pick up their guests at the airport and transport them out to the inn.

     "We haven't done anything really frivolous with the money, and
I figured this would be more fun than renting a mini-van.  Gotta get 'em
all out there somehow."

     "I can't wait to see the look on Simon's face when he sees us
with this thing.  Probably think we really hit the jackpot with the inn."
Jim smiled.  "And we won't have to wait much longer."  

     "You see them?"  Blair asked, rolling up on his tiptoes, but still
not seeing a familiar face in the crowd.

     "I hear Simon's voice.  I can't see him yet.  Too many people in
the way," Jim said.

     Within a few moments, the Cascade contingent emerged from
the airport, escorted by the uniformed driver who had gone inside to
retrieve them, while his clients waited like the lords of the manor by
their stretch limo.

     "The innkeeping business must be booming!"  Simon observed
as he laughed a bit, shaking hands with Jim and pulling him into a tight
one-armed hug with all the necessary resounding macho back-slapping. 
Moving back, he was hit with the two-armed slam from Blair.  

     "We're getting by--of course, having a soon-to-be best-selling
author in the family helps," Jim said, noticing now that Stephen was
bringing up the rear with William Ellison, Daryl, Joel and Henri. 

     "This is first class service, Jimmy," the elder Ellison quipped,
stepping forward to hug his son and the man he didn't yet know was
equivalent to his *son-in-law*.

     "Daryl!  Hey, it's the college man!"  Blair bellowed out, hugging
Daryl enthusiastically.  "How's it going?"

     "I love UCLA, man!  It's great!"

     "Get outta my way, I gotta say hello to this guy."  Joel
unceremoniously moved Daryl out of the way and hugged Blair
himself, then Jim.  "You guys are a sight for sore eyes.  When're you
comin' back anyway, Jim?"
     
     "We should get going here," Simon interrupted, prompting the
happy group to load into the limousine, deflecting Joel's question for
the moment.  

     "It's about an hour ride, so help yourselves to drinks or snacks," 
Blair spoke up, gesturing toward the limo's bar.  As a few of them
followed the invitation, Jim updated everyone on the status of the
Beacon Pointe Inn--which was fully renovated and usually at least a
third to a half occupied.  They only had two rooms occupied for the
weekend, so there were plenty to choose from to accommodate their
guests.

     "So tell us about this book deal, Sandburg," Henri probed,
munching on a small bag of cocktail peanuts.

     "Well, Berkshire Publishers sort of owed me one--a big one--and I 
negotiated another book deal with them so I could write about
some of the cases I worked on with Jim.  Don't worry, guys, everything
I write will be public information type stuff, and I'm not going to turn
you all into substance-abusing womanizers or something."

     "Damn, and I thought this was going to be fun!"  Joel quipped,
sipping his soft drink.  

     "Yeah, well, I'll still try to get Denzel to play you, Joel," Blair
replied.  Without thinking, he slid his hand into Jim's while he was
talking.  It was such a natural thing for them to do when they were
sitting together, that it never crossed Blair's mind that William Ellison
was eyeballing them curiously.  "At least the advance came in handy to
make some improvements on the house.  And I love writing, so it's a
pretty good deal."

     "You're doing Lash first, right?"  Stephen spoke up, trying to get
Blair's attention, flexing his hand discretely against his own thigh. 
Without missing more than a moment with a slightly unnerved
expression, Blair responded, casually slipping his hand back out of
Jim's.

     "That's right.  I'm planning on hitting the really big name cases--the 
more notorious criminals like Lash, Quinn, Chapel--the ones some
people may even remember *before* they read the books."

     "I see that college you were working for had a bit of a scandal," 
Jim's father commented.  "Did you have occasion to deal with that
Whitcombe character?"

     "Only briefly, and he was as unethical as the papers say he is." 
Blair didn't see a point in beating around the bush.  Jim's father only
knew that Blair had taught there, but didn't know how long or the
conditions under which he left.  

     "You had problems with him?"  he persisted.

     "He offered me a permanent teaching position--provided I was
willing to render a few other services in return.  Needless to say, I
refused."

