Exile

If Blair hadn't needed so desperately to be elsewhere, he would have been willing to consider his present circumstances an anthropologist's paradise. Dressed in a tux, hair tied back, he leaned against a high column in the ballroom of the best hotel in Cascade and watched the creme de le creme of the city's upper class mingle with the best and brightest of the police department. Or not, as the case may be, he admitted, since the two groups weren't exactly congenial with one another.

On the one side were the rich, with their carefully calculated interactions and subtle displays of wealth and influence, which was completely fascinating and not that far removed from what he'd seen in far more primitive cultures. On the other were the cops, ignoring the snobbish disdain aimed their way as they circulated through the crowd. Being on security detail wasn't stopping them from enjoying the situation in their own fashion - mostly by indulging in the lavish amounts of food and bemoaning the fact that the equally abundant booze was strictly off-limits for anyone on the clock.

Following his own analogy, Blair couldn't help but see the cops as a visiting tribe that the locals were uncertain of. Were they powerful enough that antagonizing them could have unforeseen consequences that would be a nuisance to deal with? Or should they assert their own superiority on general principal to keep mediocrity in its place? Neither group would find his observations particularly flattering, he was sure, but that didn't stop him from creating titles for imaginary papers, comparing and contrasting the two.

The absolute best part, as far as Blair was concerned, was how utterly confounded both parties were by his partner. Jim, in typical Detective Ellison alpha male fashion, paid no attention to the social lines drawn, crossing them with a confidence that was tinged with arrogance. Nor could either side deny his right to claim affiliation.

He wore his expensive tux better than any other man in the room, not just because of his build, but because it was clearly just another suit of clothing to him, as appropriate to the occasion as a swimsuit would be a beach. The food was to be enjoyed, but not particularly remarkable, and it was obvious he was completely at home in the subtly elegant locale. His greetings to acquaintances were casual, as if he was sure of his recognition as an equal.

At the same time, Jim spoke to his fellow officers with easy camaraderie, sharing their traditional gripes about extra duty and wasting time just so the mayor could impress the right people. The other cops responded in the same vein, accepting without qualms (but not without the ritual hazing) the intel Jim had to share with them concerning the people present, likely problems, and even the ingredients in some of the more esoteric hors d'oeuvres. In Blair's admittedly biased opinion, the open, honest respect the officers had for Jim caused more than one sidelong glance of surprise and suppressed envy from the 'local' tribe.

Not a few lustful looks were sent Jim's way, as well, though he seemed as oblivious to them as he was to the rest. Blair didn't think that was likely, given how instinctively aware the sentinel was of his environment. The sexual notice was probably dismissed as unimportant because the only attention Jim *cared* about was Blair's.

The urge to do a victory dance, fist pumping and chanting, 'mine, mine, mine,' charged through him, as it did every time he thought about Jim being his lover. Blair couldn’t stop a chuckle from surfacing, though that was all that escaped his poise. While both sides were tolerating him at the moment - one because he presented a harmless, possibly entertaining mystery, the other because they accepted his value to the department and to Jim - he had no doubt that anything but the most restrained behavior would get him escorted to the street.

Regardless of how quickly he killed his reaction, Jim must have picked up on it. He caught Blair's gaze from where he stood listening to some self-important somebody's monologue, a quirk of a smile appearing at the corner of his mouth. It was just a fraction of the happy, beaming smile that Jim usually bestowed on him in more private situations, but it still meant 'I love you,' to Blair.

Jim twirled his finger in a tiny circle near his chest to indicate it was time for them to switch places so Blair could take his turn at working the room his own unique way. "I hate this," he murmured for Jim to hear, unwillingly leaving his post. "Yes, I know, my idea, red herring for the last of the sentinel rumors, and, yes, I get a major charge that you can pull back from a zone when I say your name, no matter where I am in the general area. And that I can tell that you're going to zone, as long as I can see you. It's just that working *beside* you has always been one of the best perks of being your partner."

Before Jim reached him, Simon, Mayor Williams in tow, set an intercept course that caught Jim halfway across the ballroom. Something about the set of Simon's shoulders made Blair change direction, and he trailed the three of them to a small, sumptuously appointed conference room tucked discretely next to the service access for the wait staff. Police Commissioner John Franks, sweaty and nervous in his over-stuffed tux, was waiting for them, and he shifted from foot to foot as he opened to door to usher everyone inside. To Blair's surprise, Simon nodded his approval at Blair's presence when he brought up the rear, though Franks aborted a halting gesture that everyone else bluntly ignored.

To add to the oddity of the situation, Madeline Forrester, dowager prime of Cascade was already inside, seated at the head of the table, a small tray of refreshments at her elbow. She had such a regal presence and formidable reputation that Blair was tempted to genuflect, without the least bit of irony intended. From what he'd heard of her fondness for the unique and unexpected, as long as dignity was given its due, he thought she'd probably be amused at the deed.

As it was he had to fight the urge to squirm like a five-year-old being presented to his grandmother when she inspected him from head to foot, storm-gray eyes taking in every piece of lint or wrinkle in his suit. While she did, the Mayor performed introductions, apparently not put out at all at not having her full attention. Once Ms. Forrester made up her mind about him - and Blair had no idea if it was positive or not - she murmured polite greetings to every one except Jim.

To him she extended her hands, presenting a cheek for a kiss. "James. I can't think of a single thing to say that wouldn't sound clichéd or flirtatious."

With a chuckle, Jim kissed her as expected, and only when his broad shoulders nearly eclipsed her did Blair realized that that Ms. Forrester was a petite woman who probably stood only five feet tall, and that in three-inch heels. Somehow she gave the impression she was at least Jim's height, her perfect posture and attitude contributing to the image. Part of it had to be her age, though she only looked forty of the sixty-some years Blair knew she legitimately claimed, snow -white hair aside.

"Maddy, it would make my day if you would flirt. The challenge of keeping up with you would improve my skills after only a few minutes."

Her rich, full laugh rang through the room, and she waved Jim to a chair, clearly expecting everyone else to sit as well. "And that," she said to the room in general, "is why James is the only one who can see to this situation."

Tone turning implacable, she added, "I want to make one thing perfectly clear; I did not want James to be your inside man. I respect his life choices and am perfectly aware the personal cost to him this assignment will likely have. My preference was to choose another member of the department and polish them up to the standard necessary. Unfortunately, while several show promise, such as Detective Rafe or Mr. Sandburg here, there is simply not enough time to accomplish the level of refinement they will need. James, I *am* sincerely sorry."

Jaw muscle jumping, Jim said with surprising calm, "Maybe you had better start this on the ground floor." Turning to Simon, he added coldly, "Undercover assignment?"

Mayor Williams jumped into the conversation, probably, Blair thought snidely, to make points with Ms. Forrester. "Captain Banks hasn't been brought up to speed yet. We thought it advisable to wait to speak to the captains until all parties could be brought together without arousing notice."

"The security detail was bogus, wasn't it?" Simon's voice was a frigid as Jim's. "A ruse to see which of the detectives could pass your… inspection."

Brushing Simon's ire away, Williams added, "Ms. Forrester has become aware that a number of extremely difficult robberies with high dollar takes can be directly linked to her… her…" He stumbled, suddenly unsure of his choice of words.

"Services," Ms. Forrester put in dryly. "James is aware of my little past time, Mayor Williams. He has, on occasion, suggested a suitable person for clients with specific needs."

Simon spared Blair from asking the obvious. "Clients with specific needs?" While his voice was completely neutral, the suggestion of prostitution managed to insinuate itself, though underlined with astonishment.

Grinning cheekily, Ms. Forrester said, "Why, Captain Banks, surely you have some idea how difficult it is to find a suitable bodyguard for a nubile seventeen-year-old. Especially one who will not be tempted to step outside duty with said seventeen-year-old."

"You provide bodyguards," Commissioner Franks said, pudgy hand passing over his bald head as if the concept hurt.

"I'm a matchmaker," Ms. Forrester said with the same pride another person might admit to being a physician or quantum scientist. "A highly select one with highly select clients. A bodyguard sophisticated enough to *not* appear as one, intelligent, cultured escort for a presidential ball, traveling companion for an elderly woman who wants more than a servant or lackey, and yes, sometimes, a personable companion for an evening of entertainment."

"Matchmaker," Franks repeated, and Blair could see the man's political future going down the drain at the disbelief and faint scorn in the comment.

Ms. Forrester dismissed him with a deft shift of her chair that put him at her back as she addressed Jim directly. "Amanda Coulter's home was broken into while she was in the hospital for a mild heart attack; the young lady taking care of her menagerie of mongrels is one of my people. All that was taken were things that could be easily sold, with no sentimental value, and I am confident my employee is not responsible in any way, though I understand you need to question her yourself. In recent months, there have been two other robberies with similar, I believe you would say, M.O's. So far no one has been hurt, nothing irreplaceable has been taken, and no one else has made the connection between my services and the crimes."

"Maybe there isn't one." Jim was completely stone-faced, even the tell-tale muscle in his jaw not jumping.

"No evidence of break-in, no signs of searching for valuables, time frame for opportunity sometimes only minutes," Williams argued. "All the employees at each scene checked out, from alibi to background search. The only commonality besides crime is that Ms. Forrester has at least one, um, staff member in the household."

Commissioner Franks sealed his doom. "Some people have more than one, ah, of your, ah…"

"Mr. Franks," she said with a frigid civility that was a rebuke in and of itself, "You may not think the service I provide is one worthy of consideration, but I assure you, both my employees and my clients are very grateful that it exists. I strive not just to provide a warm body to fill a position, but to arrange an alliance which is *mutually suitable* on every level possible. Subsequently, I am rewarded with a very satisfying degree of respect, loyalty and friendship from both parties. This thief or informant or misguided individual is doing far more harm than simply relieving ridiculously wealthy snobs of a few baubles and petty cash. They are endangering the livelihood and reputation of some very good, very deserving people, and seriously impairing the quality of life for innocents who must already struggle to have even the semblance of an ordinary existence."

"In short," Jim said quietly, reaching to cover her hand, "This is hurting people you like and you want it to stop. I understand that, Maddy. But you're asking the impossible from me. First, I'll be recognized as a cop almost immediately; I've been in the media too often this past year."

Blair winced at the reminder of all the publicity from the diss and the additional outfall when they had chosen to fight to recover what Sid and Rainier had cost him. It had faded, becoming old news blessedly fast, but Jim was right. Cameras and gossip columnists were part and parcel of the group Jim was expected to infiltrate; a new face in the crowd would send them scrambling to identify him so they could broadcast their twisted view of his presence.

"We can use that to our advantage," Mayor Williams said thoughtfully. "Purloined letter - undercover in plain sight. Be a cop with good social connections using those connections to moonlight."

"You'd hardly be the only member of the force picking up a few 'consultant' hours," Simon agreed, reluctantly Blair thought. "Yeah, I know, against policy, but the union's put enough pressure on management to turn a blind eye to it. Even if you're accused out-right you'll have the case wrapped up before anything comes of it besides a 'disciplinary meeting' with me."

"You can't honestly expect me to run with the playboy set until all hours of the night, then come into work on time the next day? Or are all my vacation and sick days going up for grabs here?" It was obvious Jim was looking for an excuse to be belligerent.

To his credit, Williams quickly defused it. "We've been bouncing around the idea of doing splits shifts for one or two individuals in each department, both to have extra personnel at the busiest times and to allow flexibility for single parents and what not. We could institute it on a trial basis, making you one of the test cases as a reward for 'cop of the year,' and if the results are good, make it permanent policy."

Jim flicked a quick glance at Blair to warn him, then said tiredly, "On behalf of the officers who have been lobbying for that for two years, thank you. Regardless of the bribe, I have the right to refuse any case that I feel is against my best interests, and I am *not* going to do this."

"For God's sake, why?" Franks burst out. "Beautiful women, lavish parties, generous expense account, all with the department's blessings. What more could you ask?"

"This isn't just putting on a tux and mingling at a few parties," Jim snapped. "I am going to have to live that life for months on end to get in deep enough to learn anything useful - and apparently do my regular job besides! Every second of my personal time will vanish in a heartbeat, and I'm not willing to give it up. I'm seeing someone special, not that it's any of your business, and I'm not going to risk losing out because I suddenly don't have any time or energy to spare!"

Tapping a finger against her chin, Maddy said, "Your father didn't mention that you were romantically involved at the moment."

The smile Jim gave her was an honestly sad one that softened her displeasure considerably. "Since when does my dad know much of anything important about me, even when I tell him?"

Seeing Ms. Forrester's sympathetic acceptance, Franks rounded on Simon, who was too experienced at hiding what he did or didn't know and didn't so much as blink. "Is he telling the truth?"

"It's not my business to keep track of my detectives' personal lives." Simon sat back in his chair, distancing himself from all of them. "And as Ellison mentioned, he's motivated to keep his more private than others. In any case, I'm not going to force anybody undercover if they don’t want to be there, no matter what their reasons. That's a recipe for dead cop, and don't tell me that's not likely when looking for high-class thieves. They're just as like to turn violent as any other kind."

