SEDUCTION

Suspended between heaven and hell, held there by his partner's strong, skillful hands, Blair tightened his grip on the sheets and moaned. He looked down at the end of the bed where Jim was sitting on his heels, one of Blair's feet balanced on a denim-covered thigh. As he watched, Jim rotated the heel of his palm into the heel of the foot, and he damn near arched off the bed as the entire foot sang in pleasure.

That was the heaven.

"You know, Sandburg," Jim said reflectively, treating the instep the same way, this isn't working."

"Huh?" Blair grunted eloquently, unable to think past the way his whole body was melting. He scrambled for a comment and came up with, "Man, is it ever working! If you ever decide to give up - huh! do that again! - being a cop, you'll have it made as a masseuse."

"We were supposed to sleep beside each other once in a while, maybe," Jim went on as if his partner hadn't spoken. "So I could do a little 'touchy feely' stuff to keep Watcher from coming back. But you haven't slept anywhere but here in weeks." He paused, to give his attention to carefully manipulating tender toes, "And this is almost a nightly habit."

"I am *not* complaining here, Jim." Blair managed to say coherently.

Looking directly at the bulge Blair had tried to conceal under a fold of the blankets, Jim said bluntly, "Maybe you should."

That was the hell.

From the first time his body had automatically responded to Watcher, they had both dismissed it as normal, unimportant. Even when Blair had first put together the pieces that had led them to the discovery that Jim *was* the man stalking Blair, he had not give any thought to sex. Their need to bond by sharing more intimately than simple roommates and partners normally did, went beyond that, they both believed. Neither had ever had any interest in each other outside the context of guide/sentinel. Or for any man, for that matter.

But a part of Blair didn't seem to know that, and though he had tried his best to down play his arousal during these sessions, it had only grown in intensity. Not wanting to deal with it now, he grumbled, "Ignore the man behind the curtain. I have *two* feet, Jim." He tugged his foot from Jim's hand and nudged him suggestively with the other.

Silently Jim obliged, bending his head over his work and giving it that single-minded attention he gave the most important things in his life. From under shuttered lids, Blair watched him, eyes trailing over the chiseled lines of the big cop. He paused at the crotch; as always, no bulge, no hint that Jim was even vaguely as affected by the physical intimacy as he was.

No one had ever warned him hell was lonely.

Not that he had the *slightest* clue of how to handle it if Jim did suddenly start showing an interest. //Just ignore it, Jim, like I do? It'll go away? Sorry about that, only an unwanted side-effect?//

Abruptly he sat up and pulled away from the other man, to sit cross-legged on the big bed. "You're right," he admitted quietly, "the ... the need was supposed to taper off, not intensify. I don't know what I'm doing wrong, here."

Coming up to sit on the edge next to him, Jim briefly cupped one of Blair's cheeks and said softly, "*You're* not doing anything wrong. It's not as though either of us have anything to work on here besides instinct."

Fighting the urge to lean into that comforting touch, Blair instead gathered up his pillow, and got up. "Maybe that's the mistake we're making, Jim. Reacting instead of acting. Look, I'm going to sleep downstairs until one of us can't handle it any more; that'll at least give us a base line to work with."

"Chief, you don't have to..." Jim waved at the room around him, and Blair looked at it, really *looked* at it for the first time in a while. Slowly but surely his own belongings had migrated up here, much the same way they had spread out from his room and into the rest of the loft, all without his conscious intent. Somehow, that panicked him more than the persistent hard-on throbbing sullenly at him, and he retreated quickly, breaking into whatever it was Jim meant to say.

"I know, I know, and I'm really glad you don't mind, that you're okay with everything, hey, who knows, it could be habit as much as anything right now, we'll talk in the morning, after we, you know, see how tonight goes. Night, Jim, don't forget you've got that early appointment with Simon, okay?" His words had trailed after him as he fled down the stairs, and he firmly shut the door to his room on the last one. If Jim had had anything to say, Blair had effectively stopped it, since Jim wouldn't chase after him unless they were fighting.

For a moment he felt guilty at cutting his roommate off like that, but as he looked around the clutter of a bedroom that looked more like an office, the guilt drowned under a wave of fear.

Taking off his glasses, Blair scrubbed at his eyes, knowing even as he did it that it was a waste of time. The only thing that was going to stop his vision from blurring was a decent night's sleep, and he didn't think there was a chance in hell he was going to get it. Putting both the glasses and his book aside, he leaned back and stretched his neck.

Not looking up from his paperwork, Jim asked, "Taking a study break, Chief?"

"Might as well. Nothing's soaking in anyway. Want a coffee?" Blair answered tiredly.

"Only if there's an extra-caffienated version in the pot." Jim glanced up, giving Blair a glimpse of eyes as bloodshot as his own.

Making a face, he stood. "Might as well mainline it, Jim."

Waving the comment off with his pen, Jim went back to his work and Blair, with a last useless try at easing the strain in his neck, headed for the break room. Once there he picked up the pot, sniffed, put it back, and began to search through the drawers for teabags. It wasn't as if he - or Jim - needed anything to keep them awake, anyway. Just something to keep them moving.

Half-expecting to start sleep-walking again as soon as he and Jim stopped sharing a bed, he had been caught totally off guard by terminal insomnia, instead. Every night he went into his room, read or worked until his eyes burned, then turned off the light and stared into the night. No matter how much he twisted, tossed or wore himself out during the day, he still laid there, listening to Jim upstairs doing the same.

To his chagrin, he'd even spent the night with an accommodating woman he'd been friends with for years, for the sole purpose of using sex as a sleeping pill. It had worked great - for her. She'd curled up against him, snoring softly, while he had lain there feeling vaguely ashamed and missing the hard weight of his roommate pressed up against him. Maybe he should bite the bullet and ask to come back upstairs, at least for the night.

No, that wasn't fair to Jim. He'd been watching the big cop carefully, and though Jim wasn't sleeping either, there'd been no signs that he needed Blair there. The casual pats and taps hadn't increased or diminished; Jim stayed near when they went out on call or whatever, but not obsessively so. If he was feeling the same stress that had driven Watcher, Blair was confident now he would either spot it or Jim would tell him.

A few feet away from Jim's desk, he pulled up short. One of the new detectives, Hela Ramirez, was standing indecisively near it, obviously trying to decide whether to bother her fellow officer or not. Blair hesitated, too. Jim had to know she was there and was probably ignoring her on purpose, giving her a chance to make up her mind.

Taking a good look at her face - this was obviously important enough that she was going to brave Jim's reputation - Blair called out cheerily. "*Detective* Ramirez! I don't think I've had the chance to congratulate you on the promotion."

The slight body swung around and dark eyes lit up in the pert Hispanic face. "Thanks, Sandburg. I still can't believe it."

"You deserved it," Jim added, head still down. "You're a good cop."

"Just barely," she quipped, stretching up on tip-toe to indicate her height. Since she made the physical requirements with only a quarter inch and 5 pounds to spare, her stature had been a running joke since her academy days.

At this Jim did look up, grinning, "Nitro comes in small amounts, too, Ramirez. And has less boom than you do."

She smiled sheepishly as both Jim and Blair laughed. Her temper was why no one took her lightly, despite her size. "Remember that the next time you come onto *my* crime scene."

Shaking his head, still smiling, he indicated the file in her hand. "Got something for me now?"

Suddenly sober, she studied the files in her hand, and said slowly, "I'm not sure. I was hoping for a second opinion."

Taking them from her, Blair went around to Jim's side of the desk and handed them to his partner. Standing at Jim's shoulder, he read the first case description with him. "What are we looking for, here?"

"You tell me. If you spot it, too, then I know I've got something that I can take to the captain."

Sharing a sympathetic look with her, Jim asked, "Afraid he'll accuse you of show-boating?"

"I wouldn't be the first 'rookie' to try to make a lot out of nothing to impress the brass. And if he doesn't take me seriously..." she shrugged, and for a second Blair wondered if she was referring to her temper or Simon's.

While they turned pages, she stood at the edge of the desk, slowly migrating toward Jim's other shoulder. "These are all listed as Breaking & Entering Felony Homicides - somebody gets in, rifles the bedroom, gets startled by the homeowner waking who then gets whacked." Jim murmured.

"Check this out, though, Jim. Three at the Dean - why bother in that fleabag? Best a thief could get would be a used pair of shoes."