     "Yeah, quite assertively," Jim chimed in proudly, laughing a
little.

     "It's a new one every day.  But then I suppose after that whole
scandal in the White House, nothing should surprise us," William
concluded, still seeming a bit interested in watching Blair's body
language around Jim, and vice versa.

     "So who's cooking tomorrow?"  Simon asked.

     "Joint project," Blair responded.  "He's got a lot of hidden talent
in the kitchen he doesn't like to show off."

     "He who shows it off has to use it frequently," Jim responded,
smiling at Blair with love in his eyes that wouldn't have escaped the
most casual observation.  Blair flushed a little at the joke, absurdly
feeling as if the whole group of people suddenly knew what it was he
had been showing off to Jim that morning and just exactly how it had
been used...

     "Lovely scenery out here," Stephen commented, watching as the
oceanfront view zoomed past the tinted glass windows.

     "Wait until you see the view from the catwalk of the
lighthouse," Jim enthused.  "And from the house or motel--there's
nowhere you can go and not see an ocean view.  It's amazing."

     Before long, the limo wound laboriously through the trees,
following the curving private road that carried them to Beacon Pointe
Bluff.  As the car emerged from the trees into the clearing, there were a
few collective "oohs" and "ahs" at the view, and the first sight of the
lighthouse.

     Once the luggage was unloaded onto the porch of the motel, the
limo driver paid and on his way back, Jim offered their guests a choice
of room themes.  Predictably, Simon opted for the fishing theme with
no arguments from Daryl, Jim's father chose a lighthouse room,
Stephen decided on the nature theme, while Joel and Henri both took
the two remaining "seaside" rooms.  

     Leaving their guests to settle in and freshen up before dinner,
Jim and Blair made their way back up to the house and put the steaks
on the indoor grill, Blair pulling out the salad ingredients and going to
work.

     "I'm so sorry about the hand thing, Jim.  I mean, your dad's the
only one who doesn't know, and I just...forgot."

     "No apologies needed, Chief.  No harm done.  I have to talk to
him tonight anyway."

     "Yeah, but he was really giving us some weird looks in the
limo."

     "Selfishly, I'm sort of happy it went down that way.  Makes the
*big announcement* a bit less shocking."

     "What Joel said about you going back--you could do that, you
know."

     "What about this place?"

     "I guess we'd sell it."

     "I'm in no hurry to go anywhere, Chief."  Jim looked over at the
salad.  "More tomato."

     "You're changing the subject."


     "You're right.  But I still want more tomato."  Jim kissed Blair's
cheek as he passed him, retrieving plates from the cupboard to go set
the table.  

********

     "If this is a preview of coming attractions, I can't wait for
tomorrow," Henri commented, leaning back in his chair and patting his
stomach.  "Man, that was a *fine* steak, guys."

     "The motel is really interesting, the way you have the themed
rooms," Jim's father commented.  "You should market that idea a little
more aggressively."

     "Marketing takes money, Dad.  We haven't had much of that up
until Blair's book deal.  We have some more extensive ads placed in
various publications for the beginning of the Spring tourist season.  We
have a few ads in to hook the skiers this winter."

     "You have some sort of brochure I could take back with me?  I
can pass it around at the Club."

     "That'd be great," Blair chimed in.  "It's that word of mouth
recommendation that's going to get a lot of people to commit to trying
us out for a vacation.   We really aren't as cut off as we seem--Acadia
National Park is right nearby, and there's great fishing--and we have
our own private beach--well, not officially, but it doesn't get much use,
other than by us or our guests."

     "We should come out here when the weather's better and try the
fishing," Stephen added.

     "There must be some lakes around here with good ice fishing," 
Simon said.

     "Definitely.  I'll get you a list of the best fishing spots," Blair
responded.

     "So what do you guys do for fun out here?"  Daryl asked.  "It's a
long drive back to Bangor."

     "Well, we change the beds, and when we get bored, there's
always raking leaves and mowing the grass," Jim quipped.

     "Yeah, so we can watch it grow again," Blair added.