Torn between delight that Jim would fight for them and terror that Williams or Franks would get back at him for their lost opportunity with Ms. Forrester, Blair murmured, "Maybe you should give Jim a chance to talk it over with his s.o, get an opinion from that quarter." At the shocked stares from the others, who had apparently forgotten he was in the room, exactly as he'd wanted, he shrugged.

Jim was as startled, though it had to be because he expected Blair to agree with him. "Sandburg…"

"Look, if you'd decided to do it, you would have been up front with it, right? Because of the press, if nothing else? And the two of you usually see eye-to-eye on what has to be done and what's just so much bullshit." If possible, Jim's face grew stonier, and Blair had to struggle to keep his tone level and cajoling, exactly like one partner trying to convince the other to be reasonable. "It can't hurt to make sure you both want the same thing here."

Only Jim could have heard the slight emphasis on 'want,' and he grudgingly acknowledged with a nod the one word Blair could use since they got together that was guaranteed to make Jim take a step back from whatever stand he had taken. "Fine. I'll bring it up. Tomorrow, then, sir?"

Good enough a politician to see when the opponent had the upper hand, Williams stood. "I'll be waiting for a call from Banks, one way or the other."

Franks waffled, obviously wanting to argue more, but Simon took the cue that he was dismissed. "Do I tell my people they're off the clock and can go home when they want?"

"Please," Ms. Forrester rose, taking Jim's gallantly extended arm. "Assure them they're welcome to stay as long as they wish, as well. The caterers are delighted that their efforts are being fully appreciated for once." She smiled welcomingly at Blair, obviously waiting for something, and on impulse he offered his elbow as well. "Thank you. A lady of my generation should never miss the opportunity to have a handsome man on either side of her."

"Ms. Forrester, any gentleman of any generation in his right mind would be grateful to have you on his arm."

Leading them out, she said, "Oh, my… yes, you have definite potential, Mr. Sandburg."

Once back in the ballroom, Jim made a graceful, albeit brief farewell, and began making the rounds to pass the news, as did Simon. Blair willingly danced attendance on Ms. Forrester, thoroughly enjoying her company, until he sensed Jim was ready to go. He took his leave as charmingly as possible, and Ms. Forrester gave him the ultimate compliment of permitting a kiss on the cheek goodbye. When he was close, she whispered, "I thought I had made sure James wasn't involved before entangling him in my problems, but he hid his romantic interests very, very well. Now I understand why."

"Ms. Forrester..."

"Maddy, please."

"It's Blair, then, Maddy."

"I do know what I'm asking of James," she said, taking one of his hands in hers. "Because of his mother, he was born into society's upper echelon, accepted immediately as heir to her line; as a child he excelled in the skills necessary to flourish because of his father's unceasing demands for perfection. When he turned his back on it all, many of our circle saw it as a personal condemnation of their life style, not an escape from an intolerable prison. Tongues will *not* be kind if he were to return, especially as an employee; even one of mine."

"Anyone who would look down on him for choosing what was right for him isn't worthy to carry his coat, let alone judge his actions," Blair said fiercely. "And in the long run, he'll have the last, best say when he turns his back on them again, after solving their petty problems for amusement's sake!"

She eyed him, not in disapproval, but as if she were evaluating him yet again. "It might not take that long, after all," she said, as if to herself. Before Blair could point out that he couldn't spare the time for *any* undercover job, Maddy roused herself. "Be sure you remind him of that frequently. That is, if you believe he should agree to the assignment."

Sparing a quick glimpse at Franks who was arguing heatedly with Banks in corner, Blair looked for and found Mayor Williams having a much quieter but equally as intense discussion with Saul Arly, head of I.A. "To be truthful, I don't think we have much choice. We're a bit over-extended in the 'owing a favor' currency that cops use for leverage with each other."

Following his line of sight, Maddy frowned prettily. "Because of last year's difficulties. Truly, I should not have meddled. I *am* sorry, but I do believe that sooner or later someone will be seriously hurt, if not killed."

"It's the nature of crime," Blair agreed wearily. He bent over her hand as if for a kiss and released it, already turning to leave. "Jim's waiting for me. Please tell me we'll see each other again under better circumstances."

Her 'rest assured' wafted after him as he hurried toward Jim, who was barely reining in a thunderous mood. Fully expecting him to fume all the way to the truck and most of the way home, Blair was surprised when he said gruffly at the elevator, "I'm thinking, Sandburg, I'm thinking. Leave it until we go in tomorrow. We can fight about it then."

"Done." Blair hid his satisfaction at the resulting double-take, and scooted inside the elevator, leaving Jim there, staring.

The 'God damn, I love him' smile blossomed, and Jim visibly fought to shift gears from angry partner to happily bemused lover as he jumped past the closing door. After a few floors he said, "It's the tux, isn't it? You're holding off on the marathon 'change Jim's mind' dialogue, which is really more of a soliloquy, because you're hoping to get me in a good mood so that I'll let you peel me out of this monkey suit."

Propping one foot on the wall, Blair deliberately ran his gaze over Jim, lingering on his mouth, shoulders, and package. "Can you blame me? It's like, you see this expensively wrapped present at your birthday party, and you arrow in on it, because you know it's going to be the best thing in the pile. And it's your birthday, so it's all yours, to do what you want with. You're lucky I didn't drag you off to a closet, hell, the nearest dark corner, and have my way with you."

"Thank you for your restraint," Jim said laughingly, leaning a shoulder on the opposite wall, putting space between him and temptation.

"Hey, it boiled down to pure selfishness. If I'd started something there, someone might have thought they could horn in on the action."

"What makes you think I'd put up with that?" Jim shot back.

"Well, you wouldn't, would you?" Blair tilted his head to one side, regarding Jim as if seriously thinking about the possibilities. "All the macho that goes with wearing that suit so well would practically guarantee you'd throw me over your shoulder and carry me off to your lair, sneering at any puny rival who dared come near what's yours."

"This your way of sharing one of your perversions with me, Chief?"

"Kink, not perversion," Blair said in a mock-lecturing tone. "A kink pushes a few buttons that make things a bit spicier in the bedroom. A perversion gets you locked away for a long, long time. And no, having you act like a character out of a bad romance novel isn't my idea of a sexual fantasy."

"Good, 'cause light you aren't, Scarlet."

"No, I'm not. Good thing your kink is brainy all-but-the-doctorate grad students."

"Gorgeous, mouthy, brainy grad students, I'll have you know," Jim said so solemnly that Blair lost it and cracked up.

They kept up both the necessary socially acceptable distance and the semi-teasing patter until they were nearly back to the loft, pushing away the last hour or so of the party until they had to deal with it. As soon as the door was safely closed behind them, Jim pulled Blair into a tight embrace, burying his nose in Blair's curls and breathing deeply. It was a habit he'd started after their first night together, almost as if full contact were simultaneously a reward for maintaining his 'partner' distance all day, and a release from that same behavior so he could be Blair's lover.

Most days the hug faded naturally into whatever they had going on that evening, but sometimes it evolved into fantastic, melt-down-of-all-brain-cells sex. Tonight Blair expected Jim to need time to decompress, but instead he followed up with a lingering, thorough claiming of his lips that made Blair's knees weak. Breaking away to dust tiny, pecking kisses over his forehead, Jim murmured, "Want to hear what I've been thinking all evening?"

Hooking a leg over Jim's hip to hold him closer, Blair said distractedly, "What?"

"That in a crowd of polished, toned, and tanned to perfection people wearing pure silks, rare gems and metal, and no-preservative, no additive scents, you stood out like the only living person in a room filled with mannequins. Your beauty is as natural and honest and powerful as a flutter of butterflies in a meadow, or a snow-covered mountain range rising out the desert."

Jim took advantage of Blair's open-mouthed astonishment to slip his tongue in for a deep, raw kiss that was as unexpected as the flowery words. For once Jim didn't seem to have to ease past the part of his libido that was straight, but was as ready for Blair as Blair was for him.

Desire clenched low and hard in Blair's belly, and he moaned, locking his arms around Jim's neck with everything he had. With an inarticulate noise, Jim cupped Blair's backside in both hands and lifted, dragging him up his front, his hardon burning a swathe over Blair's torso along the way. On impulse Blair wrapped his other leg around Jim's waist, hanging onto him with all four limbs, bottom rubbing against the head of Jim's cock through their clothes.

Another violent bolt of need hit him, and for a moment Blair worried that he might cream in his pants. Then he decided he didn't care if he did. He had never seen Jim so lost in arousal, and loved the idea of focusing all of his attention on him to make their love-making the best Jim had ever had. Writhing against him, Blair gave himself over to rising urgency, losing awareness of everything but Jim's solid heat and devouring kiss.

To Blair's disappointment, Jim tore his mouth away, head dropping back to prevent Blair from simply taking it again. "Wait. Bed."

Whimpering, Blair bit at Jim's suit covered shoulder, but held still, waiting to be put down. Instead Jim took a careful step, muscles flexing powerfully, then another. "Oh, damn, you're going to carry me?" Blair swallowed, dick throbbing dangerously. "Oh, fuck…oh…" Each step sent a ripple through Jim's body, subtly caressing the length of Blair's dick where it was digging into Jim's abdomen. He wanted to press harder into Jim, grind himself against him, but their balance was so precarious, all he could do was hold on.

Finally they were in Blair's old bedroom, and Jim surprised him again by sitting down on the futon, helping Blair arrange himself so that he was astride Jim's lap, knees planted beside Jim's hips. "Skin," Jim muttered and fumbled at the jeweled button at the collar of Blair's tux shirt.

Hoping that Jim was finally going to fuck him, and frantically wishing he had the courage to ask for it if he wasn't, Blair tugged at Jim's bow tie with his teeth, fingers already busy with buttons. Despite trembling clumsiness, Blair was soon naked from the waist up. Jim managed to get out of his jacket, but gave up on the shirt, apparently willing to settle for letting it hang open in the front.

Blair knelt up to give Jim better access to his belt and zipper, and Jim latched onto a nipple with his mouth, sucking hard as he freed Blair's hardon from his slacks. Shouting, Blair held Jim's head to his tit, pumping into the hand encircling his cock. He groaned a protest when Jim released the aching peak, then nearly screamed when the other was given the same treatment as the first.

"Coming," Blair mumbled both in warning and relief.

"Shit, yeah. Do it. Send us over," Jim murmured against Blair swollen flesh, and went back to his suckling, using the fingers of his free hand on the other nipple.

It was as much the fact that Jim was balanced on the brink of climax with him as the extra stimulation that sent Blair into his finish. He seed bubbled out as his brain filled with all-encompassing euphoria. Belatedly he felt Jim rocking against him, but even as he assembled enough energy to reach between them to help, he realized Jim's crotch was damp.

Whispering, "Love you," over and over, Blair stroked the hair at the back of Jim's head, coaxing him through the aftershocks.

Eventually Jim nuzzled at his throat, sighing. "What were you saying about bad romance novels and being carried?"

"Who knew?" Blair said happily. "Maybe I should read a few just for pointers, you know?"

"I'd love to hear you explain that bit of research to anybody who catches you with one - and can't wait for you to test the results on me."

"Mmmmm." Sleep was beckoning, and Blair unwound from him, luring Jim into following him with a tender kiss. In short order they were tidied up and upstairs in their bed, spooned together. Blair could feel a faint wariness between them as Jim waited for him to press the issue on the robberies, but Blair saw no reason not to wait, giving Jim a chance to keep his promise.

Patience paid off, and the next morning after stopping for coffee, Jim pulled over, sipping at his as if that were the reason he delayed the trip to the station. They shared a few moments of companionable silence before he said unexpectedly, "Give me one good reason why I should take the case."

Instantly abandoning all the lead-up conversation he had planned, Blair said as directly as he'd been asked, "Simon and the guys in Major Crimes."

Jim stared at him over the rim of his cup, but it wasn't an angry or stubborn stare, so Blair went on quietly, "Not only is Simon constantly covering us for the sentinel thing *and* for the personal thing, but when we went to Simon and let him know that I wanted my damned Ph.D, he put everything he had into working with my mom, you, and everybody else who was on my side, into convincing the powers that be at Rainier they made a mistake kicking me out. When the dust cleared from that, and we told him that I still wanted to be your official, if unpaid, partner, he and the entire department, right down to Rhonda, got behind me and made it happen."

"We owe them all, big, but I don’t see how this job goes toward payback."

Fiddling with the top on his own cup, Blair said, "Political cache doesn’t necessarily carry from one new administration to another, and Williams isn't giving Banks, or any of the other captains, for that fact, much advanced good will. Franks is an idiot, and *any* leverage against him can only be a good thing in the long run." A snort told him Jim agreed, at least with his assessment of Franks. "Add to that Simon distributing your case load so some of the higher profile stuff goes to say, Rafe, which gets him a chance at polishing some brass, and I can't help but see this as an opportunity to settle up a little."

He let Jim think that over for a minute then asked, "Can you give me one good reason why you shouldn't do the job?"

Jim reached across to tug at a lock of hair that had strayed from Blair's ponytail. "Well, it's not my pride. You were right; I *would* be getting the last laugh, and the first laugh, and all the rest of the available chuckles. If I went in, I'd act like I was slumming, trying to decide if there was anything worthwhile in rejoining that crowd and getting some quality time with Maddy as a bonus."

