By CKC

Everything had happened so quickly: the injury, the expected and unacknowledged assistance from his partner, the pushing away, the confrontation, the open acceptance of help offered, the growing need to touch his partner, the give and take of physical pleasure, the declarations of love…

Although he was sitting at his desk in the Major Crimes bullpen, ostensibly writing a report, Detective James Ellison was aware of his partner’s arrival the moment Blair stepped off the elevator. It wasn’t one specific sense that alerted him, but a combination of hearing, smell, and the strong sense of connection he now felt in Blair’s presence. Some of his tension slipped away, dragging his thoughts along. What’s Blair doing here? He’s supposed to have a class… What time is it? Oh, guess I got caught up in the paperwork…

Jim half-listened as Blair greeted and joked with the other detectives in the bullpen, trading friendly insults and easy laughs, before making his way over to their desk. Technically it was Jim’s desk, but Blair left so much of himself scattered over the surface – a stack of notes, the textbook he had been reading yesterday, a small fetish of a mountain lion, carved in yellow quartz, whom he affectionately called ‘Jim’ – that to Jim, it was ‘their’ desk. Like Jim’s bed had become, within the last week, ‘their’ bed. The stamp of possession had changed. Even Jim was now Blair’s Jim – no longer an individual, but part of a set.

Jim liked that. Most of the time.

"Hey, Jim." Blair slid into his seat and leaned forward slightly. "Miss me?" he whispered as he settled himself, pulling out a book and slipping on his glasses.

Jim half turned in his chair, allowing his knee to slide against his partner’s thigh, before turning back to the report. "Like I’d miss a toothache, Chief."

Blair grinned, pulled his chair closer to the desk, and stretched out his leg to rest against Jim’s. During the past week, they had discovered that if their chairs were positioned just so, they could touch behind the privacy of Jim’s desk. As Blair had joked earlier in the week as they lay entwined on their bed, this requirement to be constantly in contact had quickly ranked up at the top of Maslow’s needs hierarchy – "right after food, and just before shelter. And I’m even willing to forfeit food if you make it worth my while…"

Jim had made it so worth while that he had skipped both lunch and dinner.

Jim pressed his leg against Blair’s, allowing the gentle warmth of his partner to flow through him before turning back to the report he was writing. Blair grabbed his book and began to read and take notes.

Twenty minutes later, Simon poked his head out of his office, his searchlight gaze lighting on Jim and Blair. "Ellison, Sandburg. My office." He sounded even more harried than usual.

Exchanging a ‘what now?’ glance, they quickly made their way to the Captain’s office. Blair parked himself on the conference table, Jim close beside him, both looking at Simon expectantly. Simon, for his part, divided his attention between the notes in his hand and Blair, eyeing both suspiciously.

"Two hours ago," he began, suddenly abandoning his notes and grabbing the coffee pot instead, "a library was robbed. Two staff members were hit on the head and tied up, and a number of valuable documents were stolen. Jim, I want you and Sandburg to work on this together."

"Me, Captain?" asked Blair, puzzled. "I’m not a librarian…"

"No, but you’re our resident academic." Simon took a sip of his coffee and frowned. "And the Bredon Museum library is associated with Rainier University, so…"

"Hey, wait!" Blair slid off the table. "You mean the Bredon Special Collection? They were robbed? Oh, man," he turned to Jim, "I went there last year to track down a journal that I thought might have been one of Burton’s missing…"

"Hold it, Sandburg," Simon interrupted. "Save it for later. Right now, I want you two to get over there."

"Got it, Captain," said Jim with a nod. "C’mon, Chief." With a gentle push to the small of Blair’s back, he propelled his partner from the room, his hand lingering on the younger man’s shoulders as they walked out. Jim completely missed Simon’s speculative gaze.

***

Simon dropped the report back onto the pile on his desk and sighed, pushed his glasses up his forehead and pressed his fingertips into his eyes, hard. Boiled onions, that’s what they felt like. Throbbing boiled onions, from not enough sleep and too much reading. But the reports wouldn’t read themselves, worse luck, so he shoved the glasses back down onto his nose and picked up the top paper in the pile.

A knock saved him. "Yes?"

Jim poked his head through the door and peered at him owlishly before walking in. "Rhonda said you wanted a report as soon as we got back…"

"Where’s Sandburg?" Simon looked expectantly at the door, waiting for the younger man to burst in.

"I dropped him off at the university library. He said he had a couple of ideas he wanted to follow up." With a frown, Simon leaned back and motioned Jim to continue.

Jim propped himself on the edge of the table. "It appears that the thief had planned this well in advance. You can only use the Special Collection by appointment, and a month ago they received a letter from a Dr. Joseph Coolidge at Notre Dame, asking to visit this morning. He showed up on time, and all of the items he had requested – some of the most valuable books and documents in the library – were brought out." Jim sat back and crossed his arms. "He was probably expecting to be left alone with the documents, and then he could slip them in his briefcase and walk away, but three weeks ago new security measures were implemented…"

Simon nodded in understanding. "Which he wasn’t expecting… And so he hit the two librarians and tied them up before grabbing the papers and running."

"That’s right."

"Jim, I don’t need to tell you that despite the news blackout on this case, the Mayor is already screaming for an arrest, as well as the entire Board of the Museum, which apparently consists of half the monied families of Cascade. These security measures were apparently very expensive, and the Board is royally pissed that their investment didn’t save the documents." Simon’s mouth tightened as if he wanted to spit. "They weren’t very worried about the employees, though."