     "You said something about showing us the view from the
catwalk of the lighthouse?"  William prompted.  "I'd love to see that."

     "It's pretty chilly out there, Dad," Stephen commented.

     "Ah," he dismissed.  "Nothing a coat won't take care of.  What
do you say, Jimmy?"

     "Sounds like a great idea.  As soon as we get cleared away--"

     "I can get this stuff, Jim.  You guys go ahead.  We'll get a poker
game set up while you're gone."  Blair hoped the others would follow
his lead and leave the two Ellisons to take their little excursion alone. 
He was pleased when no one else bit on the idea of standing on the
lighthouse catwalk on the breezy, 40-degree night, and Jim set out with
his father for a solitary outing.

********

     "Blair?"  Daryl walked into the kitchen, having volunteered to
help clean up while the others sprawled in front of the TV and Jim and
his father took their walk.  "You want some help?"

     "Sure.  Scrape the big chunks off those plates and put 'em in the
dishwasher, huh?"

     "Sure."  Daryl stared at the plates a moment, then spoke again. 
"I just wanted you to know that...I'm cool with how things are."

     "Meaning?"  Blair turned from his project of cleaning the grill.

     "Well, you know, with, uh, you and Jim."

     "I'm glad.  What changed your mind?"

     "I guess just...seein' you together.  You guys seem really happy,
and you know, I guess it's not that gross, if you love each other and
everything."

     "Thanks for saying that, Daryl.  We *are* really happy together. 
Things are a little rough sometimes, getting adjusted to a whole new
way of life, but Jim and I were meant to be together.  I really believe
that."

     "Then I'm glad you are," Daryl said, smiling.

     "That means a lot."  Blair returned the smile, genuinely pleased. 
Clearing his throat and changing the subject, he said, "Tell me all about
UCLA."  He went back to his work on the grill.

     "I love it, man.  And I'm right where the action is, you know?"

     "Yeah, California has its advantages."  Blair looked at the other
man as he leaned against the edge of the counter.  "You going to help
clean up or just stand there and strike a pose?"  he prodded, smiling.

     "Sorry."  Daryl started scraping plates and placing them in the
dishwasher.

     "How about your classes?"

     "They're okay.  They're *big*, man.  Bigger even that those
classes you let me sit in on at the U back home."

     "I wasn't thinking demographics.  I wondered how you were
doing--you know, *grades*, professors, that kind of thing."

     "I had a couple of them that were really cool.  A couple I coulda
done without, man."  Daryl shook his head.  "My mid-terms looked
pretty good.  I've got a B- average going."

     "That's good, Daryl."  Blair moved on to another unsightly plate
of mangled food, placing its remains in another container for storage. 
"Was that your best effort--just between you and me?"

     "You know, man, there's a lot to do there.  I don't wanna waste
my whole life stuck in some *library*."

     "Daryl, you're there on a merit scholarship.  What's the
minimum GPA you have to maintain?"

     "3.0."

     "Then you better hit the books, man.  They don't screw around
when you drop below the average.  If you lose that money, you'll be
back in beautiful Cascade at the community college pretty fast--if I
know your dad."

     "Man, I didn't even want to *go* to college now."

     "But you wanted to live in L.A. with your girlfriend."

     "I'm not living with her.  We're in the dorms."

     "Yeah, but my point is that you went to UCLA to be with her
and to spend some time in L.A., right?"

     "I guess."

     "You've gotta do both, man."  Blair shook his head as he put a
couple items away in the refrigerator, pausing a moment to stare at the
turkey lurking in there, not exactly sure how to cope with actually
cooking the critter.  "I told you to go for it--about the Academy?  Well,
I've had a chance to experience a little more life since then, and trust
me, you don't want to blow off your education."

     "You miss it a lot?"  Daryl asked.  There was a long pause from
Blair.  

     "Yeah, I do."  He turned to face Daryl, deferring the turkey
issue for later.  "Don't get me wrong--I'm don't regret the choice I made. 
But it makes me look at an opportunity like you've got in a whole new
light.  Starting out fresh, with a clean slate..."  Blair pinned Daryl with
an intense gaze.  "Don't blow it, man.  You'll get one shot at being
where you are now, and from then on, it's going to be a hell of a lot
harder to get your education."