Not at all surprised Jim had heard that bit of conversation, Blair grinned. "So?"

Winding the curl around his finger, Jim kept his eyes on the action as if that was all that was on his mind. "Believe it or not, I meant what I said about not wanting to give up my private life trying to catch a thief who isn't hurting his victims in any way."

"Doesn't make what he's doing right."

"No, but the potential cost outweighs the value of the objective as far as I'm concerned." Jim released his captive, and set aside his coffee to put the truck in gear. "Maddy's crew lives in the same building so they have easy access to each other and her, Chief. They're more an extended family than co-workers, sharing the same clients on differing schedules for maximum flexibility all the way around. I'll have to do the same, just to gain their confidence, not to mention I need that kind of access to them if I'm going to have any chance of finding a connection to the robberies."

"Oookay," Blair said reluctantly. "I hadn't thought about how you were going to check them out if you're busy being a bodyguard or escort. Like Franks, I guess I saw you coming to work, heading for home to dress up for your 'date' or whatever, schmoozing to pump people for info, then getting back in time to go to bed with me."

"The hours I'll have to keep, even with the adjusted schedule at work - there's a reason most of the idle rich don't get their shit together before noon. They were up until 4am, partying for one reason or another from dinner time on." Stopping for a light, Jim rubbed at his eyes. "Dammit, the only time I'd get to see you is when we're on the job together, and, unless you've changed your mind about being out, it will have to be strictly business between us."

"Definitely liking this less and less." Blair took an unwanted sip of his coffee, running the ramifications of what Jim had told him through his mind. "Realistically, I can't even ask you for a time table on that, can I?"

"Takes as long as it takes," Jim agreed. He seemed ready to drop the conversation, then abruptly said, "Of course, it would free up more time for you to meet the impossible deadlines your committee set for you." "

Not impossible; challenging though, waaay challenging," Blair said absently, still preoccupied with weighing no-Jim-for-God-knows-how-long against major-good-for-people-he-seriously-owed.

"You wouldn't be wasting valuable writing time on bullshit stakeouts or security details like last night," Jim said, mostly to himself.

"Hey, that wasn't a waste of time. I've got a dozen potential papers mentally lined up from watching two of tightest closed cultures known to man go toe-to-toe," Blair said laughingly, expecting Jim to match his tone. "Not to mention I got to meet Maddy, who I really like."

"She'd expect me to take road trips on the weekends, to places like L.A. and Hawaii," Jim said, dead serious, fingers tapping at the wheel as he looked both ways before entering an intersection. "You're my partner, and, as far as anyone else would know, the tenant of my condo. I could bring you along on the good trips on one pretext or another. Maddy would approve, maybe even foot the bill."

"Hawaii," Blair said weakly, visions of warm sunshine and magnificent beaches taking over for a second.

"When you couldn't go out of town with me, maybe it'd free up enough hours so you could have something resembling a social life again. Right now all you do is work and write and try to get enough sleep between the two to do more of the same."

"It's only for a while longer," Blair reminded him, and summoned a leering grin to reassure him. "And sleep isn't the only thing we do in the bed."

"After which you often have to get up and go back downstairs to your office again."

Blair wanted to bristle at what could have been regarded as a criticism of his post-coital etiquette, but Jim's tone was too worried, too thoughtful for him to take offense. "I don't want to, you know that."

"Yeah, but maybe this way you don't have to. I'd have to make excuses to be at the loft if I wanted to be with you, but that's not anything I couldn't manage." Jim sounded vaguely repulsed by that possibility, but not dissuaded.

"Hey, that can add to the excitement," Blair argued almost automatically. In the next breath his mouth caught up with his brain. "You just talked yourself into taking the case, didn't you?"

"You still think I should?"

"I…."

Blair fell silent and spent the rest of the trip to the station looking at the whole situation all over again, from all angles. Before they got out of the truck, he caught Jim's hand, holding it on the bench seat, thumb massaging over the knuckles. "There was one thing that didn't come up - one of us messing around on the other. You as part of your cover, me out of loneliness or maybe stupidity because you're living the good life and I'm drudging through that stupid dissertation."

"Not going to happen," Jim said calmly, fingers curled trustingly in Blair's palm. So calmly that Blair didn't have to ask if he'd worried about the possibility; he knew Jim hadn't.

"It's not going to be fun, but we *can* handle what this is going to do to our relationship. So, yes, I still feel we really need to do this job." Blair gave a last squeeze, but when he would have moved away, Jim tightened his grip, though he didn't speak.

Eventually Jim said, "If you're sure this is what you want, then I'll tell Simon to get the ball rolling and call Maddy myself."

Ignoring a quiver in his gut that made him queasy, Blair said, "Let's do it."

***

Three weeks later, Blair could have kicked himself in the ass to hell and back for not listening to his instincts and backing out when they had the chance. Head bent over a report that didn't need written yet for a case so open and shut a five-year-old could have solved it, like all of theirs were lately, he listened to Jim exchanging mock-insults and playfully sour greetings as he worked his way to their desk. From the sound of the comments, word had percolated around that Jim had taken advantage of his new schedule to land a few 'consulting' hours. The tone was semi-envious and semi-proud, the way it had been from the time the change had been announced, with the usual bitching thrown in about a cop's salary.

How much longer Jim was going to be able to enjoy that 'golden boy' shine before the inevitable resentment and mutters of favoritism began, Blair had no idea. He could already see Jim's reputation as a good, hard-working cop fading in the face of puzzled gossip that tried valiantly to point out Jim deserved a chance to coast a little; the last few years had been hard and a little burn-out was normal. If only the talk about Jim's personal life was as kind.

Blair put his pen down, took off his glasses, and buried his hands in his hair, giving up all pretense at work, acting as if he didn't see the commiserating looks shot his way. Those who had reason to suspect he and Jim were together were solidly on Blair's side, believing that Jim was abandoning him for glitter and gold. Those who saw them only as partners were solidly on Blair's side because they thought Jim was dumping all the work on him, forcing Blair to cover for him with Simon.

It could only get worse until Jim solved the robberies. Then everyone would have the explanation they needed for Jim's behavior to make sense, and, hopefully, there wouldn't be any lasting repercussions. With another painful tug at his head, Blair thought, //Why didn't it occur to either of us that it would have to be deep cover, so deep the rest of the bullpen has to be in the dark about the case?//

Jim finished his saunter across the bullpen and dropped gracefully into his chair. "Hey, partner, anything interesting on our plate?"

Not looking up, Blair shook his head. //He even has to stay in character when he's with me! I feel like I'm partners with a total stranger; one I don't particularly like.//

Aloud, he said, "Not much. How'd the watch on the soon-to-be-ex Mrs. Harrison go?"

Taking out a tennis ball, Jim tossed it in the air repeatedly. "Can't decide if she wanted me for the job because of my badge so she can feel safe or because of my looks so her husband chews out his heart from jealousy. He is one ugly toad. Play was good, though."

"Yeah?"

Leaning back, most of his focus supposedly on the ball, Jim gave a surprisingly thoughtful critique of the performance and writing, adding bits and pieces about the people he'd seen or chatted with before, at intermission, and after. It was the sort of social chatter that Jim loathed, and Blair usually automatically filtered through, though he could tell a few people in the bullpen were eavesdropping. Just when Blair thought he would bang his head into the desk, begging Jim to shut up and show some interest in the job, Jim abruptly dropped both feet to the ground.

"Got your planner? Need to run some dates by you." Jim took out his recently acquired, ostentatiously large and expensive date book, and opened it, scooting next to Blair so they could both read it.

"You know," Blair said quietly so only Jim could hear and trying to inch away without being obvious about it, "This might be carrying the hiding in plain sight tactic too far. I mean, anybody from either job could get curious enough to sneak a peek, and the code you're using could make them suspicious."

"That's why the key is right up front for them to read, and my real notes are in yours," Jim said absently, surreptitiously switching planners. "Even if they get suspicious of me, they won't go after yours until they've taken a shot at mine, at the very least, which I'll know almost as soon as it happens. Plenty of warning and a good way to tag at least one potential suspect; something I'm seriously short of right now." "Hard to argue with that." Blair flipped through pages, stopping at random, as if he and Jim were discussing dates. "I guess...."

"Ellison! Sandburg. My office, now!"

Standing, Blair muttered, "Whoa, sounds as if he's really pissed. Want to bet that Franks has been at him again?" Nonplussed when Jim shrugged instead of joining the ritualistic griping, Blair followed him into Banks' office, wondering when he had taken over Jim's part as the grumpy cop.

Once inside Jim slouched into a chair, lazy indifference oozing out of every pore. Banks took one look at him and stood straighter, shoulders a taut line of challenge. "Thank you for honoring me with your presence!"

Before Jim could react, Blair put a hand on his forearm, shooting a glare at Simon to hold him at bay, and said quietly, "Jim, man... it's just us, for now."

Looking away, jaw muscle jumping, Jim fought some emotion Blair didn't understand, but he gradually relaxed, producing a rueful smile. He took a deep breath and scrubbed his hand over his face. "I know, Chief. It's just hard to step away from the role."

"Which I should have remembered and made allowances for." Simon moved to his coffee machine, lifting a cup questioningly. When Jim and Blair nodded, he filled mugs for them, then pulled a chair over to sit next to them. "I don't know what this blend is, but I've told my brother-in-law to put me in for a standing order."

Sipping appreciatively, Jim said, "Beats that weird raspberry stuff he tried to convince you was the latest big trend." Hands cradling his mug, he sat forward. "Now that the apology's been given and accepted on both sides, you want to get down to business?"

"Actually, I wouldn't mind if all we talked about was the Jags and where to find the best java in town." Simon pinched at the bridge of his nose, and sat back tiredly. "Feels like a lot longer than three weeks since we've spent more than two minutes in each other's company that wasn't work-related."

"Tell you what… after this is over you bring a case of decent beer and a bag of Wonder burgers to the loft, and we'll armchair ref whatever games we can find on the tube until Sandburg throws us both out so he can write."

"You making progress on that?" Simon asked Blair with real interest.

Dismissively, Blair said, "Enough that my committee can't find fault."

"Not that they're not trying their best," Jim said irritably, making Blair relax. Jim-the-Blessed Protector was back. "Stoddard's keeping them honest, but not by much."

"I think they're in shock that he's actually stayed completely neutral. Not easy for an academic." Blair smiled into his cup, content to flow with the conversation, mildly amused he was the basis of it.

When the coffee was gone and cop instincts warned that they'd stayed in Simon's office as long as they could without arousing suspicion, Jim stood, sighing. "You call me in here about the robberies?"

Reluctantly gathering the mugs, Simon went behind his desk and became the captain again. "Anything new?"

"Nothing that will make Franks and Williams happy." Jim kneaded the back of his neck. "It wasn't three robberies, it was six, as far as I've been able to determine, and there's no connection between Maddy and the ones I found. The first was only an attempt: set up crew for a party came earlier than expected and scared the thieves off without their goodies."

For a second Blair could see a deep frustration and pain in his partner, but before he could react to it, Jim schooled himself to complete impassiveness. "The second was reported, but the mutual loathing between the primary on it and the self-important big shot vic pretty much guaranteed it was barely investigated. The last… it was blamed on one of the help. She was fired and charged with the theft, but it didn't hold in court. Good reason; she didn't do it. Her boss is a racist blue-blood who wouldn't have believed her if he'd caught the real culprits in the act, so he's been mouthing off about the corrupt system that favors minorities."

"Great, just great." Simon picked up a pen. "Names?"

After they were written down, Simon said, "One last thing." He handed Blair a file. "This one is right up your alley, Sandburg. Meeting at a Buddhist monastery on the south edge of the Winston Development; they're having problems with vandalism, harassment, petty theft. It seems more the juvenile delinquent sort of activity rather than hate crimes level, not that we've been able to do anything about it. Apparently the monks there take the stand that pressing charges is a form of violence, and are being less than cooperative."

Quickly scanning the reports and Simon's note with time and location for the meet, Blair said, "I know the place. It's on the list of good resources for basic cultural research for Anthro 101 and 102 students because the monks are very friendly and willing to be observed or questioned. The grounds are huge and absolutely gorgeous, too."

"So good that there's some tourist activity going on," Banks agreed. "Another reason to stop the problem before it grows."

"How far is the department willing to go to persuade the monks to work with us on it?" Blair glanced up at Jim, expecting him to be reading over his shoulder, and had to blink away a pang. Jim had reverted back to Maddy's socialite prodigal, James, and was leaning insouciantly against the doorframe, waiting for Blair and Simon to be done.

"Anything short of police protection or doing nothing at all. Find a solution and fast." Simon picked up his pen, waving it in dismissal, apparently already absorbed in his next task.

Thinking maybe Simon didn't like facing Jim's change any more than he did, Blair abruptly decided that going straight to the source would be more productive than reading the file. He went to their desk long enough to grab his backpack and jacket, Jim trailing after him as if he couldn't think of anything better to do. "Your truck or my car?"

"I could meet you there."