Jim’s face echoed the Captain’s expression. "I guess they decided that their employees are replaceable, but the documents aren’t."

Simon’s snort didn’t need an explanation.

"So what is Sandburg doing?"

"Blair said that this type of theft is fairly common, and it often isn’t reported."

"I know, I know. They’re afraid their premiums will rise if they submit a claim, or they don’t want to advertise their lax security, or they have no idea when the documents were taken, or they know who took it, but that person is well known and respected in their field and can’t be embarrassed…" Simon shook his head. "I’ve heard ‘em all…"

"He wanted to talk to a couple of librarians he knows at the university to see if they are aware of any pattern in these thefts, and to tap into the academic rumor mill. We have a general description, but there are no fingerprints because the suspect wore white cotton gloves."

Simon’s eyebrows raised. "What is this, Sunday school?"

"No. The Special Collection provides them so that you don’t leave skin oils or dirt on the books. And the suspect didn’t touch anything before he put on the gloves."

"Did you pick up on anything while you were there?" Simon leaned forward, solemn and quiet, but he couldn’t quite keep the hope from his voice. "Anything?"

"Nothing, sir."

His disappointment was palpable. "We need an arrest. Soon."

"I know, Captain."

"Let me know if Sandburg discovers anything."

Jim was out of the office before Simon sat back down behind his desk.

***

Jim pulled up to the curb in front of the blandly classical building that housed the university library. He didn’t even have time to put the truck into park before Blair emerged from the swirling crowd of students clogging the sidewalk, jerked open the door and climbed in.

"Hey! You’ll never guess what I heard…" Blair’s smile was infectious, and Jim found himself returning the grin without thinking, the tension in his body automatically ratcheting down several notches now that he was near his partner.

"I talked with Diana Bennett, the rare book librarian, ‘cause she’s got her finger on the pulse in the field," Blair continued, his words an unbroken stream. As he talked, he buckled himself in and twisted toward Jim, his knee pressing deliberately into Jim’s leg. "And she told me some interesting stuff, man…"

Jim’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment as his connection with Blair bucked and jerked and then settled in snugly, like the couplings on a train. He sucked in a breath gratefully, his attention focused solely on the younger man.

"A couple of weeks ago she was talking to a colleague over at the Parker Library in Denver, and they had just discovered that three manuscripts, an incunabulum and two…"

"An incun-whazzit?" interrupted Jim, simultaneously annoyed and curious.

"Incunabulum," replied Blair. "A book published before 1501."

A faint look of disgust crossed Jim’s face. "Then why not just call it an old book, Chief. What else did he take?"

Blair scowled and opened his mouth, paused, then shut it again with a shake of his head. "In addition to the incunabulum," he shot Jim a glance, "two other books were missing from the collection. And before you ask, they didn’t report it. Something to do with the insurance…" Blair stopped abruptly, head swiveling around to stare at the library. "Let’s go. I’ll tell you the rest on the way."

Hitching himself a bit closer to his partner, increasing that precious contact, Jim put the truck in gear and pulled away. "Back to the station?"

"Nope. Take a left. We’ve gotta go back to the Bredon."

Jim sighed, but he turned left as requested. Of course.

On the way, Blair continued his narrative. "I spoke with the guy at the Parker on the phone. He told me that the Library didn’t report the theft to the police, but they did conduct an investigation, and guess whose name was on the list of recent visitors…"

Jim’s glance was sharp. "Doctor Joseph Coolidge…"

"Yeah. But not from Notre Dame this time. From McGill. And then he gave me a lead to another colleague at the University of Chicago library. Her story was pretty much the same, but Dr. Coolidge wasn’t from McGill, he was from Loyola." He paused, waiting for Jim’s nod of understanding.

"And if we trace back to his previous visit, Dr. Coolidge would have said he was from Kent State, or the University of Kansas…"

"Right." Blair flashed him a broad smile. "She’s going to ask around, and see if she can find out any more."

"We should get back to the station, Chief. Follow up some of these leads."

"We will, but first I want to check out the provenance – you know, the history of ownership of the stolen items – and you need to look around again."

"I did a sweep before."

"You glanced around the room, Jim. It wasn’t very thorough, because we didn't know what we were looking for." Blair’s tone was soft, placating.

"I’ve got news for you, Sandburg. We still don’t know what we’re looking for."

An impatient sigh, a knee beating a restless tattoo against Jim’s thigh. "I know that, man. But now that we know there’s a pattern, you might be able to pick up something that would give us a clue about where he’s from and what he’s doing with the books and documents."

"He’s probably selling them to a private collector," Jim said. "Chances are they’ll never surface in public."

"I know," Blair said softly, his voice thick. "I just can’t believe that someone would steal from a library." He twisted around and stared out the side window, arms folded tightly over his chest. "That’s bad enough, but to sell what was stolen to some… some collector, who’ll lock them up and never let anyone else use them…" He turned back to Jim, his face a picture of misery. "It’s not really the books themselves – hell, they’re just old paper and ink – but the knowledge that’ll be lost!"