     "It just seems like, by the time I do all that reading and all that
studying and writing and stuff, there's no time to do *anything*."

     "Your freshman year is an adjustment, and you don't have dad
looking over your shoulder telling you to study.  You're an adult now,
Daryl.  You live on your own, in another state, and what you do is up to
you.  But that means it's up to you to succeed on your own.  Not that
you can just sit back and relax because nobody's there to get on you." 
Blair sighed.  "I hate sounding like somebody's dad handing out
lectures.  I had a lot of fun while I was in college, I can't deny that--"

     "Yeah, man, but you're some kind of *genius*.  I have to
*study* to get good grades."

     "Genius?  You don't think I ever sweat bullets over an exam in
something like...oh, Algebra or Trig?  Statistics?  I'm not a number-cruncher, Daryl.  
I got decent grades in some of those classes because I
busted my ass studying.  And sure, there were some classes that I didn't
have to work very hard to ace because they were in an area that came
easily to me.  But getting an education--and getting anything out of it--
is a tough job.  You're so lucky to have that scholarship, to only have to
work a few hours a week for some pocket money.  Have some fun, go
out with your friends, see some of L.A.--I would too in your place.  But
be sure you're putting the work first."

     "I always thought I'd go to Rainier, if I went...remember how
we used to talk about me being your TA someday?"  Daryl recalled,
laughing a little.

     "Yeah, I remember. But hey--you're still my TA."

     "I am?"

     "Yeah--my *Turkey Assistant*.  Help me figure out how to
cook this damn thing, will ya?"

********

     "You weren't lying about the view.  It's incredible."

     "Yeah, just keep your back to the light," Jim quipped.  
     
     "I imagine in the daylight, you can see for miles from up here. 
But for you--you must see...well, I don't even know how far you could
see."

     "A long way, Dad," Jim responded, smiling.  A foghorn echoed
in the distance, joining with the sound of the ocean crashing into the
rocks below.

     "There's something going on between you and Blair, isn't
there?"  the older man asked, staring straight ahead at the black waves
of the ocean against the dark blue horizon.

     "We're together," Jim responded, simply.

     "When did that happen?  Out here?"  His voice was still calm
and steady.  No eruptions, no immediate disowning.  Jim was a bit
thrown by it.

     "Before we left Cascade.  I think we've both had the feelings a
lot longer than that.  But we...got together a couple months after the
whole disaster with the press conference."

     "You're sure this isn't pity or gratitude on your part?"

     "Dad, Blair hardly has to get a lover based on pity.  He's
beautiful, warm, caring, outgoing...  As for the gratitude, hell, yes, I'm
grateful to him for what he did.  But I felt the way I feel about him for
a long time before he ever gave that press conference.  I guess I never
realized he'd feel the same way...  But once we both knew..."  Jim
shrugged.  "I love him.  He's my life."

     "So this is why things didn't work with you and Carolyn?"

     "I'm not gay, Dad.  Well, let me rephrase that.  I didn't lead a
gay lifestyle, nor did I have any particular urge to jump another man
before I fell in love with Blair.  So no, this has no bearing on my
divorce."

     "What about him?"

     "I'm the first man he's been with.  I think he considers himself
bisexual in orientation, but he never acted on it either.  Hell, maybe I
am too, since I was able to *have* this relationship.  I don't know all
the right labels for it.  I just know how we feel about each other."

     "You're happy here?"

     "With Blair?  Very."

     "I meant stuck out here in this...*outpost*."

     "There are times I still miss Cascade, dirty little crime pit that it
was.  I miss being a cop.  But I don't miss seeing the pain and
humiliation Blair had to endure while we were living there.  That's not
worth it--not for anything."

     "I wondered...when you pulled up stakes and moved here with
him.  I thought it was odd.  Actually, I wondered about it when we first
started talking again, and he was living there with you..."

     "You didn't say anything before."

     "I didn't have any reason to seriously believe the two of you
were...more than friends.  But when you moved out here with him, left
your job behind...I knew something had changed."