"Going after drugs or drug money?" Jim said dubiously. "And all the victims were in the same position: on their stomach, head on the pillow, facing left, one arm under their heads."

Leaning over him, Ramirez tapped the photo attached to the next one. "In this one, there were *two* people in the bedroom, and they were *both* in that position."

Eyes on the officer's report for that murder, Blair pointed out, "It's a whole 'nother neighborhood, though. If you're thinking this is the same person, Simon's sure to point out that a thief wouldn't - couldn't - work in two radically different locations."

"What if it isn't a thief?" Ramirez said, eyes sparkling, face intent.

"Serial killer?" Jim said slowly, sitting up, almost face to face with her because of the difference in their heights.

Not quite excitedly, but unable to keep her voice completely professional, Ramirez leaned down to close what gap there was. "Yes, hiding behind the break-ins, and it's working cause it looks natural. Same caliber weapon - not the same piece, or that'd give him away already - always takes a few things that are obviously valuable, but not everything, like he was startled into firing and then taking off in case some one heard the shot. Same MO, same time of night, same wound, one shot to the temple. I've got 5 of these in the past 11 months, and there could be more, but I didn't want to dig for others without approval. What do you think, Ellison? Think Banks will let me at least check it out some more?"

When Jim didn't say anything immediately, her face fell, but she repeated stubbornly, "Will you at least tell me what's wrong with my theory?" Jim didn't answer again, and Blair, alerted by his stillness, unobtrusively tightened his hold on the broad biceps under his hand.

"Come on, man," he put in jovially, "It hasn't been so long a day that you have to go to sleep mid-conversation." A noticeable quiver ran through the arm he held, and he went on, pitching his voice a note sharper to get through. "Hey, do we need a warm reboot, here?"

With a shake of his head, Jim came back into focus, smiling lop-sidedly at Ramirez. "Sorry - got distracted for a second by that perfume you're wearing. Reminded me of someone." He leaned back into the smaller man for a second, and, reassured, Blair straightened and sat on the corner of the desk.

Blinking, she stood straighter herself and smiled tentatively. "It's Lithesome, and pretty new. Mickey got it for me on his last road trip."

"Ah..." Jim, floundered a second, then bulled through it. "It suits you perfectly: spicy. That football player husband of yours is not only a great tackle, but looks like he has some taste, too."

Her smile grew genuine, and she held up her wedding ring to study it fondly. "Man, some of the wives, they spend all their time moaning about the 'opportunities' their men have on the road. Me, I moan about the money he spends shopping for me cause he's lonely." She looked up, her smile turning mischievous. "Makes him a *mean* player, though."

Standing and grabbing a nearby chair, Jim graciously offered her a seat and held the back of it until she was safely seated. "Have to remember that the next time there's a home game and get Banks to put you on an all night."

"We want mean," Blair put in, speaking to her but looking at Jim and wondering at his gallantry to another cop, "Not homicidal. Not that everyone in here wouldn't jump at the chance to bust him, just to get his autograph."

Laughing, Ramirez punched at Blair from where she sat. "Then I'll have to drag him down and introduce him around, huh?"

"Would you really?" Blair asked, excited despite himself. "That would be *way* cool!"

"Hold on there, Chief," Jim warned, dropping into his own chair and rocking back to grin at his partner. "Work first - autographs later." At Blair's answering grin, he swiveled to look at Ramirez becoming serious again. "So how do you want to sell this to Banks?"

"Then you think I'm on to something?"

"Looks like," Jim said judiciously. "Chief?"

"I'm not the crime expert you two are, but finding patterns is part of an anthropologist's job. Trust me, there's something here."

"Okay, then, Ramirez, how about..."

Tuning out the exact words for a second, Blair fidgeted on his perch uneasily. There was something about Jim's behavior that was bothering him. That hadn't been a zone, not exactly, more like the big man *had* been distracted by something. And he had been positively expansive toward Ramirez once she got close, not his usual conservative self with an untried newcomer.

Head beginning to hurt from confusion, he realized the only thing he could think of that remotely made sense was that either Jim was kissing ass because of her famous husband -yeah, right, and the devil had just bought the ice skate concession down below - or he was attracted to the officer. In that case Jim *should* have gotten even more remote than normal. Since Carolyn, Jim's 'don't date another cop' rule had been carved in 8 foot letters; he'd learned how hard it was to work with someone you were in the middle of divorcing.

Besides, Ramirez *was* married, making her doubly off limits.

"Going to join us any time here, Sandburg?" Jim's dry tone cut into Blair's introspection, and he jumped guiltily.

"Sorry, got one hell of a headache coming on," he said defensively.

Immediately Jim's face softened fractionally and his voice warmed the same amount. "Want to head for home, partner?"

Pulling himself back onto task, Blair shook his head no and leaned back over the opened file. "Have you mapped these yet?"

"No, why?" The three of them went back to work, and only later would Blair remember that Jim had positioned himself to be precisely between both of them.

Leaning on the door frame of his home, Jim smiled at his captain and gestured toward the man draped over his friend's arm. "Sure you don't need help getting Ryf down?"

"No, but *he's* going to need some help when his lady sees what kind of shape he's in," Simon grinned. "Great game, Jim. Thanks for having us over."

"No problem." He brushed away the comment. "My turn, and besides, I won the half time pool. It was very, very nice of you to leave your money with me, sir. I promise to give it a nice home."

"Remember to send it back if it starts getting lonely for its daddy!" Jamming his cigar into his mouth, Simon shifted his hold on the drunken cop and turned to go. "Ryf, if you lose it in my car, you'll be back in uniform so fast you'll get fabric burns on your ass."

Shutting the door behind them, Jim filtered out Ryf's unintelligible reply and turned to his roommate. "Leave it there; I want to get scores from the post-game."

Blair waved a hand in answer, staring glassy-eyed at the television screen. Sharpening his sight, Jim took in the chip commercial his roomie was apparently absorbed in, and beat down a sigh. If Sandburg didn't get some sleep soon...

Picking up empties as he went, he headed for the kitchen. //Not that you couldn't use some, yourself. At least you're nodding off here and there at night. Blair hasn't been asleep as far as you know since he moved back downstairs.//

Rinsing and putting the beer and soda cans into the recycles, Jim leaned for a minute on the counter, head down. //Shoulda kept your mouth shut, Ellison. Things were okay as they were; all you did was run him off when what he needs - what you *need* whether you like it or not - is to just leave things be.// Wearily he went back to straightening up, tuning in on his room mate out of habit.

By the time he sat down on the couch to watch post game highlights, Blair was staring vacantly out into the room, not even bothering to pretend interest in the TV. For a second Jim fidgeted with the bottle in his hand; perhaps he should at least extend an invitation for Blair to come up with him tonight. He turned, arm along the back of the couch, to study his roommate's face for a hint as to whether or not to proceed, and Blair toppled onto him, eyes already closed.

Without thought Jim pulled him close, adjusting both of them with the ease of practice into the most comfortable position for them. With that curly head under his chin, Blair relaxed into the contours of his body, Jim let go of the iron control he had had over his senses where his partner was concerned and soaked up his awareness of his friend. Clothes weren't a hindrance to him; they both may as well have been naked. Every cell in his skin drank thirstily of the smooth/hairy/soft feel of Blair, and places inside him that had been clenched viscously tight, released. Comfort flowed through and around him, like soaking in a hot tub, and he turned his partner under him until Blair was snug between him and the back of the couch.

Of their own violation, his dials on all his other senses spun up, and he dropped his face in the dark place where Blair's shoulder and neck met, inundated by all that the younger man was. Scent, heat, sound, feel enveloped him in a sensory shroud and his mouth opened automatically to add taste. Hearing himself make tiny animal noises, but unable to stop them, he randomly dabbed the tip of his tongue onto whatever bare flesh he could find, shoving garments out of the way mindlessly.

He kept up his orgy until a new scent, a dangerous scent, stirred the protector in him, forcing him to realize he was smelling blood. Blair's blood. His head shot up from where he had been nuzzling the tender fold between waist and hip, and he met the wide, frantic eyes of his friend.

Taking a second to absorb the panic and pleasure in that dark blue stare, he tore his eyes away to seek the source of blood. Blair had shoved the side of one hand into his mouth and had bitten it hard enough to break the skin. Carefully Jim coaxed the injured part away, checking it visually to assess the damage, then held it over his friend's head, his own fingers holding a scrap of shirt over the wound. With a finger tip he smeared away the bright red left behind on the full lips, feeling the body under his grow impossibly more rigid as he did.