There was such a wealth of anger, hurt and confusion in Blair’s voice that Jim’s heart ached to hear it. All Jim could do was to run his hand lightly down Blair’s arm, his comforting gesture acknowledged with a faint smile from his partner. Jim wasn’t hopeful that this case would be easy to solve, however. They had a basic description, for all the good it did them: medium height, medium weight, older but vigorous, salt and pepper hair, short beard… A description that would fit a good many of Cascade’s honest residents, as well as about a quarter of the academics in the city. One of the victims mentioned that he had a soft southern drawl, but that could have been faked. It certainly wasn’t much good as a distinguishing characteristic.

Although… Jim’s eyes narrowed, his attention split between negotiating the truck through the afternoon traffic and the case. They had one slight advantage now -- the thief had made a major error today. He hadn’t checked on the Bredon’s security arrangements since he sent the letter making his appointment, and the increased security had surprised him – surprised him enough to attack the staff, which, to their knowledge, he’d never done before. He was probably rattled, set a little off-kilter by his unexpected foray into violence. If they could only take advantage of that.

Jim pulled into the Museum’s lot and parked. Before opening his door, he rested a hand on Blair’s thigh and faced his partner. Glasses perched on the end of his nose, Blair looked up from his notes and rewarded Jim with a smile that warmed Jim to his core. With an answering smile, Jim nodded toward the Museum building.

"C’mon, Sandburg. Let’s get this over with."

***

Blair followed Jim into the building, his mind shuffling facts, clues, hints, trying to winnow through the chaff to find the ripe kernels of truth. He knew they were there, somewhere, waiting patiently to be uncovered and brought out into the light, displayed for all to see. For everyone to see, not just some collector who wanted to say ‘mine’ and then lock it away again…

He was damned if this bastard was going to get away with it. With the ease of long practice he tamped down the anger that threatened to surface again, unconsciously moving closer to Jim. They had to find something, anything. Failure was not an option.

After asking the Library Director for a copy of the provenance of each of the stolen articles, they got the key from the office and made their way down the narrow steps to the windowless basement room that housed the Special Collection. Blair flicked on the banks of fluorescent lights and walked over to the long, wooden table where Dr. Coolidge had sat.

"Let’s start here. Focus on your sight, Jim…"

An hour and a half later, Blair was ready to scream in frustration. He eyed their pathetic cache of evidence bags spread out on the librarian’s desk. Two bits of carpet fluff – one baby blue and one burgundy – collected from the floor. A shred of charcoal wool that matched the description of Coolidge’s suit teased from a splinter on the underside of the table. Half a dozen paper clips from the floor of the stacks. One M&M (green) from behind the librarian’s desk. A tissue, unused fortunately, from a corner near the reading tables. That was it, the fruits of their labors.

Jim appeared next to him, wheezing slightly. Blair flinched at the sound. It was his fault. He was the one who had insisted Jim try to identify any lingering scents in the still air of the room. Blair didn’t know what he was hoping for – another customized mixture of essential oils? He snorted in annoyance. Yeah, right. All that had happened was that Jim had had a reaction to the mold and mildew on some of the collection, and spent fifteen minutes in a sneezing fit that left him spent and breathless. And sounding like he had swallowed a penny whistle.

Blair leaned back against Jim’s hard chest, savoring the feel of the muscular arms that snaked around him, pulling him close. A quick blast of warmth on his head, the momentary thrill of soft lips tracing the outline of his sideburns, an unsuccessfully stifled cough. He turned in Jim’s arms and pursed his lips, pricked by concern at the pallor on Jim’s face. Surely that unhealthy color was just from the lights.

"Let’s get you out of here, man. Fresh air should help clear your lungs."

Jim nodded, and within five minutes, evidence bags in hand, they were on their way back to the station.

***

With a faint sigh, Jim hung up his coat and flopped down on the couch. Home at last. They had done what they could at the station, tracking down possibilities, following leads, but nothing had panned out. Even Blair’s idea to trace the origins of the documents was a bust – there just didn’t seem to be a common thread. Finally, in frustration, Jim had called it a night and practically forced Blair to leave the station. Jim glanced at the clock. Damn, it was late, and they still hadn’t had any dinner. He leaned his head back against the cushions and closed his eyes. His temples throbbed, his chest hurt, and even the muscles in his calves felt as if he’d run a marathon. The cushions shifted as Blair slid next to him, and the brush of his hand on Jim’s arm instantly muted the pain. He opened his eyes slowly.

"Simon better watch his blood pressure, man. I thought he’d stroke out on us when I told him about the other thefts," Blair said as he pulled out several scraps of paper and spread them on the coffee table.

Jim groaned. "How about some dinner first?"

"In a minute, Jim. I just want to go through these again."

Jim glanced at them, and looked at his partner curiously. "Do you think there’s a pattern to what he’s taking, Chief?" He picked up a sheet. "Pliny, ‘De Principio de Mathematica,’ ‘The Architecture of Ancient Greece,’ a map of the thirteen colonies, a book on surveying…"

"Add that to a ‘Treatise on the Kine-Pox,’ a letter to Meriwether Lewis, Lavoisier’s ‘Traité élémentaire de chimie,’ and three books on philosophy," Blair read from another sheet and slapped it down on the table. "There doesn’t seem to be any reason for his choices; no common topic, no common origin. At least, none that I can see. I mean, there were more valuable books right there in the stacks. But there’s something…" He frowned and shook his head.

"Let’s give it a rest for a while, and have dinner. I can’t think on an empty stomach."

"Okay, okay, man…" Blair continued to frown at the papers without moving.