"I don't think so," Blair ground out nearly silently, bypassing the elevator in favor of the stairs. "I'm not going to waste the few opportunities we have to be together in relative privacy."

"Blair..."

Braking to a sudden stop at a landing, Blair spun on his heel and stabbed a finger into his partner's chest. "Or is James unwilling to be seen with his scruffy, neo-hippie civilian co-worker and tenant?"

Expecting a gruff denial, Blair's incipient anger died when Jim caught his hand and held it over his own heart. "You know better. You know you're more to me than even partner, no matter what guise I'm wearing or what I might have to say for cover." Abruptly he released Blair and brushed past to continue down the steps. "You're the one who acts as if you're betraying the proletariat by associating with a member of the capitalist class."

Blair stared after him for as long as it took for Jim to reach the next landing, then raced after him, leaping from the bottom step. To judge by the shock on Jim's face as he reflexively turned to catch him, it was the last thing he expected, but it didn't stop him from hugging Blair tightly. He concentrated with his senses for a moment, probably to make sure they were alone and secure, and bent his head to rest on the curve of Blair's shoulder.

"This is what's wrong, you idiot," Blair muttered, squeezing hard. "James feels like he's five million miles away from me, not caring about the distance at all."

Running his hands soothingly over Blair's back, Jim said, "I've never known a little thing like space to stop you from going after what you want. Is James that much of a jerk?"

"God, no! James is a major find: well-traveled, erudite, dry wit and drier attitude. I wouldn't mind him as a playmate and party pal," Blair reassured him quickly, pulling away despite an unwillingness to be separated from Jim.

Aching from the loss of contact, he buried the rest of his opinion about the bored rich and headed for the ground floor. "I don't know how to play it, as far as James is concerned. Old friend hanging on to better days? Special resource to be tucked away unless needed? Ex with a lot of history behind us? Don't tell me it doesn't matter; covers get blown on the slightest misstep, a single wrong word in the wrong place. I'm not..."

"Going to worry about it," Jim broke in firmly. "What I...." He stopped, jaw muscle jumping, then went on tightly, "What's important to me is that we stay the same, with you treating me the way you always do. I'd like to feel like I could go home at any time and crawl into bed with you as if I've never been away. That's the foundation I'm standing on; the grounding I'm using to get through this bullshit case."

"I hear you." And Blair did; probably far more than Jim meant for him to hear. Pushing away his own loneliness and the pain of the Jim-sized emptiness in his life, Blair stole a quick, hungry kiss. "Thanks for helping me find my footing. Not only is status quo the easiest way to go, but when things are wrapped up, people can save face by claiming they knew all along that you were putting on an act."

An emotion Blair couldn't decipher flickered across Jim's face, but they were at the exit to the lobby, and anyone could decide to use the stairs at any moment. Choosing his words for their ambiguity, he asked, "You adjusting okay to the new place and Maddy's crew?"

Opening the door, Jim guided Blair toward the street with a palm in the small of his back. "About what you'd expect on both counts. Have to admit, most of the staff are leery of me, and not just because of the badge. Maddy's known me all my life, and she doesn't bother to hide how happy she is she talked me into giving her a hand. They worry about favoritism, the possibility of me spying on them for her or the police, that sort of thing."

"Rough, huh?"

"Nothing I haven't handled before, and not that long ago." Jim stopped in front of a Benz sports car, opening the locks with a remote. "Most of the 'tests' aren't as clever as the ones thrown my way by the bullpen and other people at the department when they were debunking the sentinel thing for themselves."

As Blair got in, Jim walked around to the other side, giving Blair a chance to hide his shock at the new ride. They buckled in, and he said, "You dialing down on your senses then, to make sure they stay a non-topic?"

"Not much choice, and the techniques we worked out when we were fighting the rumors at the station are doing the trick," Jim said dismissively.

Blair shot back, "What are you doing to decompress, and don't give me attitude for asking. That's part of status quo."

Grinning at him, Jim said, "So's giving you a hard time before surrendering and answering honestly."

"Then quit with evasion tactic number eight: changing the subject."

"Maybe switch to number eleven, ignoring the whole thing?"

Despite the seriousness behind the question, Blair laughed. They argued good-naturedly all the way across town to where the stop lights and four lane boulevards gave way to winding roads and a gradual climb into the mountains. The temple was located at the edge of Cascade's last hurrah of city landscape: a series of upscale condos separated by strip malls and gas stations. High stone walls separated it from its more urbane neighbors, enclosing a few dozen or so well-manicured acres of forest and gardens.

Despite the fence, the gate was open, and Jim reported that all the ones he could see were as well. There were a number of them spaced around the perimeter, and he shook his head at the lack of a single lock, let alone any other form of security. Acting like tourists, they went in and wandered along the immaculate trails, genuinely impressed with the beauty and serenity of the place. Here and there Blair pointed out plants, naming them and their medicinal use, while Jim identified the signs of passing animals or repaired damage: a flowerbed that had been replanted, a rock garden with minute traces of spray paint left.

They were hardly the only people on the grounds, but the winding path gave the illusion of solitude, as did the hush created by the natural buffer of stone, tree, and vine. Before long Jim draped an arm over Blair's shoulder, pulling him into his side, and Blair slipped a hand into one of his back pockets, effortlessly matching his step so they could stay close. Between Jim's warmth seeping into him, the quiet, and the understated splendor of their surroundings, Blair relaxed for the first time in months, forgetting unreasonable deadlines; demanding, skeptical cops; and the closet he and Jim were supposed to be sharing.

Eventually they found the small shelter with a pagoda roof where they were scheduled to meet with the monks running the temple. It was built into a rock face with a miniature waterfall tumbling over it, delicate flowered vines trailing down, half-hiding the cascade of water. The floor was a bed of fine sand with sweeping curves raked into it, and though there were benches on either side, they stopped in the very center of it to watch twilight creep into the day. Jim stood behind Blair, arms around his waist, cheek against his curls, seemingly happy to stay that way until they were forced to move.

Before the last of the light was gone, an elderly Chinese gentleman, bald pate and flowing robes marking him as one of the monks, bowed before them, beaming paternally. "Perhaps you would care to join me for tea?" he asked in perfect, unaccented English.

With a suppressed sigh that Blair felt, marking the return to duty, Jim stepped to one side and bowed in return, much more deeply. Matching him, Blair said, "We'd be delighted, honored elder."

Smiling slightly, but obviously pleased, the monk said, "I am Hai Ping, chosen by my brothers to speak with the police on the matter of the acts of destruction violating the tranquility of our home. You are the gentlemen I was expecting?" "

Detective Jim Ellison, my civilian partner and the department's special consultant, Blair Sandburg. We would like to assist you in resolving the problem, hopefully to our mutual satisfaction."

Looking decidedly more pleased, Hai Ping gestured toward a low table at the front of the shelter, already being set by other monks with a teapot, cups, flower arrangement, and several lit candles. "To this point, I would have said that the police were determined to do so to *their* satisfaction."

Moving to the table and waiting until Hai Ping seated himself, Jim and Blair sat on plump cushions opposite him. "Forgive me, Elder," Blair said, folding his hands in his lap for the moment. "I can't remember if it's more polite to wait until you serve yourself first, or to offer to serve for you."

"Does it matter? All is forgiven if the spirit of learning is apparent, as it is with you."

The answer was exactly along the lines that Blair expected, and the next few hours were spent in a leisurely exchange of custom, information, ideas, and plans. If Jim was impatient with the pace, it didn't show at all, and Blair was willing to bet that his partner enjoyed the conversation every bit as much as he did. Possibly more, as Jim was already self-educated in Chinese culture and custom, for once surpassing Blair's expertise.

By the time Jim and Blair had to leave, the three of them had agreed on a combination of creating a neighborhood watch (since many of the nearby businesses benefited from the tourist trade brought in by the temple), city-owned traffic cameras temporarily aimed at the major access points, and locking gates that rarely saw use. Though Jim pressed gently to have monks move in pairs throughout the day to patrol more vulnerable areas, he didn't make an issue of it when Hai Ping demurred. He did win a promise that he would be contacted personally if the attacks escalated into violence, and, forced to be content with the consensus gained, they made their goodbyes.

The ride back to the loft was silent, but it was the same tranquil, embracing silence as the temple that allowed Blair to feel as if Jim's heartbeat was against his ear, Jim's breath whispering over his skin. The tight quarters of the car was an intimacy in and of itself, and Jim enhanced that by keeping a hand high on Blair's thigh all the way home. Desire, which had been simmering under the surface since their talk in the stairwell, rose to create a delicious tension in his middle.

Blair was tempted to ask Jim to pull over, to not make him wait another moment for a caress, but the lure of having him home, sharing their big bed, if only briefly, was too strong. It was impossible to sit still, though, with his blood pooling in his dick, his nipples drawing up in eagerness. Restlessly he rubbed his palms along his thighs, needing to touch himself, but the hungry, almost predatory glances Jim shot him convinced him that would be a mistake. Blair's scent had to be working on Jim already; any blatantly sexual move on Blair's part had the potential of driving him past the point of restraint.

Much as he liked that idea, and under other circumstances would have acted on it, Blair clung to his own self-control, driving his nails into his leg to accomplish it. Jim did the same in his own way; he edged the speed of the car up to the danger point, forcing himself to concentrate on his driving. Luck was with them, and they made it to Prospect Street without an accident or being pulled over for speeding.

Leaping out, Jim walked toward the entrance at a clip just short of a run, and Blair let him go, driven by some impulse to let him get home first. When the lights came on in the loft, he raced up himself, bursting through the door left slightly ajar for him. Barely retaining enough presence of mind to lock it securely behind him, he leaned on it long enough to catch a deep breath, then climbed on shaky limbs toward their bedroom.

Jacket already neatly hung on the back of a chair, Jim sat on the edge of the mattress, undoing his tie and toeing off his shoes, as if it were any night and he was getting ready for bed. Blair watched greedily, captivated by the grace of movement and flex of muscle, fingertips twitching in anticipation of feeling that strength flow under them. It wasn't until Jim had stripped down to his boxers that Blair acted, crossing to stand in front of him, threading his fingers through Jim's hair over his ears and laying claim to his lips.

When Jim pulled away to fill his lungs with air, he nuzzled at Blair's neck, sliding to his knees in front of Blair as he helped Blair undress. That done, he softly mouthed a tingling line along Blair's collarbone, massaging tiny circles down his spine until he cupped Blair's ass in both hands. It took every ounce of willpower Blair had to stay still and let his lover control the pace and direction of their love-making, which only added to his excitement. Not that Jim would mind if Blair turned the tables on him, but Jim's deliberate, sensual assault told Blair clearly that Jim needed this unhurried perusal of his body.

With indistinct noises of approval and hunger, Jim nipped and licked his way down Blair's breastbone, his destination clear in his posture. Blair waited in sweet, sweet suspense for him to reach it, nearly undone by the sight of Jim's head bent over his groin. That Jim would suck his cock, even as rarely as he did, was a marvel that never ceased to amaze him. When Jim's mouth closed over the weeping crown, hands on Blair's backside urging him to thrust, all he could do was give into Jim's encouragement and his own lust.

His half-formed thought that he had to take it easy for Jim's sake vanished under the ferocity of Jim's sucking, and Blair plunged down his throat, crying out in pleasure. Jim worked him as if he had years of experience instead of mere months of semi-hesitant experimentation, and before long Blair was fucking his face furiously, climax tightening every muscle and nerve. It concentrated into the flesh captured in the hot, wet haven of Jim's mouth, and without warning, burst into blinding convulsions of ecstasy that robbed Blair of everything but the bliss given him.

Head clearing as Jim guided him into a half-fall onto the bed, Blair stretched luxuriously, arms over his head to entice Jim into covering him with his own body. "Beautiful," Jim mumbled, lapping at the curve of Blair's hip, then at his belly button. He eased Blair's thighs farther apart, lying on his chest between them, still kneeling on the floor. In blatant invitation Blair draped his legs over Jim's back, and Jim buried his face in Blair's tummy, groaning in an odd mix of pain, frustration and need that woke Blair's sentinel-focused alarms.

Before he could ask, Jim sat back on his heels, fists clenched as if he wanted to pound on something with them. Reaching for his pants, he snarled, "Simon's here, in front of the building, muttering about how you had damn well better know where I am. He's already called Maddy looking for me."

Shakily sitting up and grabbing for clothes, Blair said, "That's right. We turned off our cells at the temple so we wouldn't be interrupted, and I didn’t think to turn mine back on."

"There was a reason that I didn't," Jim snapped, but he was already tucking his shirt into his slacks, barely covering the rampant dick refusing to be cooperative. He padded downstairs carrying his jacket, shoes and socks, heading for the bathroom.

Deciding he could explain the slippers and sweats he pulled on, Blair aimed for the kitchen, automatically taking out the makings for a salad as he finger combed his hair so that it was a little less wild. By the time Simon knocked, he was presentable and looked as if he were in the middle of making a late dinner. He called out, "I'll get it."

Without waiting for an invitation to come in, Simon stormed into the room. "Where the…" Jim came into the main room, drying his hands, expression questioning, and Banks abruptly changed verbal directions. "I didn't see your truck."