The only movement from Blair was the rapid rise and fall of his chest, and the hungry throb of need from the erection scorching Jim's thigh. What moved in Jim's chest as he understood the depth of Blair's arousal was an odd combination of compassion, love, and male approval. It drove him to slowly lower his head toward Blair's, giving him more than adequate warning, and touch his lips to the trembling ones of his partner.

With a strangled cry of surprise and relief, Blair climaxed strongly, back bowing under the strain of it. The wet heat of it startled Jim, but it was so uniquely Blair that his only reaction to it was to cuddle closer so the smaller man could stroke against him to prolong the intense sensations of orgasm. Patiently he waited until he felt the first wash of fresh tension, then asked conversationally, "If I don't apologize, will you not blame yourself?"

With a snort of amusement, Blair went limp, and nosed at Jim's chest. "I guess we waited too long, huh?"

"Or something. Chief, Watcher was never that out of control around you."

"Watcher knew what he was going to do from the first time he made a move. We didn't - couldn't - anticipate how abstinence would change things." Blair answered thoughtfully, though it was partially garbled by a yawn. "Open-ended obviously isn't the way to go. Make a once a week date?"

Holding in a yawn himself, Jim nodded agreement, but qualified. "Only if you sleep, Sandburg. Otherwise it's back upstairs, first sleepless night. Right?"

"Jim..."

"I said, 'right', partner?" Jim deliberately emphasized the last word, to remind the grad student that he had a responsibility to take care of himself - not that Jim needed an excuse to do it for him, only that it would be easier if Blair guilted himself into it.

Regardless, there was a long stubborn pause, then Blair grumbled, "Yeah, sure, okay! Dammit, *Naomi* didn't mother me as much as you do!"

Tugging the blanket down off the back of the couch, Jim yawned and said smugly, "Thank you. Want to sleep down here or scrounge up the energy to move?"

"That was not a compliment." Blair matched Jim's yawn with one of his own, and said, "We are going to be so sorry if we spend the night here." But he accepted Jim bundling him up, and watched drowsily as Jim rose to go into the bathroom to get antiseptic for his hurt hand and a washcloth. In a soft voice that was as loud as shout to the sentinel, Blair added, "Jim... thanks."

Without breaking stride Jim smiled back over his shoulder. "We will get a handle on this, Chief." Though Blair made a face at his 'motherly' assurances, Jim meant it, feeling it with a certainty that came as a surprise even to himself.

"Sandburg, we're taking off to get a bite. Coming?"

Acknowledging Jim's words without looking away from the computer screen he was staring at, Blair answered, "Jim, this is, like, due, *now.*"

"Bring you something then?" Ramirez put in. "My treat. After all, if you hadn't been helping me wade through all those B & E homicide records, you wouldn't be behind on your own stuff."

//I know// Blair thought dispiritedly. //And the only reason I volunteered was because Jim was spending so much time helping you. Since when do you have the right to be jealous of the man, Sandburg?// Aloud all he said was, "I'll take you up on that, but only if you promise to stand here and shove it in my mouth."

"Done!"

He did look up this time, at Jim's cheerful agreement, and smiled despite himself. "You would, too, wouldn't you?" At Jim's shrug Blair shook his head and said, "You know what I like. Just get something, okay?"

"Got it, Chief." Jim waved and ushered Ramirez through the bullpen door, hand on her back, his attention already on her upturned face.

Blair stared after them, wondering if he shouldn't bite the deadline on the paper and join them, anyway. //Stupid, stupid, stupid... you've got no rights, here.//

"Hurts doesn't it?"

Turning his head so quickly his neck hurt, Blair at least managed to stifle his jump. "Hey, Joel. Didn't know you were working late, tonight."

Ignoring Blair's covering gambit, the Taggart sat down heavily in the chair next to the desk, and leaned one elbow on its arm. "It's hard when your partner ditches you to chase a skirt. Especially when it's one he shouldn't catch."

Turning his attention back to the screen, Blair said nothing and hoped the glow from it would hide the flush beginning to burn up his neck. "Jim's not chasing Rameriz." He said evenly, digging the composure up from somewhere. "And they offered to take me with them; I just got work to do, man. That's all."

"I'm not saying anything everybody else isn't thinking."

"Look, Joel," Blair swiveled to face him, features set. "They can say all they want, but Jim wouldn't do that. And if *he* were willing to be a dog, Ramirez wouldn't put up with it. You've heard how she talks about that husband of hers; as far as she's concerned the sun rises and sets on Mickey."

"Did she ever mention how they met?" At Blair's curious stare, Taggart went on, "She busted him. Seems Holmes tried to beat up a man who was hitting on his girlfriend. His *girlfriend,* Blair. I can't imagine what he'd do to a man he thought was hitting on his *wife.*"

Meeting Joel's steady gaze, Blair saw nothing in them but worry for a friend. "Joel," he said earnestly, "I'm not just Jim's partner, I'm his roommate and best friend. I'm telling you right now there is nothing going on there; he's just helping another cop make an important case, and that's *it.* I'd *know*."

"I don't know if Holmes would bother to ask you first. Or believe you." Taggart stood ponderously, then patted the grad student on the shoulder. "One last thing - you might wonder why it's always the wrong skirt - for both of you."

Blair watched him leave, then determinedly picked up his jaw and went back to his paper. //Two more days before I can go upstairs again. Two more days. I won't be so wound up, Jim won't be holding back from me so much, Ramirez won't seem like such a threat. What kind of threat?// Shoving it aside, especially his last thought, Blair forced himself to concentrate.

Years of working the oddest places under the most distracting of conditions allowed him to actually finish the thing and begin work on his notes. Immersed in normal, understandable academia, he was at something of a loss when he suddenly was jerked out it. Glancing around the nearly deserted bullpen, he could find no reason for his abrupt loss of focus. With a mental shrug, he picked up his pen to make a comment in his notes, and nearly dropped it when the phone rang.

"Sandburg. Oh hi Ram.... What! Where? On my way." Grabbing his coat he abandoned his desk and ran for the garage, mentally swearing at himself for not getting her cell before hanging up. All he knew right now was that Jim had seen something going on in the alley next to the restaurant, had started holding his head and had only been able to ask for him before collapsing.

By the time he actually reached the location, he had dreamed up and discarded a thousand things that could have gone wrong with Jim, from allergic reaction to dinner to somebody wearing too damn much perfume. A black and white was already across the mouth of the alley, its lights going, and an ambulance was parked almost nose to nose with it. Fighting complete panic, Blair leaped out of his car and dived down the alley.

And pulled up so short that he nearly fell from the change in acceleration. Ramirez was kneeling next to his partner who was sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around them, and rocking. She had one arm on Jim's, and another on his forehead and was talking to him softly. As he watched, Jim's motion slowed slightly, and he moved his head negatively.

What crashed through Blair was so ugly he could have died from it himself - and couldn't bear to think of what he wanted to do to Ramirez with it. He hurled himself at the pair, almost knocking her down in his haste to get her *away* from Jim. "What happened?" he demanded shortly. "In detail."

Surprised, Ramirez gave way gracefully and stood next to them, leaning on the wall behind her. "We were going back to the truck when he looked down here, pulled his weapon and told me to call in a carjacking in progress. Took off, went through the usual warning drill, and I heard a shot fired while I was with dispatch. Ran down here - jackers' are gone, the owner is sitting in the driver's seat imitating jello, and Jim's got his hands over his ears. Says, 'Get Sandburg,' sits down and has been like he is, since. When the medics came over to check him out he threatened to shoot them if they didn't get away. I was calming him down from that just now."

"Thanks." He tuned her out completely and changed his voice to the tones that Jim had always responded to best. "Jim, man, what hit you? Hearing, obviously... high, sharp, low... come on, talk to me, give me something to work with."

"Shrill." Jim ground out between locked teeth. All around. Can't stand up. Can't think. Gods, can't you *hear* that?"

The familiar complaint went far toward settling Blair's insides, and he pulled on his partner's arm. "You've got to get away from here, then. I'm going to get those EMTs and we're going to haul you to your feet, out to my car, okay?"

"No. Don't Let Anyone Touch Me!" Jim enunciated the words clearly, if painfully. "Crawl If I Have To."

"Okay, okay, then. Can you get up for me, at least to where I can get under you?"