Accepting defeat, but not very graciously, Jim hauled himself from the couch and staggered into the kitchen. One pound of ground beef, three cans, and an onion later, he dished up the chili and called to his preoccupied partner. They ate quickly, almost silently, and after a blitz of washing up, Blair returned to the couch to stare at the papers again.

Jim wiped his hands on the dish towel and watched Blair from across the room. Sandburg. His partner for two years. His lover for a week. Jim was not alone now, and the thought frightened him as much as it comforted him. He was dependent on another human being. Most of the time, he loved it; loved knowing that Blair would be there for him, loved the connection between them that was growing stronger day by day, loved the sense of completeness he felt. And some of the time, he resented it like hell.

He carefully draped the dish towel over the sink to dry and ran a hand over his face. "Hey Chief, I’ve gotta get to bed." He paused and glanced over at the still form. "You coming?"

"Yeah, Jim. In a minute…" Blair didn’t move.

Ten minutes later, Jim emerged from the bathroom – Blair still hadn’t moved. Jim paused for a minute at the bottom of the stairs without Blair’s looking up once. He could practically see that remarkable brain of Blair’s working, sorting and organizing the facts before him, retrieving information from the store of knowledge that was housed in his mind, making connections and identifying patterns in the data that no one else would see. Jim knew he wasn’t a stupid man – he’d have been killed years ago if that was the case – but next to Blair, he felt totally out-classed. He shook his head at that thought. Out-classed was the right word. Blair could charm water out of a stone. Good-looking, young, intelligent… What the hell did he see in someone like Jim? Quickly strangling that thought, Jim murmured "Good night." Receiving no reply and feeling as if the stairs had suddenly grown steeper and a lot longer, he slowly went up to bed.

***

Blair slipped off his glasses and closed his eyes. The words he had been studying floated on his closed lids and he drifted for a moment, until he felt himself suddenly list sideways. He sat up with a jerk and peered at the clock.

Oh, shit.

When Jim had gone up to bed, Blair had fully intended to follow him in a few minutes. That was an hour and a half ago. Damn, damn, damn… He pictured Jim lying alone in bed, waiting vainly for Blair to join him, minute after long minute, finally giving up hope and falling asleep. Blair skidded into the bathroom and made a face in the mirror. A portrait of a selfish jerk. Jim didn’t deserve that kind of treatment, especially when they were both working on making their relationship a reality. Blair washed quickly and padded softly up the steps, stripping down to his tee-shirt and shorts in the dark before climbing into bed.

Jim was lying on his side, facing away from the stairs, his breathing deep and regular. A faint glow from the skylights burnished the sculpted muscles on his bare arm and picked out the length of his jaw, the tip of an ear, a high cheekbone – a purity of line and form that was heart-stoppingly beautiful and achingly vulnerable, like the carved angels on the façade of Chartres Cathedral.

A wave of tenderness washed over Blair as he gazed at his partner. He slid across the bed carefully, wrapped his arm around Jim’s torso, and froze.

Jim wasn’t asleep. People who were asleep didn’t have muscles stretched so tightly that they shook. People who were asleep didn’t hold themselves stiffly, as if they were in pain.

"Jim?" he breathed, wondering for a second if this was some kind of weird zone-out.

"Yeah?" Jim’s voice was oddly calm.

"Oh, man, I’m sorry I’m so late. I lost track of time…" Of their own volition, his hands stroked Jim’s smooth back. Muscles quivered beneath his fingers.

"’Sokay, Chief. I know you’re caught up in the case."

"I am, but," he continued his caresses, feeling the tension in Jim’s muscles begin to dissipate, "I should’ve stopped earlier. I just… everything’s different now, with you and me, and… I’m so used to concentrating on my work without worrying about any one else…" His throat burned, tightening unexpectedly, and his hands stopped stroking and held Jim close. "I should’ve been more thoughtful."

Jim twisted around in Blair’s clasp until they were face to face. His hands moved up his partner’s back, coming to rest on his shoulders. "I said it’s okay. I do the same thing myself when I’m involved in a case." He dropped a kiss on the smooth forehead. "We’re both getting used to this… us, and it’s going to take a little time." The catch in Jim’s voice made Blair flinch.

"That’s no excuse, and you know it, Jim. I mean…" He shrugged in the circle of Jim’s arms and felt them tighten around him. "Yeah, this is all new and everything, but it was pretty shitty of me not to pay more attention to what you want and need. I love you, Jim. Like so much."

He could feel Jim’s heart race at his words, and then he was hugged so hard it was difficult to breathe. But that was okay, because it was Jim who was holding him, it was Jim who was suddenly murmuring "Love you, love you, love you," over and over in a voice that sounded like it was dragged from the depths of his soul.

They held each other for a long moment, grounding themselves in flesh and bone and heartbeats.

"Feels good," murmured Blair, brushing his lips against Jim’s in a teasing touch, hard enough to be felt, but broken off quickly. Jim chuckled and echoed the kiss, his chuckles deepening as Blair tried to maintain contact as he pulled away.

"Like that, do you?" Before Blair could answer, he dove in, capturing his partner’s willing mouth in an aching kiss. They moved against each other, flesh gliding over cloth gliding over flesh, until suddenly Blair pulled his lips away. Eyes locked on Jim’s, he slid his hands down Jim’s back until they rested on the waistband of his shorts. Then his fingers slipped beneath the elastic and he gave a tentative tug.