     "Are you going to be able to handle this?"  Jim asked.

     "I can't say I wouldn't have rather seen you hook up with some
nice lady...maybe give me a couple of grandchildren out of the deal...
but we've all got to make our own choices, make our own way.  If this
is your way, I have to respect it.  I know I wasn't present much for you
when you were growing up, so I guess I can't say too much now when
something like this happens."

     "When something like what happens?  You're making this
sound like you think my loving Blair is some kind of character flaw
you're somehow responsible for because of my upbringing."

     "Well, if I'd been a stronger influence, spent more time with
you, maybe you'd have been less inclined that way."

     "I don't believe this."  Jim leaned on the railing and shook his
head.  "I thought we were going to be okay about this."

     "I won't say another word on the subject, Jimmy.  I'm not going
to lecture you."

     "No, but you think my loving Blair means there's something
wrong with me."

     "He's a man!  For God's sake, Jimmy, there's something wrong
with that!  It isn't...*natural*!  You want me to stand here and tell you
that I'm *happy* for you?"  William started pacing, scratching at his
head in frustration.  "If I had done my job right as a parent, you'd
probably still be married to Carolyn."

     "Oh, for the love of God, Dad, I couldn't stand Carolyn.  And
she couldn't stand me!  Not as marriage partners.  We never got along
so well as we did *after* the divorce--and God knows there were
fireworks then."

     "But you're having sex with another man!  You were never like
that before!  You always dated girls--*pretty* girls, popular girls--
captain of the football team surrounded by cheerleaders.  And
now...*this*.  What the hell happened?  Where did I go wrong?"

     "Let's not go there, Dad.  And as far as what happened, I fell in
love with someone who loves me the same way.  We found the feelings
first and the sex followed."

     "I don't want to hear this."

     "What?  That we're lovers?  That we're in love?  That it's a
lifetime commitment?"

     "That you're GAY!!  That my son who could have a bright,
wonderful, perfect future is wasting away in some fleabag motel by the
sea with his hippie faggot boyfriend!"

     Before he knew what he was doing, Jim's arm swung back, and
he caught himself with his fist only inches from his father's face. 
Shaken at how close he had come to knocking his father flat on his ass
on the catwalk, he retracted the arm and released the fist.

     "Get out."

     "What?"  The older man was more than a bit shaken at his own
close call.

     "Get out of my home.  You are not welcome here.  Not now, not
ever.  No one, no one on this earth, will ever speak of Blair in that
manner to me and be allowed to remain on my property.  You can
borrow the truck to drive into town.  They can give you directions to
the Seaside Inn.  But in any event, I want you out of here tonight.  I
won't sit at the same table with you.  And you're no longer my father."
Jim turned on his heel and stormed back inside, hurrying down the
spiral staircase.  

     Simon and Daryl were heading back to the motel, and if they
made some friendly comment to Jim as they passed him on the lawn,
he didn't notice.  He stormed up the front steps and into the house,
slamming the front door hard enough to knock a small picture off the
wall near it.  Grimacing at his own display of temper, Jim picked up
the small framed photo, setting it on the table that had always been by
the door of the loft.  

     "Jim?  What's wrong?"  Blair hurried out of the kitchen, a
worried look on his face.

     "Where is everybody?"  Jim asked.

     "Uh...gone--to the motel for the night.  Simon and Daryl just
left.  Jim, what happened?"

     "My father's leaving tonight."

     "Oh, God."  Blair dropped into the cushions of the couch,
leaning forward, elbows on his knees.  "Because of me?"

     "Because of *me*.  Because of *us*.  Because I won't have him
on this property knowing how he feels."