Not answer but Jim moved, using the wall for leverage. Once on his feet, Blair got under one arm, Ramirez under the other, and the two of them walked the big cop away from the alley. There was a momentary bobble as she tried to steer them for the ambulance, but Blair prevailed and they dumped Jim into the passenger side of the Volvo.

"Better. Doesn't hurt, now." Jim said as he leaned back on the headrest. "Hela," he added very gently, "Could you go handle the uniforms and reports, please?" At her dubious look, he patted her hand clumsily. "Sandburg'll take care of me. I'm okay; just give me a second." He closed his eyes, and, dismissed, Hela reluctantly left to do as told.

Not bothering to hide a sigh of relief, Blair cupped Jim's face in his hands, and said as softly as he could, "The sound - it felt like it was physically hitting you?"

"Yeah. But only in the alleyway. And it was worse when someone had their hands on me."

Blair snatched his away, and Jim cracked open one eye, a fragment of a smile visiting briefly to one corner of his mouth. "Except for you."

"But it's okay now? I mean, you're far enough way it's only noise."

"Hardly even that," Jim murmured. "But my head is blowing up in slow motion."

"Ouch! Look, I need to go look things over, see if I can find the source before people move stuff around too much. Whatever it is, we need to pinpoint it so we know what we're dealing with. Can you hold on for a few?"

He grimaced, but waved Blair away. "Make it quick."

"If I can't figure it out fairly fast, I'll come back anyway and try again tomorrow. Five minutes." Four and a half of those later, Blair knelt next to the car of the victim, reached into the open door and under the dash to pull the fuse on its security alarm. To him the electronic shriek of the armed alarm had been barely audible; but it had been the only sound, faint as it was, that was unusual about the location.

Taking a second to listen intently to be sure, he inadvertently tuned in the conversation of the uniforms clustered at the end of the alley.

"20 says Holmes turns him into a greasy spot."

"No way - Ellison is ex-Ranger. He's *serious* when he takes someone on."

"Brawler over Training, any day."

"Yeah, but a lineman isn't trained to *kill.*"

A third voice chimed in, "Not going to happen anyway. Sandburg will step in before it gets that far."

"Aw, come on, you don't believe the scuttlebutt about those two being fuck buddies?" The first voice sounded outraged.

"Naaah - but Sandburg is his partner. Kid may not be a cop, but he knows what a partner's job is. And does it damn well. Or have you forgotten what a ice cold son of a bitch Ellison was?" said the voice of reason.

There were generalized mumbles of agreement from the two wagerers. The pro-Jim one added, "Going to find someplace else to be when Sandburg moves on. Sometimes I think he's the only thing keeping Ellison from going postal."

From his concealed position behind the car door, Blair slumped over the seat, his head spinning. Though his first reaction to the conversation was a stew, the last statement literally set him on his ass.

Head whirling, the truth of it rang through him, reverberating through every level of his mind - and heart. They expected him to move on; *Jim,* who had had everyone he'd ever let close do it, expected him to move on. And so did he. That was what grad students did. That was what anthropologists did. God, help him, that was what he had always done. He'd simply never thought beyond the needs of the moment, grounded as they were in a demanding and busy life, about that plain, unadorned fact.

The words of explanation that he had given Jim when explaining the drive behind Walker echoed.

****Protect and serve, what a cop does, what the original sentinels did. But who protects and serves them while they're giving it all to the tribe? A mate? She'd be distracted by the inevitable children, and torn by maternal needs to take care of them instead of the sentinel. A sentinel would be drawn to someone who would focus on them, who was drawn to them in return. Their guide."

"Blair, you're already my guide." Jim interrupted, getting frustrated.

"No, Jim, I'm a guide. Not *your* guide. That's what you were trying to do. Mark me, claim me. I bet you concentrated on touch because it was most acceptable, but that wasn't the only thing you wanted to do."

Pausing mid bounce, Blair came back into the kitchen and covered the hint of red in Jim's cheek with his palm. "Just like you were a sentinel, but not *my* sentinel. I was trying to establish a connection of belonging to you. My own primal response."

"....Once we convince the cavemen living inside us that we're committed to our roles in each other's lives, the compulsion will go away."****

But it hadn't gotten better, because they *hadn't* committed themselves, not permanently, not all they way down, the way the pre-civilized men would need. And because they hadn't, they were both reverting to primitive behavior to compensate - Blair was being sexually attracted to use the needs of their bodies to bind them, and Jim was...

Jim was seeking a guide who would stay with him. To the animal in his genes, a fellow cop, a nurturing but aggressive female, was perfect. The fact that she already had a mate wouldn't matter in the least to a sentinel; it could only enhance her attractiveness since it proved she was capable of the long term.

It mattered a great deal to Blair, though, and the ugliness he'd experienced earlier rose up again, stronger, matched this time by a fierce, overwhelming MINE! of possessiveness.

Energized, he picked himself up, dusted himself off, and strode toward his car. Seeing Jim's pale, stoic face as he approached tempered his movements, but not the motivation behind them. Without a word he got in and started the Volvo, trying to drive without jolting or stopping, in consideration of his passenger. Keeping his silence almost all the way home was no effort; he had so many thoughts in his head he couldn't have chosen one to voice, anyway.

Oddly, it was Jim who broke the stillness. Laying a hand on Blair's knee, he asked, "Find out what was causing that racket?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah." Mind still occupied in its own labyrinth, Blair replied distantly, "Owner of the car was an old guy, deaf as door knob according to Ramirez Whoever installed his car alarm either knew that or didn't care; it was put in wrong. It was emitting a high-pitched shriek, which no one would hear if the door had been shut. I think the concrete walls and bricks buildings were acting as an acoustic amplifier for the noise, making it strong enough for you to physically feel it.

"Man, I *knew* your range was way up there, but I never thought to test to see how you'd react if it was *loud* at that frequency. Sound is a tactile sensation as well, after all. That's why it hurt when people touched you; their bodies served as conductors for the noise. We should probably..." He glanced over at his partner and the pain on those strong features dropped him back into the here and now.

Instantly contrite, he started babbling. "Oh, man, I'm sorry. I mean, if you could feel the sound, it could cause you pain - duh!"

The hand on him that had never moved squeezed lightly. "Let up on yourself, okay, Chief? Not even *you* can think of everything, and you always seem to find the answers when we need them."

Concern hardly appeased, Blair thought dispairingly, //Maybe I *should* let him choose another guide.// Before that concept could go another electron further in his brain, MINE! sounded through him with undeniable force. Instead a meek, "Thank you," popped out of his mouth, adding to the odd look on Jim's face.

"I think that should be my line," was all he said.

Covering the hand on him with his own, Blair gave his own squeeze. "I'm just sorry..."

"Enough, Sandburg, enough," Jim ordered kindly. "You do the best you can, that's all even a grouchy sentinel has a right to ask."

//No, it's not// Blair thought dispiritedly, but didn't say anything else until they were back at the loft.

Without discussing it, they both got ready for bed as soon as they got home, chatting about the schedule for the next day and grousing about the paperwork they knew would be piled on their desks.

It was only as Blair was lifting up the blanket to crawl into the big bed that he stalled out, realizing he was taking for granted where he would sleep that night. Behind him, Jim brushed a fingertip over one of Blair's shoulder blades. "I know we aren't supposed to for another couple of days, but this *feels* right, Chief."

Nodding, Blair slid under the covers and lay on his stomach, facing away from the center of the bed. When the light was doused, and Jim flung an arm over the small of the his back, Blair spoke up, keeping the nervous squeak out of his voice with bunched fists. "You know, I've been thinking about that," he started. "About the whole pre-civilized man mind-set behind it. Maybe that should be the angle we take on this; how would the first sentinels dealt with the choosing of their guide?"

"You don't think it just happened, like falling in love?" Jim asked curiously.

"I don't know. Maybe. Or maybe the head man chose the guide, or the it was the first available person, or could be his mother picked one for him. The thing is - the life of a caveman wasn't very varied. Get up, find food, eat, take care of the children or try to have some: that's about it. That and not get killed along the way.

"When something important *did* happen, it was natural to make a big deal out of it, and ceremonies and rituals were born. Manhood rites, birth, death - there was bound to be one for a sentinel selecting a guide."

Slowly Jim said, "So you think we need some kind of ceremony to convince our monkey minds that we're serious about working together." Though he sounded skeptical, there was no rejection in his remark, so Blair hurried on.