Jim lifted his hips and Blair slowly pushed the shorts down his legs, his hands lightly caressing and kneading the newly exposed skin, feeling it jump and shiver at his touch. Jim levered himself up, kicking off the shorts puddled at his ankles, and knelt on the mattress. He wrapped a hand around Blair’s arm and tugged him up the bed.

Jim’s fingers traced a winding path up Blair’s arms and down his chest, plucking at the hem of the tee-shirt before slipping underneath. With one smooth motion, Jim ran his hands back up Blair’s furry chest, dragging the shirt up and over Blair’s head. Blair shivered at the sudden chill and the look in his partner’s eyes.

"Kneel," Jim commanded softly, his hands clasping Blair’s waist. Blair quickly tucked his legs beneath him, and, at Jim’s guiding touch, straightened up. With a faint smile, Jim leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the center of Blair’s chest. Blair groaned as Jim nipped his way down to his stomach, his hands reaching blindly and then finding and anchoring themselves onto Jim’s solid shoulders. He was thankful for the support when Jim continued his nibbles and kisses over his shorts – the warm, moist pressure of Jim’s lips and tongue combined with the soft cotton material had sensitized his skin to nerve-scraping awareness. Strong hands held his hips tightly, preventing movement, and all he could do was hold on to Jim and try to suck air into lungs that spasmed and caught. His erection pushed maddeningly against the damp material while Jim mouthed his balls. His fingers dug into Jim’s warm flesh, and he felt as if his skin had suddenly ignited. So close…

Then the warmth was gone.

"No, Jim… Don’t…"

Those same hands that had supported him now teased the tender skin at his waist. Before he could even wriggle in protest, his shorts were pushed down to his knees, and he was pulled forward onto Jim’s smooth chest. Always one to make the best of any situation, Blair set aside thoughts of immediate release, blinked twice and surveyed the expanse of Jim before him. Flushed skin that invited licking and peaked nipples that cried out to be nibbled, adorned the landscape. Blair shifted experimentally and grinned. Judging by the size of the erection poking into his stomach, Jim wasn’t feeling left out of the fun. Eyeing Jim’s left nipple, Blair took a deep breath and pounced.

Jim let out a strangled moan and grabbed two fistfuls of sheets, his chest arching up toward Blair’s mouth. Blair nipped and licked and sucked, moving from one nipple to the other, relishing Jim’s soft groans. Suddenly, Jim released the sheets and cupped Blair’s face, pulling him away from the bit of flesh he was worrying. Blair looked up, his eyes locking with Jim’s – at the look in his partner’s eyes his heart battered against the inside of his chest. He lunged forward, capturing Jim’s mouth in a deep kiss, rubbing himself purposefully against Jim’s groin. This time he wasn’t going to stop until they both…

Jim grabbed Blair’s arms and held him close as he dug his heels into the mattress and pushed back, sliding his back up against the headboard and spreading his legs wide. Blair moaned with frustration as their lips separated. He wriggled forward, pressing their erections tightly together. Jim leaned back and narrowed his eyes, pushing his hips against Blair, as if asking a question.

Blair grinned, shifted, and, keeping their cocks pressed together, draped his thighs over Jim’s, bracing his feet against the headboard. He slowly leaned back, supported by his arms, and raised an eyebrow. A smile broke over Jim’s face. He gently wrapped both his hands around their cocks, pushing them together, and stroked once.

With a sharp cry of pleasure, Blair watched as Jim continued to stroke their erections, his hands strong and sure. Warmth suffused his body and weakened his muscles, and he stiffened his arms to keep from collapsing back on the bed. Jim smiled at him again, obviously delighted at Blair’s reaction, and sped up his movements. Blair blinked once slowly, and, just as slowly, collapsed back onto the mattress, shivering against the sheets. A moment longer, and he felt Jim suddenly tense, then thrust and buck and cry out in release – and Blair joined him willingly, as he did in all things.

It was over quickly. They ended up curled around each other, sweaty, breathless and sticky, fighting sleep and welcoming it at the same time, warm and content and only slightly stunned by the reality of it all.

***

A wiggle. A squirm. Keeping his eyes closed against the morning light, Jim pulled the restless body closer and burrowed through the tangle of curls to nuzzle at the tender place at the back of the neck. Blair immediately stilled. With a frown, Jim pulled away, ignoring the cold lump that suddenly formed in his gut.

A flurry of movement. Jim blinked and found himself staring into grave blue eyes. Eyes that he had gazed at hundreds of times. Eyes that he could identify from any others in the world. He knew the tiny imperfections in the iris, the subtle shadings of color, the patterns of veins at the back of the retina, yet he could not tell what prompted that solemn gaze. He waited, ignoring the fear that crept through him.

Blair peered at him, eyes darting, then his face crumpled. A hand slid out from beneath the blankets to stroke Jim’s cheek and trail a finger tip over his lips.

"I’m being thoughtless again," Blair whispered. "I’m sorry, Jim… I was thinking about the case, and then you kissed me unexpectedly. You surprised me." He frowned, lips pouting, his misery crystal clear. "I don’t want to hurt you, I never want to hurt you, but somehow it keeps happening. I keep making mistakes…" With a sigh, he rested his forehead against Jim’s shoulder.

"It’s okay, Chief." Jim took a deep breath and felt his fear vanish. He kissed the top of Blair’s head, pulling his stiff body closer, until, with a shudder, Blair relaxed into Jim’s embrace. "It’s as much my fault as yours. I know you’re concentrating on the case, but sometimes, when I think about you and me and I wonder why you’d even bother…" Jim stared at the ceiling, mouth working, but the words he wanted remained beyond his reach.