"It's in storage. I'm driving one of Maddy's cars."

Jim's tone dared him to make an issue of it, and Blair saw Simon rein himself in, biting down hard on whatever retort had sprang to his lips. Instead, he sank wearily on the couch. "I've been looking into the three robberies you say are connected to the ones Maddy reported. I have to ask. How sure are you that they were done by the same person?"

"As sure as I can be without direct physical evidence." Jim went to his usual post by the French doors, eyes fixed on sentinel distances. "Method, stolen items, timing all match, right down to being unable to determine how the thief or thieves is gaining entry past a state of the art security system."

"Damn." Simon took out a cigar, stared at it as if he'd never seen one before, and repeated himself. "Damn."

Sitting at the far end of the couch, but turned to face him, Blair said softly, "Simon?"

"Magdellena Calbero, the young au pair accused of the theft in the Thurber home, committed suicide a few days ago. Her sister is adamant that she'd never do such a thing, and there wasn’t a note." Shaking his head, Simon sat back. "Same sister said that Thurber had been harassing her, doing things like finding out where she'd applied for jobs and calling to bad mouth her."

"Sounds like Thurber," Jim said blandly to the glass in front of him - so blandly that Blair knew all his emotions had to be locked down tight. "Murder doesn't; ends his fun. My guess is that when he wouldn't leave it alone after she'd been acquitted, the real thieves killed her so that Thurber would stop calling attention to the robbery. Part of what they're working on is the relative lack of notice or concern by insurance companies, cops, whatever."

"That's my take, too, and I'm quietly looking at it from that angle," Simon said.

"I appreciate you doing that. If I do it, the wrong people might notice and wonder what else I'm checking out."

It was hard to say who was more startled by Jim's quiet admission - Blair or Simon. Taking it for granted that the conversation was done, Jim left his post and gathered what he needed to leave. Joining him at the door, Blair laid a hand over his heart, trying to pour love into his partner with the touch and his gaze.

Apparently not giving a damn about Simon's presence, Jim pulled him in for a tight, hard hug. Against his ear he whispered, "This is what I use to keep the senses in balance. At night, when I'm sure it's safe, I remember holding you, calling up every detail: smell, feel, your heartbeat and pulse, all of it."

Not giving Blair a chance to respond, he left, moving at a walk but covering ground as if he were running. Heart sinking, Blair did his best to push down his increasingly powerful misgivings about the entire situation and turned to deal with Simon.

***

A large mug magically appeared under Blair's nose, and without looking up from the surveys he was sorting, he snagged it and took a sip. Surprised, because he'd been expecting coffee, he sat back and licked his lips for more of the wonderful flavor of the soup. His stomach sang halleluiah even as his taste buds happily announced it was the chicken soup from the Maple Street Deli.

Catching his partner's eye, Blair said, "Thank you. I forgot and worked through lunch."

Fastidiously unwrapping a half sandwich of thinly sliced beef on whole wheat, no dressing, James said casually, "And breakfast and dinner the night before and probably lunch yesterday, too. Burning the candle at both ends and the middle there, aren't you?"

"I'm not that bad." The whimpering from his gut for more of the soup belied that, though, and Blair silently admitted that he had lost some weight lately as he took another wonderful sip.

"This from the man who used to set an alarm clock to remember to go to bed."

Because it was what was expected, Blair managed a waggle of the eyebrows and matching, leering grin. "Guess I had a reason to get out of the habit."

"So get back into it before the only reason you've got company in bed is to nurse you back to health." Again the tone was flippant, but the glance shot his way was anything but. James was forced to relent when Rafe strolled over, trying for nonchalant and blowing it by grinning just a bit too broadly. "Hey, your timing is perfect. I was just about to try to convince Sandburg to fly down to Palm Springs with us for that golfing gig."

To Blair's shock, Rafe changed gears instantly and checked him out from head to toe, nodding his agreement. "Hairboy is definitely in need of a few days of soaking up the sun and good food by the pool of an exclusive country club, ogling all those bikini-clad trophy wives strutting their stuff."

"The Horstkoffs don't care what we do after we finished playing a few rounds with them," Jim affirmed. "We could catch a few shows at the local clubs once the links close."

Not remotely tempted to spend a weekend with James, since it wasn't likely he'd slip back into Jim long enough for Blair to so much as kiss him, Blair said lightly, "I'm in the homestretch on the writing and rather not break my pace. You two have a great time, though, and flirt with a couple of those trophy wives in my honor." Hearing H. call his name, Rafe almost clapped James on the shoulder, stopping himself at the last second. "Work on the kid, will you? When's take-off this time?"

"Scheduled for 7 tonight, but it's a private jet; they'll hold if you're running a little behind." James emphasized the last two words in warning, which Rafe apparently took it to heart.

"I will definitely be prompt. I really appreciate you hooking me up with this; still can't get over getting paid to play golf!"

Shrugging, James reached for his sandwich. "Golf is their passion in their old age. Getting a foursome of decent players who are patient enough to play at their pace is a hell of a lot harder to come by for them than time and cash to indulge in playing when and where they want."

"We should all be so lucky," Rafe said in parting, catching up with his partner.

Blair waited until he was out of earshot, taking a long drink of the soup. "Nice bit of political capital you've got going there."

He could have bitten off his tongue when James studied him over his sandwich as if he thought lightheadedness from hunger was making Blair stupid. Blair couldn't help but wonder himself. The simple truth of the matter was that the largess that James casually dropped into the hands of his fellow cops - back stage passes to concerts and shows, box seats at games, 'consulting' work that paid very handsomely - didn't silence the grumbles about his light workload, his frequent late-ins and long weekends. It did keep it subdued, as did the frequent and low profile assistance he and Blair volunteered on other people's cases.

Not knowing what else to do or say, Blair drank more of his soup, vaguely disappointed when he reached the bottom. James took the mug from him, refilled it from a thermos, and gave it back to him. Was James' automatic courtesy behind the soup, or had Jim done it for his partner? It shouldn't matter, but it did, and Blair returned to work rather than face the why of that.

Before he could, James caught a hand in his, turning it over gently to examine the minor cuts and abrasions on it. "How much time *are* you spending at the temple working on the grounds? That where you've been the last few times I dropped by, and you weren't home?"

"Not as much as the dirt embedded under my nails would have you think," Blair said, trying for joking. "There's not much left between here and the diss, but, man, the physical labor feels good after hunching over keyboards and paper all day long. The writing really flows after, too. Maybe not always as abundantly as after that first visit, but well enough I'd hate to give up the hours I spend there."

For a moment James' expression was distant, longing. "Yeah, it's pretty peaceful there, Chief. Not as good as hiking to the middle of nowhere to get away from it all, but a decent substitute."

"Come with me this evening? Just until you have to make your flight?" Blair asked, not ashamed of the eagerness in his voice.

James blinked himself back, reaching for his date book, which had filled with the detritus of his double life to the point where he couldn't zip it shut any longer. Despite the abundance of to-do lists, receipts, and invitations, it was incredibly organized and tidy. James flipped to the right page without searching, elbowing Blair into making room for him beside him.

"Got the Dorenson disposition last thing today," James said for anybody to hear. For Blair he added, "I need to find a way to speak to Simon privately. I think I know who's going to be hit next."

"What? How... you've finally got a suspect?"

With a microscopic tightening of his jaw that Blair instantly regretting causing, James said, "No, no suspects, and don't ask me why I'm so sure the Morrison's are the next target. Partly because they fit the victim profile, partly because the timing is right for another robbery, but nothing concrete." He nudged his planner under Blair's, so he could skim through his notes, obviously looking for something that might give him grounds for his hunch. "All I see here is that we've been talking about them recently during the planning briefs Maddy has every day with her people."

"Any way of knowing that happened with any of the other robberies?" Blair took out his own notes, scanning them quickly. "Not that it'll matter as far as the ones not connected to Maddy's service."

"Maybe it does," James said absently. "We talk about everything at those meetings; not just our clients. Maddy encourages sharing gossip, as long as it's not malicious, because she thinks being well-informed is critical to maintaining good contacts." He stopped, back straightening as he thought. "Which might also explain why I've got the impression that two people in that crowd are being blackmailed, and that a few business deals that should have gone off smoothly suddenly developed major complications."

"Do you think that'll help you sell the idea of a stakeout to Simon?"

"I could use the sentinel thing to do that, and for all I know maybe this gut feeling is because of the senses. It won't give him anything to use on Franks and Williams, who we'll need to get into Morrison's place."

A stray notion flitted by the edge of Blair's mind, but before he could shift to catch it, one of the uniforms came up to the desk with an open file in hand and a question clearly on his lips. They were both swept into what had become the norm for them on the job; each chasing different cases with various people, only occasionally bumping into each other. The fleeing contact was almost worse than none at all for Blair, serving only to remind him of how long it'd been since he'd had more than that.

By the end of the day all he wanted was to go to the temple and put in a few hours in the garden, using physical labor as a substitute for the meditation he hadn't been able to do in months. Once he'd worn himself out enough, he'd go home and put in time on the diss, probably until he fell asleep at his desk again. Or maybe, since it was the weekend, he'd stay overnight at the temple in the cell Hai Ping had told him he could use. The monks were great believers in cleanliness, had abundant hot water *and* soaking tubs; a few hours up to his chin might relax him enough that he could go to bed and really rest for a change.

The bullpen was mostly empty when Blair finally packed up and put on his coat. James rose to leave with him, catching him off guard; Blair had expected him to stay at his desk until time to go to the airport. It made him nervous for reasons that couldn't work their way through his exhausted brain, but the ingrained habit of following him out, appropriate chatter going, had him in motion almost against his will.

While they waited for an elevator car, James broke into Blair's monologue on the success of the last meeting of the neighborhood watch he had helped set up around the temple. "Sandburg, you went above and beyond there; it's been weeks since there's been the slightest hint of trouble. I don't know if anybody's bothered to say thank you, but the department should, at the very least."

Before Blair could demure, James said in a slightly too buddy-to-buddy tone, "More importantly, you should reward yourself, take the weekend off. They're predicting clear skies and high 70's in Palm Springs, there's room service, in-house top quality spa, even your own personal masseuse if you want." Unexpectedly, under cover of the leather trench coat he carried, he rubbed a small circle into the heel of Blair's hand, undoing knots in his wrist and forearm that Blair hadn't even realized was there.

"I... ah..." Not a single excuse came to mind, blocked, Blair thought semi-hysterically, by the rush of blood to his dick.

The elevator door opened, and he made a break for it, only belatedly remembering that there were no security cameras in it, freeing James to pursue his goal by any means fair or foul. Blair crammed himself into a corner, hands moving at top speeds in erratic circles, as if to create a shield. "Sounds great, I mean, really great, but you know, maybe we could save it until after I go before the committee, which isn't long, thanks to that damn time table of theirs. Make it a weekend entirely for us, not a bus boy's holiday."

Taking the other corner for himself after hitting the button for the lobby, James started to speak, stopped, and jaw muscle jumping in the most Jim-like thing he'd done in forever, said, "Chief, you want to tell me..."

Before he could finish speaking, the lights flickered, once, twice, then went out and the elevator creaked to an uncertain stop. It jigged, as if trying to descend a few more feet, and the emergency lights came on, filling the car with a skimpy amount of light. Alarms went off in the building, ringing distantly through the elevator shaft, drowning out the one in the car.

Clutching the rails on either side of him, Blair idiotically scrunched himself into a ball, yelping as the floor bounced again. "Jim, man! What! Oh, shit!"

"Explosion," James said, gaze fixing on the ceiling as if he could see through the roof to the trouble. "Electrical, I think. I smell ozone, burning rubber."

For all Blair knew, that was exactly the case, and he kept his eyes on his sentinel, trying to read from his body language what was going to happen next. It worked, in so much as when James flinched, Blair wrapped his arms over his head as the entire car shook, dust sprinkling down. Peeking from under his elbow, he took a deep breath when James braced himself, which actually helped him stay calm when a series of loud thumps hit the top of the car. "

Cable." James waited, listening intently. "Automatic brakes are holding, barely creaking from the added weight."

"Oh, my, god, oh, my, god," Blair chanted, panic leaping high.

"Easy, Chief. Easy." James took an exaggerated series of sniffs, probably meant to amuse him. "No explosives. No asshole megalomaniac playing homicidal games." He nodded to himself in satisfaction. "Fire's already out, thanks to the suppression system."

"Okay, that's good. That's very good." Blair tried to take a deep breath and uncurl, at least enough so that he didn't look like a five-year-old hiding from the bogeyman. His body absolutely refused to cooperate, and steel bands tightened around his chest, making air an increasingly rare commodity. An irrational part of his brain insisted that it was because he was in a small box with no windows and no way out, and he had to grab onto that part with both metaphysical hands before it could take control.

"Sandburg?"

He heard James talking to him, but couldn't really spare the attention from his internal battle to answer him.

"Chief?"

//Okay,// Blair thought frantically, //Worrying James now, big time. Gotta stop that, right now. Don't want him worrying about me, looking at me too close, James has to stay over there, I don't remember why about any of that, but that's okay, I'm good at working with my instincts.//

"Blair?"