"Right." Hoping that Jim would think his rapid heart beat and sweat was from expecting him to get annoyed, not from making this whole spiel up as he went along, Blair made himself keep talking. "Now, it's not like we have a ceremony that we can copy or anything, so I'll have to create one that's, you know, relevant to us and what we do."

Slowly, Jim said, "If you think it will help... what do you need?"

Light headed with relief, Blair practically babbled, "Nothing, not a thing. Well, you there. And we probably shouldn't be interrupted, so unplugging the phone wouldn't be a bad idea. And being relaxed is a good thing, so no overtime that day and a good meal here at the loft, I think. Oh, and we should probably do this as soon as possible, so we'll know fairly fast if we were off the mark, and I can rethink it, again."

He stopped, dragged in a deep breath, and was ready to go on when Jim laughed into his pillow, and trailed his fingers up Blair's back to tangle in his hair. "I think we can manage all that. Day after tomorrow too soon? I've already got plans or I would sooner. And I'll take care of the dinner, okay?" Blair had no answer for that; the air that he had sucked in had gotten trapped in this throat when he'd registered the caress. It didn't matter; Jim took his silence as acceptance and nodded off himself before Blair could get his heart back on line.

Looking over the room one more time, Blair repeated to himself, "I am calm, I am calm, I am calm." It didn't help much, but it was better than uselessly arguing with himself, so he kept it up. Besides, this *was* the way to go. Romantic wouldn't have been appropriate, any suggestion at metaphysical would have put Jim on edge, and plain, ordinary home wasn't enough.

The table had been set with the good china, cloth napkins, and had a formal flower arrangement. The idea had been to invoke holiday dinner with the family. On some level Jim must have anticipatedthat; the meal he brought from one of their favorite restaurants was reminiscent of home-cooked: Yankee pot roast, fresh bakery bread, apple pie for dessert. They had even treated it like a special occasion by not talking about work or school, but about their shared past or mutual friends.

The loft had other touches here and there to mark the day. Besides cleaning it past even Jim's high standards, Blair had brought in fresh pine branches and arranged them over the balcony doors, and filled an old-fashioned umbrella stand with them to sit in one corner. The coffee table had a new piece on it; a working fountain made of stone with real moss and fern growing in it. A fire was lit, and a workout mat generously covered with towels had been put in front of it. All in all, a touch of the outdoors inside; hopefully as relaxing and sense pleasing as he thought it would be.

No, romantic was not the way to go, though it was seduction that Blair had in mind. If being Jim's fuck buddy was the way to convince the both of them that they *belonged* in each other's life, then Blair was going to do his damdest to be just that. Being totally straight for his entire life was something he could get over, even if his body at the moment had had a complete about face over its willingness to participate. He'd worry about that later.

"I am calm, I am calm," he muttered.

Jim was in the shower at Blair's suggestion of a ritual purification, and Blair had darted into the bath for the same reason while Jim had been clearing the table. Dressed now only in his robe, he heard the water stop and every molecule of composure that he had mustered evaporated. "Okay, I'm not so calm. But I *am* going to do this."

Taking the bottle of oil and putting in the bowl of warm water, he sat cross-legged in front of the fire, and worked on at least looking like he was meditating. The intent served him well enough that when Jim came out a few minutes later wearing only his favorite robe, Blair was able to meet his eyes openly and smile.

Taking the smile for an invitation, Jim came to sit beside him, his long legs folding up gracefully as he did. "Now what, Chief?"

"Now I show you what I feel when you're using your senses on me, and I focus my senses on you hard enough to get a glimmer of what *you* feel."

"Trading places, sort of?" Jim asked curiously.

"Exactly. Not just the sensory input, Jim, but the emotional and spiritual ones, too. Oh, dis it if you have to." This was said at the vague grimace that flashed over Jim's face. "But ritual is supposed to touch on that. Think of funerals or weddings or graduations - all the fuss and ceremony is to channel and clear emotions; prepare the spirit for the changes the ritual represents."

"I hate weddings. And graduations. And funerals. Especially funerals." Jim said bluntly.

"Then shut up, lie there and enjoy yourself! If nothing else, this will probably feel good. But it wouldn't hurt you to at least spend the time remembering where we came from and think about where you want to go."

At Jim's shrug, Blair nudged his roommate to lay face down on the mat, and opened the bottle. "It's freesia scented," he said conversationally, "and only very lightly. I had it made for you a while back, intending to make it a birthday present." He poured a small pool between Jim's shoulder blades, and began to run his hands through it in long, steady strokes over Jim's back.

Jim grunted, and asked, "Massage oil as a birthday present?"

"Jim, your love-life may be practically non-existent, but you have to at least recall from your distant past that rubbing girls down is fun."

"Oh, I see. You were going to give it to me so you could borrow it."

"Well, I *do* like freesia, and I'm always running out, man."

"Sandburg, there isn't enough in this for you to smell it," Jim said sleepily, and under his fingers Blair could feel the large muscles of the shoulders and back going limp and soft.

"Beats olive oil." Blair lowered his voice, making it soft and quiet.

"Know that from experience, do you?"

"Hey, improvisation is half the fun." //Besides,// Blair thought smugly, //I am apparently good at it.//

Their banter went on while Blair worked the fine oil first into Jim's back, then down his long legs, not shrinking from giving the hard globes of his backside their fair share of attention. It wasn't until Blair was finishing his toes that courage lagged, but only for a second. Cheerfully he patted Jim's fanny and ordered, "Over."

Jim flipped with an alacrity Blair would have found amusing if he weren't so nervous. Stubbornly he kept his attention on the surface immediately under his hands, keeping up the even strokes he'd been using. Miraculously he made it over the tops of Jim's thighs and onto the flat plane of his abdomen without balking. He didn't touch the lax genitals resting in their bed of curls, but wasn't squeamish about brushing against them as the massage went on.

Half expecting some teasing comment from his partner, Blair inhaled a sigh of relief silently - even to Jim's ears - and began to enjoy the last portion of his ministrations. They had both fallen silent, neither needing to speak, and when Blair reached the pert brown nubs decorating the taunt flesh of Jim's chest, he glanced up at his friend to gauge Jim's reaction to the semi-intimacy.

He was sound asleep. Sitting back on his heels, laughing at himself, Blair shook his head. //Some great seduction scene, here, Sandburg. You put the object of your desires out cold.// Snagging Jim's robe from where it lay, Blair started to cover him with it, his amusement fading to cold dismay. As he draped the cloth over the sleeping man, he looked at the sleeping features and was struck by the peace he saw there.

Giving the limp body a once over, Blair realized that Jim was totally sprawled out, legs lolling apart, one hand resting languidly on his hip, the other arm curled next to his head, fingers almost brushing his cheek. All in all, he presented the precise image of a man totally at ease and relaxed; no barriers, no defenses, no pretenses.

He didn't think Jim had slept like this since he was a child, and he wasn't sure about then. One thing he was abosolutely sure, no one - not Carolyn Palmer, not any of the big man's lovers, not even Incacha - had ever seen him like this since. Unprepared for the wash of tenderness from the sight, Blair blinked back tears and, feeling absurdly paternal, tucked the robe around Jim's wide shoulders.

Petting the bristled line of Jim's jaw, he debated for a moment as to whether to curl up beside him or return to his room. Before he could decide, the ice-blue eyes popped open the same instance battle readiness claimed each muscle in Jim's body. "Somebody at the door," he muttered, "Fast heartbeat, heavy step, smells mad - " His alertness took on a layer of confusion "And like Ramirez?"

Uncoiling from the floor, he stood and swiftly crossed to the door, skinning into his robe and reaching for his weapon from where it hung on it's hook. "Holmes?" he asked himself, puzzled, and opened the door, gun hanging down to his side. "Ho..." he started to ask, but was interrupted by a fist the size of his head connecting with his jaw.

The punch threw him backwards onto the floor, and before he could stand again, Holmes stepped into the room. Blair launched himself at the linebacker's legs, going low and hard across the living room. There was no chance he could bring the huge man down, but it was common knowledge that Holmes had a bum knee. If he could hit it... Holmes took the impact with a grunt, reached down and hoisted Blair so he could slam the grad student down.

Stunned, Blair gasped, unable to move. Jim, swaying somewhat, stepped astride him and went into a fighter's crouch, hands going up into shooting position. "Don't make Hela a widow," he growled.