"Jim…"

"Yeah?" He kept his eyes on the ceiling, pretending that he was studying the patterns in the changing light.

"Jim, look at me…"

Ceiling, wall, picture, curly hair, high forehead, soft eyebrows, eyes he could drown in…

"Jim, I love you. Even when I stay up late instead of coming to bed with you. Even when I get so caught up in my thoughts that it seems I don’t see you. You’re still the most important thing in my life. It’s just going to take me a while to get used to it, okay?"

Jim nodded. "Okay, Chief."

Soft lips claimed his, and a warm tongue teased open his mouth. Jim rolled onto his back, pulling Blair over with him. Strong fingers cradled his head and combed through his hair, and he was absurdly glad that Blair had convinced him to let it grow a little. Blair wriggled, shifting to rub their erections together. Jim gasped as the shock of full contact echoed through his body, setting off flares of heat in unexpected, but intensely erotic, places. With a moan, Blair thrust his hips against Jim and kissed a rough trail down Jim’s throat. Jim grabbed Blair’s ass, holding onto his writhing partner with a sense of desperation, knowing that this would be over soon, too soon. Blair’s hands smoothed and stroked, finding their way unerringly to Jim’s most sensitive spots and Jim felt the shrill tension build, unrelenting and inexorable. Then Blair’s fingers dug into his shoulders, the body blanketing him jerked and twisted, and Jim thrust twice and joined his partner in boneless satiation.

A few panting minutes later, Blair stirred and, with a quick kiss, scrambled off Jim. Groaning, Jim stretched slowly, then scooted to sit on the side of the bed in time to see Blair’s head disappear down the steps.

"Gotta run, love." Blair’s voice floated up to him. "I just had an idea about the letter…" He heard the bathroom door close, and the sound of the shower. With a shake of his head, Jim grabbed his robe and padded downstairs to start breakfast.

***

"Jim?"

With a start, Jim turned from the monitor and faced Simon. "Sir?" He felt the heat rise in his face. There was no way Simon could know that he had been daydreaming about making love to Blair instead of writing up his report, but the simple fact was that he was at work, and such thoughts were… well, inappropriate, at best.

"My office."

Jim shut the door and turned to Simon, who waited, propped against his desk, arms crossed. Unconsciously Jim settled into an at ease position, caught himself, and leaned against the conference table.

Simon shot him a glance, then shoved himself away from his desk and walked to the window, staring out. "Okay, Jim, where’s Sandburg? Following up another lead?"

"He left first thing this morning. He got an idea about a connection between the stolen books and needed to consult with another one of his friends."

"Well, let me know if he comes up with anything…" Simon shook his head once, muttering, "He usually does, God only knows how." Taking a deep breath, he turned and faced Jim, raising his chin. "Jim, what’s going on between you and the kid?"

Jim froze, except for his heart, which leapt and jumped in his chest. "What do you mean?" he choked out.

"I’m not stupid," said Simon softly. "I see the way you two look at each other."

Jim’s gaze slid to the window. "What do you want to know, sir? Details?"

"No." Simon’s tone was patient, almost understanding. "But I do need to know if this will affect the investigation."

"It won’t!" Jim’s eyes locked on Simon. "It hasn’t affected anything, except what’s between us."

"Jim, do you think this has anything to do with you being a Sentinel, and Sandburg being… well, whoever he is?"

"I don’t think so. I don’t know." He shrugged. "All I know is that it feels real, Simon…"

Holding up his hand, Simon moved back behind his desk. "I don’t want to know any more, Jim. But I’ll be watching, and if it looks like this… relationship is causing problems with your work, then I’ll have to re-think Sandburg’s status."

"I can promise you that nothing will affect my work, Captain, least of all anything to do with Blair."

With a nod, Simon turned to the papers on his desk. "Let me know what Sandburg finds out."

***

Impatiently shifting his backpack to his other shoulder, Blair dashed off the elevator as soon as the doors slid open and shot into the bullpen.

"Hey, Jim!" Slinging his backpack onto Jim’s desk, he skidded around the desk and dropped into his chair. "You won’t believe it!"

"What won’t I believe, Chief?" A smile slowly surfaced on Jim’s face, mirroring Blair’s.

"The connection, man! This morning, before we… I…" Blair blushed. "I mean, I was thinking about the letter to Meriwether Lewis and when it was written, and more importantly who wrote it, so I called the Parker Library and found out that it was written in 1804, by Thomas Jefferson! And then I tracked down a friend who’s an authority on Jefferson and showed her the list of stolen items, and she just sat there at stared at me until I thought she was having a stroke or something, and I almost called 911!"

"Hey, Sandburg, slow down." Jim held up his hands in protest, but his smile remained firmly in place. "What does Thomas Jefferson have to do with these thefts, aside from writing a stolen letter?"

Blair sucked in a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment, willing himself calm. "Okay. I’m slow. Except for the letter, everything that was stolen was once a part of Thomas Jefferson’s library at Monticello. I think that for some reason, the thief is obsessed the Jefferson, and is trying to recreate his library."

Jim’s smile slowly faded, replaced by a puzzled frown. "But you checked into the provenance of each item. Why didn’t that show the connection with Jefferson?"