     "I'm sorry, man.  I hoped maybe he could accept it."  Blair ran a
hand through his hair.  "Maybe he will, given time.  It was a big shock
for him and--"

     "Don't fucking make excuses for him!!!  Goddammit, Blair, do
you have to approach everything with that fucking Pollyanna horseshit
attitude of yours?!!"  Jim bellowed, watching as Blair rose slowly, his
Adam's apple bobbing once before he opened his mouth to speak, then
closed it again, heading toward the stairs at a good speed.  "Blair,
wait."  He walked to the foot of the stairs in time to hear a door slam
decisively on the second floor.  "Sandburg!!  Get your ass out here
now!!"  Jim stormed up the stairs and stalked down to the bedroom
door, banging on it.  "Don't lock the door on me!  You can open it or I'll
fucking kick it in!!"

     "Knock yourself out, Tarzan!"  the voice on the other side of the
door shot back angrily.

     Jim backed up and kicked the door in, to see Blair sitting on the
foot of the bed, looking at him through wet, but very angry eyes.

     "What's next, Jim?  You gonna slap me around now?  Bash the
faggot so you can feel like a man?  Prove to yourself that your father
isn't right--that you aren't some kind of fairy for loving me?  Is that it?"

     "Shut up."

     "Why?  Why should I?  At least I'm not approaching this with
my 'Pollyanna horseshit attitude'!"  Blair shot back angrily, getting up
and starting to walk past Jim.  The other man grabbed him by the arm
and yanked him back so they were facing each other.  "Let go of me."

     "No."  Jim felt the impact of what he'd said, and the horrible
way he'd treated Blair.  "Never," he said in a much softer tone, taking a
more gentle hold of both Blair's shoulders.  "Baby, I'm so sorry."

     "So am I," Blair said, his tone still angry.  "I'm sorry that you
came in here all pissed at your dad and then took it out on me!  Well, I
don't like it, man.  Not at all.  You want to know what else?  It hurts.  It
hurts so bad you don't have any fucking idea!"  Blair pulled away and
went to the door of the bedroom.  "I'm sleeping in the little bedroom
tonight.  Just leave me alone for a while.  I need some space, and I
*really* think that you do too."  Blair walked down the hall and went
into the small bedroom in question, closing the door behind him.

     "Score one more for the old man," Jim berated himself, leaning
against the door frame.  

********

     Stephen had left with his father, with apologies to Jim.  Despite
the fact he disagreed with the older man's behavior, Stephen didn't
want his father driving off down the winding back roads alone at night,
upset.  So he took the keys to Jim's truck and drove the two of them
back to Bangor.  Jim told him to go ahead and leave the truck at the
airport, that he would pick it up the next day.

     Now, it was after two in the morning, and the house was silent
except for the sounds of the ocean, and the erratic pattern of Blair's
breathing.  The younger man lay awake in the bedroom down the hall,
not really sobbing but crying nonetheless.  Jim could hear it in the
troubled breathing, and the few sharp inhalations.

     Not knowing if it would make Blair angrier still to be disturbed
by him after he'd asked for space, Jim got up, pulled on his robe and
went to the door of the small bedroom.  He pushed it open slightly,
looking in at the beloved form curled up, still fully dressed, on top of
the bedspread.

     "Chief?"  Jim moved the rest of the way into the room, his heart
constricting a little at how badly he'd hurt Blair's feelings earlier.  On
the eve of Thanksgiving too, with the scent of some early cooking
projects still hanging in the air.  Their first Thanksgiving together, and
this is how they were going to spend it.  "I...I don't know what to say,
sweetheart.  I'm so sorry for what I said.  I didn't mean to take it out on
you.  I had no right to hurt you that way.  I was just so...*hostile*...I
almost took a swing at the old man..."  Jim shrugged, and Blair
sniffled, wiping at his eyes.

     "Yeah, well, I didn't exactly accept your apology either."

     "You had a right to throw it back in my face."  Jim sat on the
side of the bed.  "I love you so much, Chief.  I didn't mean the lousy
things I said.  I was pissed off at my father and you were right--I took it
out on you and that was *wrong*."

     "It's just that for a few minutes there, it felt like you really hated
me.  Like I disgusted you.  And that *hurt*, man.  You never...*went
after me* like that before--I guess it just caught me off guard."

     "I'm so sorry, baby.  So sorry."  Jim reached out and laid a hand
on the side of Blair's face.  "I love you.  I could never feel anything but
love for you, sweetheart."