Holmes said nothing, but the expression he wore was not one of fear or worry. Instead it was the pained grimace of someone trying to work out a puzzle way beyond their mental capabilities. Backing away, he pulled at the back of his head like that would ease his confusion, and opened his mouth. Closing it again before he spoke, he crossed the threshold of the loft, staring at the pair inside it, then abruptly turned and lumbered away.

Cautiously Jim followed as far as the door, then slammed it shut, and hurried back to Blair to help him up. "Chief?"

"Going to have some spectacular bruises in the morning," Blair said, leaning against Jim and gingerly testing his shoulder and neck. "What the hell was that all about?" he asked though he had a very good idea of what at least prompted the attack.

Innocent and bewildered, Jim asked "Steroids?" He focused on the door as if making sure with his senses that Holmes *was* gone. "Doesn't like balding cops?" The tension ebbed from Jim, and he tentatively touched where he'd been slugged. "Blair," he started slowly, "I don't think we should mention this to Ramirez."

Confused himself, now, Blair leaned back enough to look up at Jim. "You mean you aren't even going to press charges! He hit a cop! Football hero or not, you can't..."

"I just want to find out what was behind it, first," Jim interrupted. "I've..." he halted, and Blair could have sworn there was a hint of red on the tips of his ears, "heard a few things about Ramirez and me and the case we're working on. It never occurred to me that scuttlebutt that obviously wrong would get to her husband. Never even mentioned it to her."

"Maybe it's not as obviously wrong to other people, Jim," Blair said gently, grateful for the chance to bring it up himself.

The look Jim shot him held nothing but surprise. "Sandburg, she worships the ground he walks on. Would even give up being a cop if he asked." He grinned suddenly, "Not if he said so, mind you."

Grinning back, Blair said "Hela obey a direct order? Naaahhhh!" He walked over to the pallet in front of the fire and began picking it up. "I've heard the gossip, too, though. You are very... protective... of her, Jim."

Taking the other end of the mat, Jim helped Blair fold it. "I know," he mumbled, distinctly uncomfortable. "And she's already told me to back off with it, but I can't seem to help it. Something about her - maybe her size?" He looked over at Blair hopefully.

Uncertain, and unwilling to voice his own opinion of why Jim was treating Ramirez with kid gloves, Blair shrugged. "Or you *could* be attracted to her, on some level. She's your type: professional, strong, beautiful."

Stopping where he stood, Jim gave the thought serious consideration. Patiently Blair waited, banking the fire for the night, while Jim did. Finally the older man said, "If she weren't married I still wouldn't make a play for her; I *like* her, especially the way she smells, but can't see making love to her."

They kept on tidying the room while Blair digested that. As they turned up the lights and went up the stairs, he asked, "The way she smells?"

Shrugging, clearly embarrassed now, Jim said. "What can I say, Sandburg? It isn't a sexy scent or anything. I just like it."

"Mmm, remind you of anything or anyone?" Blair turned down the covers on the bed, took off his watch, and sat on the edge while Jim thought about that.

"No, not really. I mean, it's a girl's scent, very natural and clean, but not special or anything. Look, can we drop it, Chief? It's going to be hard enough for me to face her when she finds out Holmes was here. I don't need to be obsessing on identifying her perfume, too."

"No problem." Blair lay down in his usual position, snuggling into his pillow as the lights went out. "Are you going to be able to sleep after your nap?"

"If I have trouble, will you get out the massage oil?" The air from Jim's words stirred the small hairs on the back of Blair's neck, and he shivered, admitting it wasn't from the chill feeling.

"Liked the ritual, huh?"

"Did we finish it?" Jim asked, unexpectedly. "Or did I screw things up by nodding off?"

Blair opted for honesty. "I don't know. Things didn't work out the way I planned - interruption, aside - but that doesn't mean what did happen wasn't right."

"Maybe we should repeat it in a couple of days?" Jim's voice was blatantly hopeful.

Pretending to think about it, Blair drawled, "Welllll - it couldn't hurt, I guess, just to cover all the bases, you know?"

Snorting - and doing interesting things to the nape of Blair's neck as he did, Jim repeated, "Cover the bases - right. Go to sleep, Sandburg."

Happily Blair did as he was told.

"You didn't bust me." Holmes said quietly.

Looking up from the report they were reading over, Jim and Blair looked at him, each other, and then Jim stood. "Ramirez is too good a cop to go to jail for offing a fellow officer." He said flatly.

The hulking linebacker flinched. "They'd get her for taking me out, first. Look, I'm sorry. Doesn't count for much, I know, but you gotta understand I heard from a half a dozen different people that she's been stepping out with you."

It was Jim's turn to flinch, and Blair spoke up. "You don't know Jim from shit, I can see you thinking he might be up to something. But Hela? Get real, Mickey. You *know* she'd never do something like that to you."

If possible, Holmes looked more uncomfortable. "Yeah, I know it, but at the same time... come on guys, *look* at her. Smart, pretty, a real fire cracker - what's she doing with a lump like me?"

Sitting on the edge of his desk, Jim answered him solemnly, "She sees someone who doesn't try to hold her down, hold her back or put her in her place. And who loves her back as hugely and fiercely as she loves. Got to put your trust in that, Holmes, or this jealous act is going to do her a damage, and then where will you be?"

"Dead," Holmes mumbled, "Or might as well be." Looking for all the world like a scolded child, he thrust out a hand at Jim. "I owe you for the punch, but, no hard feelings, okay?"

Jim regarded the outstretched hand, looked over at Sandburg, and narrowed his eyes at the discoloration marking the side of the smaller man's neck and shoulder. "You owe me for more than the punch."

Holmes followed Jim's gaze and saw the bruise, though Blair ducked his head and hunched his shoulder some. "Yeah," he agreed heavily. "Man did that to mine, he'd owe a hell of a lot. You call in the debt when you need to, Ellison." Something that might have been a smile on a less ugly face crossed his lips. "Hela will tell you I don't renege."

He offered his hand again, and this time Jim shook it, smiling somewhat himself. "I will." He rubbed at his own bruise. "I can think of a use or two for somebody with that kind of a punch."

"Watch it," Blair hissed, and Jim automatically scanned for the source of the warning. Ramirez's scent hit him, and he slanted to one side to see past Holmes.

"Got another one?" he asked.

Pulling up short at the sight of her husband, Hela looked at the trio suspiciously, glaring at the bruises the partners wore. Storm brewing in her eyes, she nevertheless became as tall as she could, aiming a kiss at Holmes' chin. "Mickey- you're early for our lunchdate!"

"Came up to let you know - and to talk to the guys about something." At that he offered his hand sheepishly to Blair. "What I said to Ellison goes double for you, Sandburg. I mean it."

"Don't worry," Blair assured him as he bounced up to shake. "I've already got a list."

That put Holmes on hold for second, then he guffawed. "Going to study the closed society of a locker room?"

Blair's eyes brightened and he started to speak, but Ramirez gave her husband a shove. "Out! I'll be down as soon as I show this to Ellison. Papacita's?"

Bending to rest his cheek on hers for second, Holmes murmured. "Sounds good. You sound better."

With a distinctly girlish giggle, she slapped at him as he exited, then sobered and offered the file in her hand to Blair, who was watching him go. "Not as dense as he wants people to think, is he?" She said fondly.

Standing over Blair's shoulder, Jim reached to open it himself. "Smart enough to marry you, Ramirez, which makes him a genius in my book. Got another one?"

The three of them went back to work, and she shook her head. "I don't know for sure. Right gun, right position, but, I don't know..."

"It's not neat, enough," Blair said absently.

"Not neat enough, Chief?"

Blair's head shot up, and he said more slowly. "Not neat enough..." Excitedly he shot over to his computer and began pulling up photos of several other murder scenes. "See... small caliber weapon, close range - in the temple so the exit wound doesn't splatter... neat. Too neat."

Putting a hand on his shoulder to encourage him, Jim asked, "First not neat enough and now too neat?"

"So this hit wasn't his, because it got messier? Maybe he misjudged or something, " Ramirez said doubtfully.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute..." Blair began manipulating the list of victims, and as he did, the alphabet, as people's initials began scrolling down. "Joseph Kevin Langely, Marshall Nelson, Owen Palmer Quagan..."

"But some don't fit," Jim pointed out.