//Jim, that's Jim, but it can't be because, because, well, because, not Jim, just James, okay guy for a lazy brat, but not my Jim, man, I want Jim, I really, really, oh shit!//

A huge whomp! throbbed through the walls, and it fueled Blair's panic to the breaking point. He leaped to his feet, no destination in mind except *OUT,* now! He slammed right into a large, hard body, and tried to push his way past it. Powerful arms wrapped around him, aborting his mindless reaction to the flight response, which left him with the fight half and no way to execute it. All he could do was squirm frantically, then he was shoved into a wall and held there, a large hand covering the crown of his head as if to shelter him.

He didn't connect to the voice mouthing nonsense at him in his captivity; couldn't translate it to words or meaning or purpose. But it was soothing, familiar to the deepest part of his mind, and Blair gradually stopped struggling as comfort seeped into his terror. If the voice was known, the position he was in was doubly so, communicating directly to his heart, telling him without doubt that he was safe.

His nose was pressed into the hollow of a shoulder, and the scent there was pure Jim, faintly underlined by the all natural soaps and detergents the sentinel used to protect too-sensitive skin. Blair could hear and feel Jim's heartbeat, regular and heavy, encouraging his own to steady, and his breathing slowed to match. That left only sight and taste, he thought madly, and he didn't want to trust sight yet. If he saw James, he'd spin back out into frantic escape mode, which would be bad, or so a fragment of rationality claimed.

Besides, tasting Jim was always a joy, better than the best chocolate or finest wine. Fists in the cashmere sweater under his cheek for leverage, he stretched up to capture a downy earlobe between his teeth, licking once while tugging gently. Jim shuddered, and it echoed in Blair's body, chasing away the remnants of fear and stirring need to take its place. The warmth between them, which Blair had been vaguely aware of all along, turned scorching, especially where his crotch met Jim's thigh.

It felt so damned good, and it had been so damned long, Blair didn't even try to resist the urge to rock against him, biting down ever so carefully on the tidbit in his mouth to see if he could make Jim quiver again. He did, and Blair groaned his approval before abandoning the earlobe for the ultra-soft place just under Jim's jaw to give it a lightly sucking kiss. It was one of the spots on Jim guaranteed to drive him crazy, and the hard ridge crowding against Blair's belly was proof it worked.

Despite angling his head so Blair could reach his target easily, Jim rumbled in protest. "Blair…"

"Fuck me," Blair breathed, and tongued a barely-there trail along Jim's neck. "Fill me with your cock." The words, once held back in worry, came easily, all fear conquered by the sanctuary of Jim's arms.

"No," Jim said tenderly, muscles tensing abruptly. "Not here. Not like this."

"I want you to," Blair countered in a mumble. "Please. I need you to."

Shuffling back half a step to put distance between them, Jim coaxed, "Soft bed, clean sheets, all night to take it sweet and slow. Hold out a while longer?"

Taking advantage of the space to one-handedly undo his own pants, Blair kissed him deep, wet and dirty, the desperation ruling him now entirely different from the earlier one demanding he escape. It was as overpowering and unreasoning, but far easier to placate. All he had to do was seduce his sentinel, and Blair had all the information he needed to succeed in that.

Once his cock was free, pheromones released along with it, he boldly laid his palm over the bulge of Jim's hardon, fingertips pressing into the juncture of shaft and balls. He felt the sudden throb of pleasure from his touch, and gingerly compressed the head of Jim's cock under the heel of his hand in time to that pulsation. Jim's grip on Blair's biceps suddenly became too tight, as if he were trapped between pushing Blair away and pulling him closer. "No," he ground out, but it was more a plea than a denial.

"Wanted you for so long," Blair whispered, furtively searching his jacket pocket for the aloe cream he carried for the scrapes on his hands. "Thought about it night after night. Have you? When you're resetting your senses by remembering me? Thought what it would be like to be inside me?"

Veins standing out on his neck, Jim threw back his head, mouth open for harsh pants as he fought for control. Blair didn't give him the chance to win. Taking advantage of Jim's distraction, he quickly put the tube at the opening to his body and squeezed hard, not caring at all about the mess. That done, he opened Jim's slacks, eased his erection out, and slicked it hurriedly with the overflow of the cream on his hand. Jim shoved into the loose tunnel Blair made for him, whispering Blair's name with such love and need that Blair was the one who broke.

Turning in Jim's embrace, Blair let his pants drop, braced his forearms on the wall of the elevator, and pushed his bottom back so that Jim plowed along his cleft. The teasing miss ripped a gasp from both of them, and Jim pulled Blair back by the hips, fitting the crown of his cock at Blair's pucker. Despite the hunger shaking through him, he breached Blair with tender caution, barely moving at first.

It hurt, not too bad, but god, what it promised, then Jim tunneled his hands under Blair's shirts, fingertips finding the taut nubs on his chest to tug and roll them. Twin spikes of pleasure, along with Jim's prayerful murmuring of Blair's name and their love against the nape of Blair's neck, combined to bump him past discomfort and into delight. It was glorious to be opened, stretched; far better than he'd expected from the fingers or toys he'd used on himself in preparation for this inevitability.

The rush of sensation was beyond description, almost beyond belief, but what had him poised on the edge of coming, unwilling to topple, was the sheer intimacy of the act. Jim was literally a part of him, connected to him by ties of flesh as fragile and precious as the ties of spirit that bound their lives together. Unable to move for fear it would make him finish, he savored each slow thrust as Jim measured his length into him over and over, at times barely moving, as if he didn't want their union to end either.

Nature couldn't be put off forever, though, and the adrenaline high that fueled Blair's frenetic demand for sex failed under the frailties of a body that had not rested or fed well for weeks. Tremors shimmied along his calves, making him sag, warning that enough was enough already. All that kept him upright was Jim's weight pinning him to the wall, the unrelenting grip on his hips and the steely shaft inside him.

The shift in position was enough to change the angle of penetration, sending a new burst of pleasure through him. Crying out, Blair involuntarily tightened around Jim, and his lover muffled an answering shout in Blair's curls as he drove into him faster and harder. It was the wildness in Jim's voice as much as the fantastic fucking that catapulted Blair to a place where only ecstasy born in long spurts of seed existed; where only the love he had for Jim connected him to reality.

It tugged him back, if barely, in time to share Jim's release with him, and Blair welcomed the warm slipperiness of his seed on suddenly sore tissues. Much as he wanted them to stay exactly as they were, gravity and exhaustion had their way, taking advantage of Jim's post coital weakness, and Blair collapsed in slow motion. Though he didn't like the idea of lying on a cold, dirty floor, he wearily accepted he wasn't going to get a choice, and mumbled apologies to Jim as he slipped free of his body.

Instead of hard tile, he found soft, fur-lined leather - James' coat. Swaddling him in it, James hastily tidied Blair as best he could, then held him close, running his fingers through his curls to tame them into a semblance of respectability. Blair caught a whiff of burning paper, tried to rouse, but James shushed him, moving the lighter that he carried as a matter of course for Maddy's smoking clients where Blair could see it.

"To cover the scent," James muttered. "It won't be much longer before the work crew can lower the car by hand-cranking the safety cable."

"They know we're in here?" Blair asked sleepily.

He didn't answer, but his distant, distracted expression told Blair he was probably mentally replaying what he had overheard earlier but had been too preoccupied to really listen. James proved his guess right when he said, "Yeah, Simon saw us go into the elevator just before the power went. Seems Maintenance has been warning management for a while about problems with the power feed to it, and Franks' idiotic budget style didn't leave enough funds to do the repairs. Going to have to check if he's been feathering his nest; not much chance he'll have his job much longer."

Blair didn't really hear him. Watching James review his sense memory had jogged a notion loose, and he wheedled it closer. "Overheard… You're still locking down when you're being James, aren't you? The dial thing you do for your senses, you don't really turn them off or down or anything, you know. You dial down your *attention* to them. Remember that phone message Jack left on your machine, and being able to recall it word for word, practically? Maybe this hunch of yours is your subconscious telling you what you heard or saw or whatever while you were dialed down."

For an instant James went very still, and he said slowly, "Could be. Might be a good idea to playback the day at sentinel levels once in a while, make sure I'm not missing something important." He sighed and cuddled close again. "I'll work on it later. God, you smell so good, Chief. Like you still want me."

Though Blair meant to tell him that he always wanted him, he didn't have a chance to get the words out before he fell asleep. He roused, if it could be called that, when the work team finally got them out of the elevator car and stumbled his way to James' car, sinking back into slumber as soon as he sat down. When he woke alone in the big bed, with no memory of the trip home and no sign that James had stayed with him at all, he creakily stood and looked around the dusty, deserted room. Dressing, he threw a few clothes into his pack and left to spend the weekend at the temple, refusing to admit that his eyes were damp and his throat was locked from the pain of loneliness.

***

Staring stupidly down at where his hands were buried in dirt, Blair stopped weeding and tried to marshal enough brainpower to understand why he thought something was wrong. And maybe, what that something was. The effort it took was alarming in and of itself, and he painfully sat back on his heels, using the back of his hand to brush wisps of hair that had escaped his ponytail away from his face. He inspected the garden around him, frowned, and blinked in confusion. It was dark, too dark to see. Why was he trying to weed in the dark?

Gradually light blossomed - silvery, uncertain light. With a clue to work on, Blair silently said 'duh!,' and tilted back his head in time to see the cloud that had temporarily obscured the moon drift off to the east. //Beautiful,// he thought. //That's why I lit the lantern and stayed; because the full moon was coming up.//

Reminded of the lamp, he glanced at it, absently rubbing at the ache in his chest. It was out. Surely he hadn't been out here that long. Trying to gauge the passage of time by how high the moon was, he turned his face back up to study it, and was immediately lost in the wonder of its very existence and how perfectly it sailed across the heavens. It was so huge, so very huge and he was so small, so insignificant. All of man was, really, compared with the vastness of stars and solar systems, let alone the void they couldn't start to fill.

Without warning, the sheer size of the cosmos collapsed on him, and he couldn't breathe, couldn't remember how to breathe. Panic, far worse than what he'd experienced in the elevator with Jim a few months ago, flooded through him, demanding he run and hide from the overwhelming weight of the open night sky. Though his instinct shouted that he leap up and run fast, his body could not obey. He lurched to his feet, wobbling on shaking legs, and hobbled in a small circle like an old man who wasn't certain which way the path led. The ache in his chest turned agonizing, and the small sips of air he managed through the constriction around his ribs didn't help in the slightest. Sparkles flitted through his field of vision, and just as they died in darkness, he realized he was fainting.

He woke with a start, panic nibbling at the edge of his mind, fully aware that he had passed out. Before he could do more than clench at the bedding under him, Hai Ping said serenely, "Be at peace. There is no danger here; no harm to be done to you."

His composure was reassuring, as was the blank stone walls of the cell Blair slept in. Concentrating on the rise and fall of his tummy, Blair calmed himself, trying only to make each breath a bit deeper. It worked, at least to the point where he wasn't in danger of hyperventilating, though his chest still hurt somewhat. When he opened eyes he didn't remember closing, he smiled wanly at Hai Ping, ready to apologize for being an inconvenience.

"You are no such thing," Hai Ping said before Blair could speak. "Please. Drink this. It will help."

He helped Blair sit, and supported him while he swallowed the cold tea. It was delicious, soothing a throat Blair hadn't realized was so dry. Just sitting up made Blair's heart race, though, and he lay back down, unhappily realizing that he wasn't well. He started to apologize again, but Hai Ping stopped him with a caring hand on his brow.

"You are no burden, but it would likely be better if you had the comfort of your own home. Perhaps I should call Detective Ellison?"

Unable to keep the hurt the question caused from showing on his face, Blair turned his head away, rubbing at the center of his chest. "No, that wouldn't be a good idea."

Surprisingly, Hai Ping hesitated, then folded his hands over his stomach. "Forgive an old man for prying, but have you parted ways with him?"

"No! No, of course not. He… I…. " Blair had no idea how to explain Jim's absence, and couldn't bring himself to lie.

"Ah! I am glad. His devotion to you was clear, as is yours to him." Hai Ping paused, sadness filling his eyes. "Why then do you cry out for him at night, when you sleep?

Blair rolled away, drawing his knees up as if to protect himself. "I do?"

"As if your soul were being torn apart." He pulled a blanket over Blair's shoulders, paternally tucking him in. "You have not left the grounds in days, you work long, long hours at tasks that, while beneficial to our table and larder, could be done by any of us. Indeed, should be. It seemed possible that you had chosen a different way than the one that was before you, and while it grieved us to see the loss, we did not think it appropriate to question your choice. The difficulties in joining lives with one such as your detective is something we could barely imagine."

A more paranoid part of Blair wanted to ask what Hai Ping meant by 'such as your detective,' afraid that he had said or done something to expose his sentinel. Hard-learned caution made him choose his words carefully. "I lived and worked with Jim on a part-time basis for a few years before we became full partners, so I had an idea from the start of what I would be dealing with - or as much of one as you can get without actually making the jump from an observer to a participant."