"Because when the Capitol burned down in 1814, the Congressional library was destroyed, and Jefferson offered his personal library in its place. So all his books went to form the core of today’s Library of Congress. The stolen books are other copies of the same titles, so tracing their provenance would tell us nothing. But," he leaned forward, excited again, "when I mentioned that a Joseph Coolidge was our main suspect, she really flipped. It seems that Joseph Coolidge was Jefferson’s grandson-in-law."

"Well, I’ll be damned, Chief…" Jim slowly shook his head. "So this guy has been going from library to library, picking up copies of the same books that Jefferson had, calling himself after one of Jefferson’s relatives…"

"Exactly! If this is true, we have to track him down and find out where he’s hidden all the books and documents – but at least we won’t have to worry about things disappearing into some anonymous collection!" Blair beamed, as excited at the thought of recovering the stolen items as he was at finding the connection. And the look of pride in Jim’s eyes made all the groveling, pleading and favor-trading he had done for information worth while.

"Simon’s going to need to know this," said Jim, suddenly sobering, and he put out a hand to stop Blair when he began to stand. "But before we go in," he leaned forward and lowered his voice, "I’ve got to tell you – Simon’s figured out there’s something between us."

"What?" Blair practically shouted, slamming into a wall of panic. "What the hell did you say?"

"Keep it down!" Jim hissed, glancing around the bullpen. "He said he was concerned that it could affect my work, and I told him it wouldn’t. That was it."

"That was it?" Heart racing frantically, Blair ran his hands up and down his thighs, eyes darting around the room. "You sure that was all he had to say?"

"Calm down, Chief," Jim soothed, resting a hand on his partner’s shoulder for a moment. "I was surprised, too, but I don’t think it’s going to be a problem."

Blair closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep, shuddering breath. "Maybe not for you, Jim, but Simon doesn’t think much of me. This might just put him over the edge…"

"I don’t think so. C’mon, we’ve got to report." Blair hesitated when Jim started toward Simon’s office. Jim turned to him and smiled. "He’s not going to bite, Chief."

"That’s easy for you to say," Blair muttered, just loud enough for Jim to hear. "You’re almost his size. He could have me for breakfast, man, and still have room for a pineapple danish." But he obediently followed Jim across the bullpen, standing behind the bigger man as he knocked at Simon’s door. Murmuring something about lions and the Coliseum, Blair slunk into the office almost glued to Jim’s back.

"Sandburg, come out from behind there and tell me what you found out," said Simon, in full-blown pissed-off rant mode. "And it better be good."

Blair stepped out from behind Jim and, low-voiced but with barely a quaver, he repeated what he had told Jim earlier. Once or twice he forgot about being scared and began to gesture, but then he caught Simon’s stony expression and immediately stilled.

"Okay. Assuming what Sandburg says is true, what’s your next step, Jim?" Simon asked brusquely.

"I think it’s possible that Coolidge is still in town, sir. There’s been no leak to the news about the theft, and he might assume that the Bredon is keeping this quiet, like the other libraries that he robbed. I’d like to check the hotels first. If this guy is as obsessed with Jefferson as it appears, our best bet to find him is at the old Jefferson Hotel downtown."

"Of course…" murmured Blair. He caught Jim’s eye and smiled. Naturally Jim would know what to do – all he’d needed was a nudge in the right direction.

"Right." Simon snapped. "You two get on it."

***

It didn’t take long. As soon as they walked into the neo-classical splendor of the Jefferson’s immaculate lobby and spotted the plush burgundy carpet – the exact shade of the fluff they had found on the floor in the library – Jim knew they were on the right track. A quick look at the register didn’t turn up any Joseph Coolidge, but a Jeff Thomas caught Jim’s eye, and within fifteen minutes, the dapper elderly man in room 703 – Peter Harrison, according to his driver’s license – was in custody. To Blair’s relief, the books and manuscripts from the Bredon were in his room, carefully packed in a suitcase. The suspect spent the entire ride back to the station apologizing, in his soft drawl, for his assault on the library staff. As Jim had guessed, surprise and panic had made him lash out, and he repeated over and over how he deeply regretted his ‘ungentlemanly behavior.’

"As an ancestor of our beloved Mr. Jefferson, I should have maintained a higher standard of conduct," he said when they were back at the station, turning distressed eyes on Blair. "However, I was disconcerted when the young lady made it obvious she was going to monitor my activity while I was there, and I am afraid I allowed base impulses to overcome my better nature, not to mention my sense of propriety." Despite Jim’s warnings, he continued his confidences to Blair, as if realizing that he was the one person in the room who would understand. A distant cousin of the famous President, Mr. Harrison was a man with a mission, and, without prompting, he proudly outlined all his plans to re-create Jefferson’s library, the steps he took to ‘acquire’ the necessary books, and the care he took to keep them safe. It would have been ludicrous if it hadn’t been so sad.

It took longer to write up their reports afterward than to take his confession. Simon had left for a dinner with the mayor – Jim could hear him grumbling all the way down the hall and into the elevator – so they left their reports on his desk and went out to celebrate.

As they were bringing in Harrison earlier that afternoon, Jim had decided that he should take Blair out to dinner. If it hadn’t been for Blair, Harrison would have returned to Virginia on that evening’s flight, books and all, and he would have remained free to continue his quest and steal from another library. Jim knew that he never could have solved the case himself. He was proud of Blair and he wanted to show it. He would treat his partner to a dinner out, where they’d share a bottle of good wine, and then, hopefully, spend the remainder of the evening curled around each other.