That only stumped Sandburg for a second, and Jim had to hold in a grin at the way Blair pounced on it. "Templar Baker lived at 456 7th St, Apt. 8, Rebecca Dryer at 89 Deca - that's 10 in latin, Jim - street." Swinging away from the machine, Blair got up to pace around the desk. "Obsessive compulsive. That's why the murders are all *exactly* the same." He stopped in front of Jim. "It's not the death he's after, like most serial killers, it's the pattern. The killing is just part of that."

Two days later, Jim parked his truck in the shadows on Montrose street, and addressed the other two occupants. "Sandburg, Ramirez, how *sure* of this are you?"

"Damn sure," the two chorused. They traded a look, and Hela sat back to let Blair speak past her.

"Jim, we know from the map that he's moving in this direction. Ramirez was dead on about the dates being part of his pattern - killing on June 7, at 8 am, that fits a compulsive. Most of the victims had traces of over the counter sleeping aids in their systems. Though we're not sure of them all, we know one way to get to a victim is by dosing their take out. Emily Frances Grayson has the right name, in the right place, on the right date. All we have to do is wait for a food delivery and watch the driver."

"He has to be expecting to be caught sooner or later," Jim said darkly.

"He's probably hoping for it, " Ramirez volunteered, apologetically. At the look from the two men, she restlessly shifted. "From what I've read, obsessive's *hate* their compulsions. They want nothing more than to stop, but don't know how cause the urge is so overwhelming. And compulsion is normally based on overwhelming needs for safety and protection, so there’s the added element of committing an deadly, dangerous act to satisfy the pattern he’s trapped in. "

Jim couldn't help it; he stared deep into Blair's eyes. The whole case was hitting too close to home for both of them, and he didn't want his partner reading too much into Ramirez's words. With a barely imperceptible shake of his head, Blair discounted the similarities and reassured his partner with a hint of a smile.

"Save it for the loft," Ramirez elbowed them both. "Gads, Ellison, maybe I should bring Mickey along next time so we could double date."

"Now there's an idea I could get behind," Blair enthused. Hela hit him twice; once for her and once for Jim.

"Heads up, boys and girls," Jim said shortly. "Hunan House delivery van coming around the corner."

They turned their attention to the driver, Hela looking at him through the night goggles and clinically describing for their records an Asian male, 20-25 years, approximately 5' 9", and 165 lbs. Without her noticing, Jim nodded in agreement, then called it in to dispatch. "Now," he said as he hung the mike, "we wait for the driver to drop off his stuff and come back."

"I still think we should tell Ms. Grayson there's a real possibility she's in danger." Blair said, adjusting the ear piece to the listening device.

"Playing it by ear is safer for her," Ramirez told him. "What if she *did* order take out, just by co-incidence? Or the killer makes contact with his victims first, so he can learn their habits -yes, Sandburg, I know it's more likely that an obsessive would stalk them instead. Ignorance is better, at least until we're sure that she's next. And we're not going to let him near her."

By this time the delivery boy was at the door, ringing the bell. Ms. Grayson - a fifty something divorced CPA - answered a few minutes later, the sound of her voice through the door coming clearly to the listeners in the truck. "Kaye!" She opened the door as Ramirez hip-checked Blair lightly. The door opened, and Ms. Grayson stepped out onto the porch. "I didn't order anything this evening."

Shrugging, Kaye held out the bag with both hands, needing one to support the bottom. "Says it's paid for - and it spilled over, some. I don't think this bag will make it back to the restaurant. Maybe a friend ordered it for you?"

Taking it from him hesitantly, the older woman said, "I did mention to my secretary I was too tired to cook tonight... it's exactly the thoughtful kind of thing she'd do, too." Suddenly sure, she said, "Wait here a sec," and went back inside momentarily to come back out to give something to the deliveryman.

"Thanks, Ms. Grayson," he said cheerfully.

"Still putting them toward the down payment?"

"You bet. And we're close enough that Sal threw out her pills!"

"Nothing like the potential of a little tax deduction to make the work a lot more tolerable." She smiled. Kaye laughed and headed back to his truck, waving as he did.

"Gotcha!" Ramirez exclaimed softly.

"I don't know," Blair contradicted, "He doesn't seem right for an obsessive..."

And why would he have to tear open the bag to get the drug in it?" Jim added. "Those take out places always staple the bags shut; that one wasn't. Food spilled, too - someone in a hurry to get the drug in before the kid came back from another house on the way?"

"Can't be easy for you, can it, Ellison?" Ramirez grumped. "We'll see if he comes back."

"Or if someone else shows up. Anyway, keep your eyes peeled. Those homes are too close in proximity to one another. The way hers sits relative to the others, whoever's going to do this, is going to have to come in from either the north or right through the front door."

"North side, better cover." she decided.

"No way, man; front door. Remember, he's a compulsive."

"Sandburg, do you *like* to contradict everything?"

"Children...."

The three of them kept it up sporadically, trashing everything from their education to their hobbies, having to work to keep it quiet at times. For Jim, the change between Ramirez and his partner was a relief. Blair had always been so restrained and subdued around her, that at times Jim wanted to search the loft for the discarded pod. If it was fallout from Holmes 'visit' was for Blair to accept her, then it had been worth it.

Twenty minutes after the food arrived, Jim saw their suspect. Driving a car, now, he parked it half a block down the street from their position. Walking across the lawns, he headed straight for the Grayson house. A nudge and pointed finger was all it took; Ramirez checked her gun and Blair began reporting to dispatch. "Take the left." Jim instructed quietly, "Use the trees for cover. I'll come in from behind, using the parked cars on the street. Sandburg, stay here - you know what to do."

It wasn't until he had positioned himself on the street side of the car nearest to the residence, that Jim saw the pedestrian. Other than being dressed fussily, in a meticulously tailored suit and polished shoes, he was the most totally ordinary man Jim had ever seen. Sandburg had told him this was one of the hallmarks of a compulsive obsessive. Dialing up, he caught a heartbeat too rapid to be that of a man out for an evening stroll, the faint tang of fear, and the unmistakable outline of a gun at his belt line.

Looking back to the truck, he saw Blair watching him through the night goggles. He motioned at the oncoming man, and mimed a phone call, mouthing Ramirez. As Blair lowered the glasses and spoke into the mike, Jim cautiously positioned himself behind the pedestrian, stalking him with a skill born in the rangers and honed by his sentinel abilities.

In rapid succession, Ramirez shouted 'police, freeze', the delivery man raised a gun and the second man pulled his. Turned at an angle, near the house so that she didn't see the newcomer on the sidewalk, Ramirez kept her attention on the Asian man, warning him again to put it down, unaware that she was caught in a cross fire. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Blair running at them, heading straight for Ramirez. The click of tiggers readying came from three places, and for the first time in his life, Jim Ellison froze in a crisis situation.

Bullets were inevitable, and both Ramirez and Sandburg were in direct line of fire from different shooters. He could protect one from one gun man, but not both from both. Everything in him was screaming to save Blair, except for one extremely vocal part that was shouting to get Ramirez out of there. For a split second he demanded *why*, and one sound that he had been subconsciously aware of for some time leaped out at him in answer.

It was a rapid, muffled whooshing, coming from Ramirez; the sound of a fetal heartbeat.

The answer made him explode out of his hiding place, shouting "Down!" not caring who obeyed, all of them would be good, taking aim on the perp on the sidewalk. Full speed put him almost between her and the delivery man just as guns went off. His took the pedestrian. Dropping as she shot, Ramirez's winged the young man, her aim spoiled by his ducking the goggles Blair launched from where he laid on the ground.

Jim took three hits; two from the unknown, one from the delivery man.

"I told you to stay in the truck, Sandburg!" Jim growled, smacking away the paramedic's hands as they tried to probe a bruise. His shirt and kevlar vest hanging off one shoulder, he looked irritable enough to chew on the vest for dinner. The medic retreated grumpily into the back of the rescue unit, leaving Jim sitting on the bumper.

"Yes, Jim." Blair said calmly.

"When you're with me, you stay right beside me, unless I tell you to stay put. Then you stay put!" The cop went on, barely keeping his voice down from roaring, though not particularly caring if anyone heard. It just hurt his sore ribs.

"Yes, Jim."

"Don't you ever, *ever,* EVER make me make a choice like that again!"

"I won't. I promise. And I'm glad you chose to protect Hela, but Jim, not even she knew she's pregnant."

"I don't care! You stay safely with me and it doesn't matter if *Simon* is pregnant, I can do my job."