Hai Ping waited so expectantly that Blair admitted, "He's gone for a while, working on something I asked him to do. It just got so hard to be home without him there, to miss him so much and constantly be reminded of his absence by how empty the loft is. I started spending my time here because I felt I was at least staying busy in a useful way."

"Your need must be grave indeed to send him away. And for him to willingly go."

"I thought so at the time," Blair said uneasily. "Now I'm beginning to wonder if anything is that important."

"Ah...." Hai Ping breathed in approval. "Perhaps, then, that is the lesson to be learned here. If you will forgive the skewed Star Trek quote, 'the needs of the one may outweigh the needs of the many, if the one is valued by the many.' And you are very valued, Blair Sandburg; you should take better care of yourself."

"I don't understand," Blair said, completely baffled how they got from Jim being undercover to Blair being sick.

Hai Ping gave him such a look of fond exasperation that Blair couldn't help but feel better, if no less confused. "Go find your other half. That is the medicine required, more than even rest or good food." He leaned forward, urging Blair to sit up. "Your vehicle was towed the day before yesterday. You were told, but the brother who did so was uncertain as to whether or not you actually heard him. The last bus runs in half an hour."

"Towed?" Blair pushed the Volvo's fate out of mind in favor of not throwing up from the dizziness being upright had caused. "I was going to say half an hour was plenty of time, but I'm thinking it might not be enough."

"We will manage."

They did, with Blair leaning on the elderly monk far more than he was comfortable with while he washed, shaved, and changed into the good suit he had hanging in one corner. As late as it was, James - no, Jim, he was going to find Jim and bring him home - would be at some function or another, if he was even in town. Blair had lost all track of his movements, but knew how to find him. All he had to do was get to his desk at the station and the planner locked in it.

In the end, one monk genially stalled the bus driver long enough for Blair to arrive breathlessly at the stop, exact change poured into his palm by Hai Ping. Despite his worry and a growing sense of urgency, Blair dozed off and on all the way downtown, often startling awake from the increasing discomfort in his chest. Small as the naps were, they helped, and he was able to walk into the bullpen without clinging to a wall.

That didn't stop Simon from coming to a dead stand still, coat on his arm as he readied to leave, staring at him. "Damnit Sandburg, I was beginning to think you were blowing off work this past week to finish your dissertation, but you look like you should be in a hospital."

Almost falling into his chair, Blair said hoarsely, "It's been done a week or so now, useless piece of meaningless academic political pandering that it is, and in the hands of the committee. And believe it or not, a doctor is on my to-do list for the night. Gotta find Jim first."

Simon blanched, all emotion draining from his expression save fierce guilt.

Stomach and heart dropping all the way to the basement, Blair grabbed his arm. "Is he hurt? How bad? Which hospital?"

"Whoa, nothing like that, I swear. Sit back down, Blair, before you fall down. Damn, when was the last time you saw Ellison?"

This is bad, really bad, Blair jibbered to himself. He's calling me Blair and Jim 'Ellison.' Definitely bad.

Aloud, he said as calmly as he could, "Not for a while, which isn't his fault. Between the last push to finish the diss and all the cases I've worked on that aren't Jim's, I've had to make appointments with myself to go to the bathroom! Now tell me what's wrong!"

Grabbing a chair, Simon pulled it up so that he was practically knee-to-knee with Blair, then lifted his glasses to scrub his eyes. "He quit, in front of the whole bullpen, casually, as if the job had never mattered. Because I got pushed hard by the major and commissioner, and made the mistake of pushing him twice as hard."

Blair had no idea what showed on his face, but Simon glanced at him, and went on the defensive. "Not that some of it wasn't called for; his attitude's so apathetic and insolent people have been asking me why I'm putting up with him. Way past what he needed for cover, for God's sake."

"What was he supposed to do?" Blair asked tiredly. "He's working on a case he didn't want to take but did anyway for the good of Major Crimes. Yes, for the department. When was the last time Franks or Williams had you assigning the loss of his sister-in-law's cousin's pet poodle or the equivalent thereof? And all he gets is more shit from that same department."

Simon opened his mouth, obviously to argue, then shut it with a snap, man enough to admit when he'd made a mistake. "Give me more attitude, of course. Shit. I just wasn't expecting *that* attitude."

Too tired to berate - or absolve - him, Blair said, "Just tell me that neither of you did anything that can't be undone or explained away when the case is broken. And that you'll help me get to him tonight, before the situation deteriorates any worse than it has."

Propping his forearms on his knees, hands dangling loosely clasped, Simon said to the floor, "The case is closed, as of two hours ago when Joel and I arrested two nineteen-year-old college students who are amateur electronics buffs. Jim sent a box filled with enough evidence to put them, along with more than one of the wealthy victims they'd bugged, away for a long time. He had a copy of everything they had, which they got by listening in to conversations with decorators, caterers, and other service providers, not just personnel from Maddy's business. The ironic thing, according to Jim's notes, is that it wasn't about the cash. It was the rush of proving themselves more powerful than money and influence."

"They killed for that?" Blair said in pained disbelief.

Head shooting up, Simon said, "Murder isn't one of the charges against them. No evidence, and I believed their denial. Jim didn't tag them for it, either. He was starting to think her death was completely unrelated to the robbery."

"Except for Jim's guilt that it might have been," Blair muttered, fisting his own hair in both hands. "Great. All right, we'll deal with all that later. Right now, we find Jim, and get you two straightened out."

"No, first we find Jim, then we take you to the hospital, and Jim and I work it out in the waiting room with you refereeing from two doors away while the docs work on you."

"Well, the idea is to get back to where we were, right?"

Blair won a faint grimace that could almost be called a smile from Simon, and unearthed his date book from his desk, sheepishly asking the day before flipping through it to find a spare invitation attached with his name on it. It sorrowed him to look through the planner and see so many of them, more than a few of the later ones with lists of reasons Blair should go written to one side. On a whim, he turned to the day the elevator had broken down to see if Jim had stuck to his game plan to get him to go to Palm Springs with him, and winced at the terse, "Sandburg, elevator, not how it should have been."

"Blair?" Simon asked worriedly, half-reaching for him as if he expected him to keel over.

"It's okay," Blair hastened to reassure him, closing the book and locking it back up after extracting the heavy parchment envelope. "Just getting too clear a picture of how long it's been since Jim and I were on the same wave-length."

Clearly taken aback, Simon said, "I wouldn't have thought there were any problems at all. I can't remember the last time I saw the two of you go at it. Usually it's at least once a week, with Jim's digging in his heels about something, and you bowling him over with your usual combination of rapid-fire reasoning and mad terrier persistence."

"That wouldn't fit with his easy-going, don't-give-a-shit-about-anything persona for the case," Blair said, but the words were automatic, with no real truth in them. If he was honest with himself, and God knew the situation was far too desperate now for bullshit, the lack of opposition and pattern of offhand accommodation had begun before that. He'd attributed it to honeymoon behavior and gone along for the ride, happily expecting them to butt heads again, sooner rather than later, and probably over nothing of any more importance than whose turn it was to cook.

"Now might not be the best time to ask, but are things okay between you, then? I mean, I didn't...." Simon trailed off, guilt returning in full force.

Mentally seeing his invitations for events scheduled for months in advance, Blair said pensively, "We're not good; too much distance for too long. There's no excuse for it, though I could come up with some very compelling ones if I wanted to. But we're hanging in there, too."

He sighed and struggled to his feet, trying to accept Simon's supportive palm under his elbow with grace. "I have to find him and start getting us back to where we belong. No way can I rest up from whatever's getting to me if I'm worried about him." Meeting Simon's gaze, he added with painful candor that cut both ways, "If he's not ready to deal with you yet, I'm going to have to bail. I've only got enough for one battle right now, and he's my priority."

"You do what you have to. I can fight my own wars, thank you very much, and if Ellison thinks the one between us is over, he's made a serious miscalculation." Simon sounded gruff, and changed the subject by gingerly guiding Blair toward the door. "What party are we crashing tonight?"

To Blair's chagrin he was panting heavily by the time they got to Simon's car, and he slept all the way to the mansion where the party was being held. The invitation was enough to get them past the guard at the gate, but the doorman took one long, disdainful sniff at the suit hanging off him and at Simon's work-mussed appearance and refused to let them by. Simon's badge and terse demand to speak to his detective, now, didn't impress him either, forcing Blair to play his trump card.

Tugging at Simon's elbow to get his attention before he arrested the doorman, Blair said, "Man, can I borrow your cell for a moment? I'll call Maddy; she'll bring Jim out to us, since he doesn't keep his on when he's on duty for her." He played up the name dropping just enough for Simon to get it.

"Ms. Forrester will not be happy to be interrupted," Simon answered, handing him the phone. "Not for this."

Carefully dialing her personal number save for the last digit, grateful Jim had made him memorize it in case of emergency, Blair said, "No, but she won't be upset with us. She knew before Jim started working for her as her second in command that sometimes police business would have to come first. And if this case goes bad... well, I'd rather have to kiss Maddy's lovely bottom than be in ass kicking range when Jim finds out."

"Jim... You mean James Ellison, Ms. Forrester's security expert?" the doorman said suspiciously.

"What other ex-cov ops Ranger, Cop of the Year detective would have the balls take on that crowd on their own turf?" Simon snapped.

The doorman stiffened, then stepped to one side. He got the last word, though. "Good luck finding him."

The moment they cleared the foyer Blair acknowledged the hit as he gave Simon the phone back. There had to be over two hundred people in the house, scattered over what he thought was most of the first floor and likely part of the second as well. Simon swore, then set course for a small sunroom off the main reception hall that had several garden chairs scattered among the abundance of flowering plants.

"Sit. I'll find Ellison."

"Water, too, please?" Blair asked, abashed at needing to.

"I'll direct a waiter your way as soon as I spot one." After taking a moment to orient himself and create a game plan, Simon set off with a heavy, purposeful stride that had people automatically stepping out of his way.

The sunroom was surprisingly well situated for visually searching the crowd through various windows in other wings of the building, and Blair never stopped scanning for Jim, even when an unexpectedly compassionate waiter appeared, not just with the water, but a cup of warm broth. Blair's thanks were heartfelt. His hands were shaking, and the soup went a long way toward fortifying him. It gave him enough of a boost that he stood and made short forays in varying directions, always looking for his partner.

A familiar set of shoulders, held militarily straight, passed from the main body of the party to a quieter, less-populated section. Staying close to the wall, both for the occasional support and to remain as unnoticed as possible, Blair aimed for the same area and arrived just as Jim joined his father and brother. The three of them didn't acknowledge each other, but stayed in their own personal space, watching the party in the other room and sipping at drinks.

Half-hidden by double doors that were only partly open, Blair hesitated, put off by the vague air of tense expectation they gave off. Certain that a confrontation was brewing between them, but doubtful he should interfere, he sank deeper into his shadowed nook. Telling himself that he could always show himself if matters got out of hand and that he couldn't back off without drawing notice to himself, he buried his worried prying under a ton of other rationalizations and listened intently.

After a few sips of his drink, apparently put off by James's pose of boredom and indifference, William said with forced good spirits, "Terrific party."

"Yes," James said absently, eyes flitting everywhere in surveillance. "Everything is running very smoothly, and the mood's good. Score another one for Maddy; she set up the coordinator with the Mathers."

"How does she do that, anyway?" Stephen asked with genuine curiosity in his voice. "Most people go after the most well-known or follow the recommendations of friends who've had success with a particular person. Half the time they hate the end results. Go to Maddy and let her pick for you, and you're practically guaranteed a success you're happy with."

Before James could answer, William broke in. "She claims that business has only gotten better since you came on board with her, too, Jimmy. I think she called you her 'back-up,' saying you had a knack for asking questions that never occurred to her but provided very important information."

"Part of the cop mindset," James said, shrugging off the compliment.

"Not anymore, I understand." Blair could almost taste the satisfaction in William's voice.

Unruffled, James nodded and took a sip of his drink. "As of a couple of days ago."

"Going on with Maddy full time?" Stephen asked in surprise.

"Nope. Gave her my notice the day after."

Shocked, Blair almost slid to the floor, but jammed himself into the corner to stay on his feet. He missed the start of Stephen's comment, refocusing as he said, "...do now, then?"

"Friend of hers has this private island in the Hawaiian chain, and she wrangled a stay for me there as an exit bonus," James said, tone blase. "Soon as the night's done, I'm scooping up Blair and heading there for a week or twelve of white sands, blue oceans, hot sun, cool breezes, and the occasional side trip for killer surfing. After that, who knows? Blair might need a manager for an expedition, or have a line on somebody who does. I've got enough contacts in various parts of the world to make a go of that or something like it. We'll work it out."

Taking a shaky breath, Blair closed his eyes in relief that James was working on the supposition that he would be with him, no matter what. All he had to worry about was how much of his Jim survived underneath the shell of James, and how to draw him back out. //And what,// he wondered bitterly, unhappily, //are you going to do if James is all that's left?//

With no choice but to put that aside until he had to deal with it, Blair studied William's reaction to James' answer, deciding that he wasn't going to like what the man had to say next. Swirling the contents of his glass around, William watched the miniature whirlpool. "You could come work for me. With Maddy's recommendation and those contacts of yours, you could easily overcome the lack of business background. Even make it an asset; working outside the box and all that."