     "I know...and I should have realized that things had just
exploded with your dad or you wouldn't have been in that kind of a
mood."

     "That's no excuse."

     "No, not really, but I still shouldn't have gone off back at you. 
That never solves anything."  Blair took a hold of the wrist near his
face, turning to lean into Jim's palm and kiss it.  "How bad was it?"

     "Well, he blames himself for failing me as a parent, which is
why I turned out like this, and he even managed to work the 'faggot'
word in there without directly calling me one."

     "Guess he gets extra points for that, huh?"  Blair sighed, looking
discouraged.

     "He called you one instead.  So I threw his ass out."

     "You what?"

     "I told him to hit the road.  I told him to take the truck and get
off the property."  

     "Jim--"

     "Stephen went with him.  He doesn't agree with him, but he was
worried about him so he went with him.  The Golden Boy is always on
duty."  Jim moved his hand away from Blair's face and got up, pacing. 
"I don't know what the hell I was thinking--why I thought that things
would be *any* different now than they were when I was a kid.  It all
boils down to him not wanting his son to be a *freak*--whether by his
senses or his sexual preference."  Jim snorted an ugly little laugh.  "The
joke's on him--I'm still in love with another man and I'm still a Sentinel
and he's spending Thanksgiving in a motel with Stephen.  He gained a
lot, didn't he?"

     "Why don't you call Stephen, and maybe you can--"

     "Maybe I can what?  Say, 'Gee, Dad, I'm sorry you called my
life partner a faggot, but why don't you come on home for
Thanksgiving?!  The little queer makes great dressing!'" Jim shouting
back angrily.  "If I go along with this, it means I'm condoning his
attitude.  And I won't do that.  He's not welcome here, even if he put on
some pretense of courtesy."

     "Yeah, well, nobody ever said getting stuck with me was going
to make your life easier."  Blair got off the bed and started pacing on
his own, which was a bit awkward when sharing the pacing track with
Jim in the small bedroom.

     "Stuck with you?  Where the hell did that come from?"

     "Well, let's see what it's gained you--you quit a job you loved,
you're stuck in no man's land running a fucking *motel* of all things,
you almost ended up the circus attraction your father was always afraid
you'd be, and now you're estranged *again* from your family."

     "And since you hooked up with me, you've gone from being a
Ph.D. candidate with a publishing record and professional reputation
that some of the older guys would kill for, from having opportunities to
travel all over the world with some of the great minds in your field like
Stoddard, to running a fucking *motel* and writing sensational books
about serial killers.  You *really* made out well here."

     "Guess we're both bad for each other then, huh?"  Blair stopped
his pacing and crossed his arms over his chest.  

     "In every *logical* way, yeah, we were each other's biggest
mistake.  So we're even.  But you know what?  If I'd known at the
outset what I know now I--"

     "I wouldn't change a moment either," Blair concluded, the smile
spreading across his face in perfect understanding.

     Jim closed the small distance between them and pulled Blair
into a crushing embrace.  

     "I'm so sorry, Chief."

     "Me too."  Blair returned the pressure of the hug.  "I hate
fighting with you."

     "Same here, baby.  I didn't mean to hurt you.  I...I wanted to
slug the old man so badly, so I came in here and beat you up verbally
instead."

     "Guess we need a punching bag in the basement or something,
huh?"  Blair quipped, patting Jim's back and moving away a little, big
grin on his face.

     "Maybe you just need to punch me instead," Jim added,
smoothing Blair's hair back from his face.  

     "No way, man.  I love you, remember?  Hey, we should get
some sleep.  Breakfast comes early in the morning."

     "You'll sleep in our bed then?"

     "Unless you want to sleep in this one," Blair responded.  "What,
did you think I was going to punish you for a few nights?"

     "I wouldn't blame you if you did."

     "You said you were sorry, and you meant it.  I don't need blood
from you, man.  Let's just put it behind us and get some sleep."

     "Sleep?"  Jim said, raising an eyebrow.

     "Or whatever..."  Blair retorted, grinning and pulling Jim by the
hand toward their bedroom.

********