"Won't do me a bit of good to point out that I can take care of myself, and so can she, will it? You don't have to *protect* either of us." Blair pointed out reasonably.

"Yes, I do, damn it." This time Jim did roar, ribs or not.

Hands behind his back, pinching the inside of his wrist to keep from grinning ear to ear, Blair backtracked hastily. "Yes, you do, I'm sorry. Sentinel necessity; your version of the prime directive. Protect the guide; protect the tribe, especially expecting females. Hey, I'll bet that's why you liked her scent - a built in pregnancy detector. Wonder how Mickey is going to handle you crawling on top of his wife and ordering her to stay down, 'you're pregnant, damn it.'

"I'm sorry, Jim, somewhere along the line I should have thought of how you'd respond to mothers-to-be. Not that they're that common in our lives, but given the primal way..."

"Sandburg," Jim interrupted, calmly, quiet now.

"What?"

"If I promise not to apologize, will you promise not to take the blame?"

Mindful of Jim's shoulder, Blair moved in to stand close to him, almost touching. Letting his grin free, he agreed. "Deal. Ready to go home?"

"Simon stopped yelling, yet?"

"At the delivery guy for panicking and not knowing who was the cop, Ramirez or the guy on the sidewalk? Or at Hela for not putting her wire back on the second it slipped off? Or me for breaking a multi-thousand dollar pair of infrared night goggles?" Jim leaned his head briefly onto Blair's chest, and the smaller man had to dig his nails into his palm to keep from smoothing the soft, short hair of his partner.

"Busy night, huh?" Jim said, straightening and standing cautiously.

Wrapping his arm around the cop's waist, for support, Blair answered, "Would have been worse if that kid had been killed; who knew he lived next door to Grayson? And if we hadn't been right about the killer. He was confessing everything, in exacting detail before they read him his rights."

They walked to the truck slowly, Jim saving his breath for the trip. At the door, he rested his chin on top of Blair's head for a second. "Chief..." he stopped.

Blair could almost feel the words tumbling around in his chest, and decided to help his...lover. It was what he wanted, anyway. "I know you're aching, but a good night cuddle might be in order. So you'll know I'm safe."

"And where you belong; beside me." Jim admitted quietly.

"I know, Jim."

How a man whose own nude body had to be one huge, Jim-sized ache could make another's sing like an angel's choir was beyond Blair. In fact, as Jim picked up his hand and began to work each individual finger on it, *anything* was pretty much beyond Blair. All he could do was wait for the next heavenly event, and try not to die of pleasure.

From fingers to wrist to elbow to shoulder, Jim found each nerve cluster, each tiny muscle and gave it his attention. Once on the chest, however, his touch changed: subtly, gradually, and Blair didn't notice at first. It wasn't until Jim was kneeling between the naked man's spread thighs, his big hands resting lightly on either slender hipbone, that Blair drifted out of his sensual absorption.

He looked up at Jim, wondering at the intent, serious expression his partner wore. It was familiar to him; he'd seen it many times when the cop was making an important decision. What he could be deciding, considering their present circumstances, was beyond Blair. Licking his lips, he thought about asking, but Jim's gaze suddenly sharpened, focusing on where Blair's tongue had just visited.

For the second time in his life, he stopped functioning, suspended in time as Jim slowly lowered his head down to where his mouth was only a thought away from Blair's. Unable to speak, unable to move, he could only wait for Jim's mercy. It came quickly as Jim's lips covered his, sweetly and gently.

It was more than he could bear, and suspension broken, he probed tentatively at the contact with his tongue, moaning when Jim opened to him. They traded ownership of the kiss, loving with lips and tongue, until mouths were known territory and new was needed. At Jim's wordless urging, Blair lay still under him, restlessly stroking and petting his biceps and shoulders, avoiding the sore ribs, as Jim moved down his torso, tongue dragging and nibbling at the wiry hair, sucking and biting at soft skin.

Alone it was almost enough to bring Blair to the end, and he couldn't hold back sharp, lonely cry of disappointment when Jim stopped and sat back on his heels again. Forcing an eye open, he looked down the length of his own body to where his need was straining straight up, weeping for completion. He did the same to Jim, and cried out again at the lack of matching desire.

He started to roll off the bed, was pinned in place by those great hands, and then by the return of Jim's hot, willing mouth, fastening over the head of Blair's shaft.

Disbelief was briefly present; it couldn't stand before the unspeakable pleasure. Thrusting madly, held in place by Jim's grip on him, Blair raced toward the end, unable to prolong the wonderful feelings much as he wanted it last forever. "Jim!" he warned hoarsely, trying to drive in deeper. His reply was a deep moan of pleasure, and the sound of it sent Blair across the finish.

Jim drank him dry, making small noises of excitement in his throat. When there was no more for him, he laid flat on top of his lover and took Blair's mouth in a searing kiss. "Blair... how .. oh, god.. " he whispered needily, rubbing his erection sporadically against his partner.

"Yes!" Blair answered triumphantly, and wound his legs and arms around the big man, bringing his ache into alignment with Blair's own renewing arousal.

Settling into a steady rhythm, Jim pounded onto him, face buried in the pillow next to his head. "Need to..." he half apologized, half begged.

"Good. Want it, Jim. Want it." Hard again, Blair met and matched Jim's movements, not holding back on any level.

"..ah.. have to, now... Blair, have to!" Jim panted, then gave a last lunge that threatened to break both of them, seed spurting hotly.

The slick heat, the surprise and lust in Jim's voice as he shouted wordlessly at each spasm, and the hard body holding his fast all conspired to overwhelm Blair, and he added his own shout and seed. Twice so quickly was too much for him; he grayed out, living for a moment in a world of ecstasy.

When reality trailed back in, he was laying on Jim's chest, held loosely there, though his lover was trembling in reaction himself. "Wow," he breathed.

"Wow, yourself," Jim told him lazily.

Lifting himself enough to be able to see into Jim's eyes, Blair was amazed to see the same peace there as the night of their 'ritual.' Without thinking, he blurted, "Why'd you do that?"

Playing with the fall of dark curls framing Blair's face, Jim said simply, "I don't like leaving you frustrated and unhappy, Chief. It didn't seem like so much to taste you there, too, and I was..." he shrugged, "curious, I guess."

"And you liked it." Blair said, not asked.

Thoughtfully Jim nodded anyway, adding, "The feel and the taste - I don't know how to describe it. But it really got to me."

"Oh, yeah," Blair said reverently. He put his head back down, listening to Jim's heartbeat, and said shyly. "It's never been better for me, before or after. Jim, I think, maybe, well..."

"We're supposed to be lovers, guide and sentinel," Jim finished.

"Can you explain how else two perfectly straight, woman-loving males could wind up blowing each other's mind away?" Blair said with some exasperation.

"Just lucky?" Jim quipped. With a little pounce, Blair latched onto the nipple nearest his mouth, sucking on it strongly. Jim bucked wildly, groaned with in a mixture of pain and laughter, and quickly turned both of them to their sides so he could pry his guide away, cupping the laughing man's head in his hands. Sobering quickly, he brushed his thumbs over Blair's lips. "How far are we going to go with this, Chief?"

"Jim, if I had known how, I would have spread my legs and taken you inside, all the way, no hesitation." He trailed a hand down suggestively to cup one cheek of Jim's bottom. "You?"

A shiver sped up and over Jim's body, leaving goosebumps in it's wake. "Inside you, sounds good," he admitted. "You in me - not even curious, but if you want, I'm willing to try."

"Oh, man," Blair wiggled onto Jim, backing off instantly when a pained hiss was the result. "Not tonight," he told himself, regretfully.

"Not tomorrow, either," Jim affirmed, gingerly hugging Blair to him. "Remember the day after *your* ribs were cracked?"

"Graphically." Blair's shiver had nothing to do with pleasure. Cautiously this time, he snuggled in close. "Need to do some research, anyway, so we're not completely ignorant here."

"I don't think I want to know the details," Jim mumbled, digging his chin into the top of the curly head for a second. "Just don't let me hurt you, 'kay, Chief?"

"You won't," Blair mumbled back. "Way you use your hands on me, you'll feel if something goes wrong before I do." Under his cheek he could feel Jim's breathing begin to level out, deepen as he slid into sleep. //Should have known to trust those hands// he thought sleepily, going under himself,//to bring me all the way to heaven.//

finis