Anger rising fast, Stephen took a full step away. James touched his arm, reaching past his father to do it. "Blindsided you, huh? Don't worry. I learned a long time ago that I'd rather have a little brother than a trip to Tokyo. No way will I ever play the game of me against you to make him happy again."

"It won't be like that," William protested.

"If that were true," Stephen said bitterly, "You would have told me you were going to make Jim the same offer you made me just a few hours ago." Taking an exaggerated detour around William, he moved to stand in front of James, setting aside his glass as he did. "I've regretted for years that I didn't have the balls to take my lumps for what I did to that motherfucking car. At the time I was just so damn mad and frustrated and..."

With a fake slap to Stephen's forehead, James broke in. "Hey, been there, done that. Let it go. It's not like Pops didn't know I was telling the truth. Leaving me behind was as much to reward you for setting me up as it was to punish me for not ratting you out to protect myself. His idea of an important life lesson."

Stephen spun on his heel, saw the truth on William's face before he could recover from hearing James speak it, and walked away. "Jim, I'll be in touch. I swear. Let Maddy know where you are, okay?" he said over his shoulder.

Smiling, James called back, "I'll come looking for you if you don't." Once he was out of normal earshot, he added complacently, "Turned out okay after all, didn't you, Stevie?"

Blair thought that William was going to have a stroke where he stood, but with a speed that James must have inherited from him, he recouped quickly. "Well," he said heartily, "that's one way to eliminate the competition. That Ranger training is more useful than I would have given credit for. One more reason why you'd be a serious asset to the company. The board might even have a few choice assignments for you on a freelance basis at first, to give you a better idea of your opportunities with us."

Going back to his scrutiny of the party, James said uninterestedly, "Why the hell would I do that?"

William gaped at him, then visibly pulled himself together again. "Money, prestige, power - the important, necessary ingredients for a successful life."

For an answer, James snorted into his drink, then finished it and put his glass beside Stephen's.

Annoyed, William tried yet again. "Fine, you don't like me, don't appreciate what I did for you when you were growing up. There are other companies, other positions where you can put your talents to good use. You don't have to be a nobody all your life, Jimmy, just to spite me."

"It's all about you, huh?" James said lazily. "What an ego. No wonder Blair can't stand me when I start channeling you, which I do all too well and all too often."

He finally turned to face his father, but whatever was in his expression sent William stumbling back, hand flailing for support. "Want to know what money, power and influence are good for? Let's see, who can we use... there, let's start with Mr. Thurber and his fondness for throwing his weight around. You have to wonder if the size of his dick has anything to do with his compulsion to constantly prove how important he is. He does have a great deal of influence. Possibly enough to keep him out of prison when the board of directors finds out what he's been doing with the employee pension funds, not to mention the insurance kickbacks he receives for making sure it's almost impossible for anyone in the company to successfully make a significant claim. Going to need the money too, by the time the IRS and the lawyers get through with him."

"Jimmy!"

"Oh, can the outrage. Tell me that you weren't planning on using me to dig up stuff exactly like that. Now where were we?" James pivoted slowly, and Blair huddled down into his niche, trying to be invisible. "How about money? There's Mr. and Mrs. Harrison. Decent people, he's old money, she was a minor actress at one point, but believe it or not, it's a love match. It almost failed because the mister couldn't believe that anyone as beautiful and lively as his wife would actually marry him for himself. Even signing a pre-nup wasn't enough to convince him that she truly loves him. Almost drove her into divorcing him because of his non-stop harping on his worth, her spending, how he'd cut her off if she did this or that. Had to have a talk with him about self-image. Seems to have helped. They're in counseling now, and she's looking a lot happier."

William opened and shut his mouth several times while James surveyed the crowd again, but couldn't find words - right, wrong, or indifferent - to express himself. Apparently he was as mesmerized by James' outpouring as Blair was.

Unconcerned about the lack of response, James said, "That leaves power. Nasty one, power is; the obsession of a coward, usually. I could use Police Commissioner Franks as an example, but he's a poor one because he doesn't really understand power. He'll find that out when he's arrested, if he hasn't been already, for stealing from the police department. Actually thought being the commissioner would put him above suspicion and allow him to safely point the finger at somebody else."

"He's a nobody!" William snapped, fighting to compose himself again.

"Point," James conceded willingly. "How about Judge Fortner, then? You're well acquainted with him, and he's the reason I'm still at this waste of time; to keep an eye on him. Some uniforms will be waiting for him when he walks out to arrest him for child molestation and a whole host of related charges. Seems he started screwing his daughter when she was seven, and developed such an appetite for under-aged girls, he's been literally stealing or buying them from various sources for years. He's gotten away with it because of his position, because of the reputation he so carefully cultivated, because he terrified all those little girls into believing that he would destroy all that they loved if they ever ran away or opened their mouths against him."

"Jimmy, I..."

As if he didn't hear him, James said, "The important thing to note, the *real* life lesson here, is that these pampered, useless, helpless, pointless people are like everybody else. Just people. With the same weaknesses, the same basic problems, the same needs. They try to convince themselves they're not, and maybe someday Blair can explain to me why. In the meantime, I've had enough of this crowd to last me a good long while."

Outrage, probably at being forced to face the truth, gave William the push he needed to recoup and turn to attack. "Going to follow in the footsteps of your faggot lover and spend all your time at a temple, pretending that being humble and poor makes you better than anybody else?"

Unperturbed, James said, "Faggot is such a poor word to describe what kind of lover Blair Sandburg is. Enthusiastic, eager, sensual, considerate come to mind, along with quite a few others. And if he decides that the temple is for him, well, he's always been the spiritual type. I'm going bald anyway. Might as well shave off what's left and join him, if that's the life he wants." James chuckled, probably at the image of himself in saffron robes and prayer beads.

His father was frozen in horror, and either not noticing or not caring, James straightened and went on alert. "Good! Banks is here; looks like he's going to execute the warrant on the Judge. I can see why the Captain of Major Crimes would be called on to do the job, but..." Head tilting to one side, he took on the posture that Blair associated with extending his hearing, jaw muscle abruptly throbbing.

//Oh, man, Simon must be telling him that I'm sick!// Blair thought, and gathered his strength to make his escape back to where Simon had left him. Before he could do more than hitch a few inches away, James abandoned his father without a backwards glance and headed straight for him.

Guessing that he was already listening for him, Blair whispered, "I'm sorry, so sorry, didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I didn't want to have to look for you again in the crowd, and your conversation with your dad was so intense, I thought I'd just wait here and follow you when you were done. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Dropping to his knees in front of him and gathering him into his arms, Jim broke into his chant. "It's okay, you didn't do anything wrong, hush, Chief, hush and breathe for me, please. ake a nice, long, slow breath."

Blair tried, he really tried, but he couldn't do more than sip at air through the vise squashing his lungs flat, sending his heart into a pounding frenzy. It hurt, more than being shot, even, and he clung weakly to Jim's shirt in the front, sparkles swimming at the edges of his vision for the second time that day. He wanted to apologize again, this time for being a hassle, for interrupting Jim's vacation plans with a trip to the doctor, for getting sick on him, for half a dozen tiny wrongs that had nothing to do with a huge wad of guilt that he was too tired and hurt to worry his way through.

There was no way he could do more than mouth the words, though, and Jim kissed him to stop them, then rested his cheek against Blair's temple. "Sh, sh. Dammit, don't worry about anything but hanging in there for me. Your heart's racing a mile a minute, stumbling every few beats. Hold on, Blair. Hold on."

Pulling out his cell phone, Jim turned it on and dialed 911, rocking Blair as if he were a child. Even if he could have protested the cuddling, Blair wouldn't have. It felt so good - warm and safe and sheltering. Willingly trusting Jim to take care of him, Blair surrendered to his body's ailment, withdrawing deep inside himself to husband his resources for use when he had a better idea of what he was fighting.

His world became darkness punctuated with strobe-light instances of motion and sound, with Jim's touch and voice the only constant linking them. He was on his back, Jim performing compressions on him, mouth warm from Jim's breath. He was lifted into a screaming, flashing beast, Jim's fingers wound in his as Jim argued with a wraith about possession. He asked for Jim over and over, fighting strange hands on him to hang onto the warmth being pulled away from him. He sobbed, hugging Jim with feeble intent and burrowing away from hard words. Finally, finally, finally he was in bed, Jim spooned behind him, soothing away every tiny ache with knowing sentinel fingertips as Blair dropped into a natural sleep.

When he drifted up to awareness, Jim was still with him, lying on his back and letting Blair use him for a gigantic body pillow. He had an arm positioned under Blair's so perfectly that the IV needle in it didn't pull or pinch at all, and the one curled around Blair's shoulder held the oxygen and heart monitor lines so that Blair could move comfortably. Peering through his lashes, Blair took in the room around him, mildly startled that it looked more like a luxury suite in a hotel than a hospital room.

"Whoa," he whispered nearly silently. "Guess money, influence and power are good for a few things, anyway."

"Maddy insisted on the private rooms, not that I argued very hard," Jim whispered back. "As far as she's concerned, the only thing wealth and status are good for is taking care of what's important to her. Thank god we fall into that category. No visiting hours to worry about, the nurses aren't giving me hard time for holding you, and the doctors are taking your condition seriously instead of lumping you in with the mental cases."

Stretching in tiny increments to test how well he felt, Blair said inelegantly, "Huh? I thought I just over did it, big time. I've seen it happen to other students: too little food, work too hard, not enough sleep."

Whispering a barely-there kiss to Blair's temple, Jim said hoarsely, "Your heart's not working right, and it's affecting your oxygen levels, making it feel like you can't breathe. You're still not doing well; I can hear the arrhythmia." He shifted his feet restlessly, as if killing the impulse to do something else. "The idiot down in the E.R. when we first came in was blathering about anorexia and electrolyte imbalances. When your symptoms didn't respond to treatment for that, he switched to this bizarre theory that you were making yourself sick somehow, because you didn't want me to let go of you."

Indignant, but too tired to do much about it, Blair muttered, "It's exhaustion. Manifesting weirdly, maybe, but I've run close to the edge before. This doesn't seem that different. Really."

He had the feeling that Jim gave him an unbelieving look, but he didn't lift his head to find out. Instead he said, "They ran tests, right? Found nothing, right?"

"No sign of infection or toxins, but I contacted Hai Ping to see if you might have been exposed to a plant or insect bite esoteric enough that Western medicine wouldn't know to test for it. Clear there, though Hai Ping did say he had been worried about you for a few days." Jim hesitated, but added, "He thought you were having black-outs; you sometimes couldn't remember who or what you'd been talking to or about."

"Damn." Blair tried to mentally reconstruct the days between giving his dissertation to Eli to proofread and his panic attack in the garden, but couldn't come up with anything except an overall feeling of being drained and unhappy. "That means brain scans, that sort of thing."

"Already scheduled."

"They'll find nothing," Blair said confidently, then, to his dismay, yawned, as if he'd been awake for days instead of minutes. "You'll see. All I need is food and rest." From somewhere he dredged up enough energy to give Jim a suggestive hip bump. "And some of your expert TLC." He yawned again, falling fast back to the land of nod. "Take me home, partner. I'll be back on my feet in no time."

"Wouldn't you rather go someplace warm and sunny?" Jim suggested, surprising Blair enough that he blinked himself semi-aware again.

"That's right; the private island. Can't it wait?"

"Of course. But it doesn't have to be there. Isn't there a retreat in Arizona that Naomi's always trying to get you to visit?"

The idea of traveling bothered Blair, but he was too foggy to pinpoint why. Not able to go there, he did the easy thing. "Yeah, but maybe the beach is a better idea. I'll be up and around in no time."

***

He wasn't. When he wasn't able to stay awake for more than a short period of time, sleeping for hours on end, Jim refused to even discuss checking out against medical advice. It didn't help his case that when he was up, just feeding himself was enough to turn his lips and fingertips blue from lack of oxygen. The only ground he was able to gain was to convince the doctors that he wasn't a head case, which was done with careful misdirection, since he wasn't sure himself why he was so frantic for Jim to stay close. He talked his way out of a session with a psychiatrist, blaming his hysteria on the typical mental confusion from incredible pain and anoxia, his innate trust of Jim's abilities as a medic, and an overall distrust of doctors. Though he was careful not to make the last accusing, his point was made by the very fact that they couldn't pinpoint why he was ill.

Oddly, Jim didn't participate in those discussions except to back whatever decision Blair made about his treatment, and that was done quietly without the usual raging. It was the only part of Blair's stay that he wasn't active in. From the first he took on duties usually left to nurses, pointing out that Blair was comfortable with him performing them because of previous injuries. Which was truth, in part. Blair hated anyone dancing attendance on him, no matter how sick he was, but Jim went about even the most personal tasks with a bland matter-of-factness that made it easier for Blair to simply accept his help.

Drifting in the insulated cocoon of the suite and Jim's loving care, Blair lost track of reality again. Though he had moments of clarity where he knew he was in trouble, it was too much effort to do more than convince himself he'd worry about it later. The only thing that truly disturbed him was the very strong possibility tha