Jim smiled to himself at the thought.

***

"Oh, man, that was good!" Blair stifled a belch as he unlocked the door to the loft and stumbled in.

"Whoa, Chief…" Jim snagged Blair’s arm and steadied him. "I told you not to have that last glass of wine."

"I am fine, Jim." Blair spoke clearly and distinctly, with only a hint of deliberation and a tiny frown of concentration. He felt fine. Slightly giddy, sure, but it would have been a shame to leave any of that wine. "And thanks for dinner. It was…" Another belch. "…great!"

"I’m glad you enjoyed it." Jim’s voice held a hint of laughter. "Now come sit down before you keel over."

Blair allowed himself to be led to the couch, where he slowly collapsed against Jim. "I told you I’m fine. I just need another cup of coffee."

"Yeah, Sandburg. Then you’ll be a wide-awake drunk."

Squirming into a more comfortable position, Blair snorted. "I’m not drunk. If I were drunk, I wouldn’t be able to do this…" He twisted around, grabbed the sides of Jim’s head and kissed him. Hard. With lots of tongue.

Before Jim could do anything but kiss him back, Blair unbuttoned Jim’s shirt, his fingers kneading the smooth chest beneath. A low groan from Jim encouraged his explorations, and his hands slid down, teasing the tender flesh at Jim’s waist. Rewarded with another groan, Blair boldly unfastened and peeled open Jim’s trousers. He pulled away from their kiss with a grin, then tugged at Jim’s trousers and shorts until Jim lifted his hips and Blair could slide them down to his ankles. He muttered a curse at the barrier of boots, then knelt and quickly unlaced and pulled them off, Jim’s trousers following the boots onto the floor.

Blair stood on shaky legs and looked at his partner. Really looked at him. Long legs, proud erection, ripped abs and pecs, strong shoulders, neck and jaw, delicate lips, and clear blue eyes… Eyes that saw so much and willingly shared it all with him, without hesitation, without demands. Now all they showed was love and lust, piercing Blair deep in his belly and making him gasp.

He launched himself onto Jim, grinding himself against his partner, pressing kisses on his hard chest and outlining the long tendons of his neck with licks. Hands pulled at his shirt, but Blair ignored them until Jim grabbed his face and held him still.

"Wait…" The single word calmed him enough that he could help Jim unbutton and unfasten, finally slipping out of his clothing like an old skin. He blanketed Jim’s body, shifting just enough to feel an echoing response from the man beneath him, subtle quivers that slowly swelled and grew into a heaving, pounding rhythm. Hands clutched and released, lips dragged over damp flesh, gusts of warm breath sought out tender hidden places, voices cried out and broke, muscles tensed, stretched, were held suspended… until they finally, achingly, collapsed, spasms wracking exhausted bodies.

Murmurs of love were the only sounds that filled the loft for a long time afterward.

***

"Hang on, man!"

With an indulgent smile, Jim turned and waited in the corridor outside the bullpen for Blair to juggle his backpack, pile of books, and enormous cup of coffee. "Need some help?"

"No…" Shouldering his backpack and precariously balancing the books and coffee, Blair cocked an eyebrow. "Just get the door, okay?"

"Sure." Jim herded Blair into the bullpen, eyes following his partner.

Before they could even get settled at Jim’s desk, the door to Simon’s office opened and the Captain stuck his head out. "Sandburg! My office. Now! You too, Ellison!"

"Oh, man. Doesn’t Simon ever do happy?" muttered Blair. "Promise me you’ll find all my body parts before you bury me, Jim."

"What makes you think he’ll let me live that long?" Jim couldn’t help the tiny grin that bent the corners of his mouth.

Blair just snorted as he scuttled across the room and knocked on Simon’s door.

"You wanted to see me, Captain?" Blair stood straight, with the air of someone facing a firing squad, but met Simon’s eyes.

"I was reading your report on the Bredon case." Blair tensed as Simon gestured to the papers piled neatly on his desk and picked up the top sheet. "Sandburg, I took a gamble on you. I thought you could help." He paused, and Blair held his breath. "You did more than help – you uncovered the information that led to a speedy and peaceful arrest." He stood up, extending his hand across the desk. "Good work."

His face a picture of stunned amazement and moving as if he were on autopilot, Blair shook Simon’s hand and then glanced over at Jim, eyes wide.

"Yeah, good job, Chief…" Jim allowed the smile that had been tugging at his mouth to spread across his face. "You made me proud…"

Blair blushed. Jim watched, fascinated, as his color deepened to a rich terra cotta. Jim had never seen anything so… so… all right, dammit, so beautiful in his life as an embarrassed, pleased, and blushing Blair.

Simon grinned. "So, if you’re so smart, Sandburg, why ain’t you rich? With all that knowledge stuffed in that brain of yours, why don’t you do something like try out for Jeopardy? I bet you’d clean up."

Blair returned the grin, blush still firmly in place. "Yeah, right, Simon." He glanced at Jim again, eyes sparkling, and then, feigning seriousness, turned back to the Captain. "I’ll tell you what. I’ll try out for Jeopardy on one condition…" Nudging Jim ahead of him, he sidled toward the door. "You have to promise to go on The Dating Game."

They pulled the door closed by the time Simon bellowed "Get outta here!"

End