FINDING THEIR WAY

As far as Jim was concerned, climbing over the ruins of what five days ago had been a brand-new, six story, three wing business complex was as close to sensory hell as he could imagine. As inured as he was to destruction, the sight of the scattered, charred, and crumpled remnants hurt his eyes in a most unexpected way. Against his will, he kept trying to visually put it all back together into a whole, unbroken structure, or to at least make sense of the fragments it had become, and that simply wasn't going to happen.

And sight was actually the least of his woes. Sound assaulted his eardrums and the painful vibrations from it pounded through his body. Jackhammers thudding, heavy equipment rumbling and groaning, powerful engines clamoring - any of it would have been painful on an individual basis. The unholy mix of all that noise, underpinned by the normal racket of a major highway in a large city, made him physically ache as if he'd taken a bad beating.

Scent added to his misery through the fetid stink of death and decay, as the building had been occupied when it collapsed. Not all the victims had been found as yet, nor all the missing body parts of others. The smell, blended in with the smoke from the areas that had caught fire and the omnipresent dust from the devastation itself, coated his nose and throat, dragging his sense of taste into play from his gagged bile, making his sensory torment complete.

To make it worse, a feat he had not thought possible until he'd begun to cautiously scale the rubble, Jim had to pay careful attention for safety's sake to where he placed his gloved hands and steel-toe booted feet, as well as to the words of the expert scrambling alongside him. The explanations and answers the man had for Jim's questions were important to the case if Jim was going to understand what could have happened here. There was no possibility of finding a dial for any of the senses under those circumstances, let alone twisting one down.

The resultant agony in his head from the multi-level attack on his abilities combined with the intense concentration he needed, was too overwhelming to be described as a mere headache. He had the Hiroshima of headaches, the Antarctic Ice Shelf of weight on his skull, the Extinction Level Event of throbbing, the....

Jim yanked himself away from the incipient zone on his own pain and determinedly focused on skinny, fussy-looking Martin Hill, the forensic demolitions expert. "So you're certain that the fire was not a contributing factor to the collapse, but a side effect, and you can tell from where the fire burned?"

"Yes. See there and there?"

Hill pointed, clarifying his reasoning as he did, and Jim struggled to catch his words through the auditory mud. He succeeded only because he had given serious thought to what lines of inquiry to use before arriving at the site and expected a certain amount of it to make sense, thanks to his own experience, limited as it was. All he was truly positive of at this point was that a bomb had not been the cause behind the destruction, and he had all but eliminated fire as a major factor for reasons he would have to think about when his god-damned, sonovabitchin' head wasn't about to explode.

Forcefully pulling his mind back to the job, yet again, Jim straightened, leaning on one lone upright girder, trusting his weight to it only when some innate knowledge said it was secure. He asked if there was any evidence as yet of poor construction or design, but before Hill answered, Jim's hearing latched onto a familiar voice. It pulled his vision along with it until he was watching Blair pick his way over a cleared debris field, skirting a group of construction workers hanging out by the catering truck. Relieved that he'd been able to get away from Rainier for a while, Jim stayed put, unashamedly eavesdropping and letting Hill drone on.

"Man," Blair laughed in response to some comment Jim had missed, "If I'm the only thing you can find to look at on this fine morning, you need to have your eyes checked!"

One or two of the workers chuckled, but one of them turned red with a flash of anger.

"How'm I supposed to miss a long-haired, hippy queer boy who looks like he just climbed out of bed, traipsing around like he has a reason to be here?" the big, beefy man shot back, accompanied by a hooted chorus from his buddies, and Jim made a point of memorizing his features, just in case.

"Boy? Boy!" Blair grinned cheerfully and turned to walk backwards a step or two, fingers scraping over his five-o'clock shadow, which couldn't have waited until even noon to show. "Now I'm sure you need your eyes checked. Or has it been so long since you got any, you can't tell the difference between a kid and someone old enough to kick your ass?"

This time the hoots were for big and beefy, winning a faint grin of appreciation from Jim. The worker only growled, "If that's an offer, queer-boy, you're trolling in the wrong place. I'm not going to be your next customer."

"There you go with 'boy' again. Now that's not what your mamma called me when I was porking her last night." Blair didn't hurry his step, nor lose his bright, cheerful expression, and his tone was casual. It was a total bluff, of course, as his heartbeat was accelerating for takeoff, but Jim knew better than to interfere when Blair was facing down macho posturing, or, as he put it, participating in male hierarchical identification rituals.

Laughter, pure and genuine greeted Blair's come-back, including begrudgingly from Big and Beefy. Before they could recover, he added, "You need to tell her to dress you better in the morning, man. Your boot lace is getting tangled with that cord on the driver on your belt."

Apparently against his will, Beefy looked, but Blair had only been speaking the truth. "Hey," he said reluctantly. "Thanks."

"No prob. Safety first, always." With that, Blair moved beyond easy ear shot for him, missing the grumbled question if anybody knew who the smart ass was.

Jim didn't miss it, however, or how Blair's vitals grew calmer as he drew closer to him. That was the only sign of nerves from the harassment, however, and by the time he started up Jim's heap, he was clearly absorbed in the task at hand. He caught Jim's eye and half-waved to him, heart punching again.

Frowning, Jim followed Blair's line of sight, holding down a snarl at Hill's disapproving expression as he took in Blair's slightly bedraggled appearance. Not giving him a chance at an opening salvo, Jim reached down to give a Blair a hand up over the last few feet. "My partner, Blair Sandburg, special consultant to the department. He's worked construction, enough that he'll probably have more intelligent questions for you than I've managed so far."

The introduction confused Hill, and he pursed his lips prissily. Before he could speak, Blair added, "I've done rescue work for earthquake victims, too, and I have to tell you, this doesn't look like the work of one to me, despite what a few of the eye witnesses have reported."

"Earthquake?" Derailed, Hill's beady eyes surveyed the damage again, bald head shaking. "Actually, there are some similarities, but you're correct. If there had been a trembler significant enough to do this, it would have been felt through much of Cascade and caused additional damage. Still...." He wandered away, muttering to himself, clearly revaluating the wreckage.

Though his heart rate settled again after a last heavy thump, Blair said quietly to Jim, "Not to mention you would have felt it regardless."

Pleased, however he might defensively hide it, that Blair still trusted him to be his backup despite all the fuckups they'd been through the past little while, Jim said, "It would have woke me from a sound sleep, which I know from experience. Don't know what else could have caused the 'hard thump underfoot' that's been reported by enough people that I have to think they picked up on something."

Scrubbing a thumb over his brow under the required hard hat, he added, "An explosion might explain it, but that's not behind this if you go by the evidence so far."

Too softly for Hill to hear, Blair asked, "Which sense is giving you the most trouble? I can't imagine how rough this environment has to be for them."

"Take your pick," Jim said sourly.

"Here, this'll help with smell." Not giving Jim a chance to voice his almost automatic protest, Blair smeared a bit of salve over Jim's upper lip.

Taking a cautious breath, Jim relaxed fractionally when the aroma of vanilla filled his head. It neutralized enough of the stench of decomposition that his stomach stopped churning, giving him the opportunity to get a grip on taste and smell to wrench them down. Blair unashamedly anointed his own upper lip, staring down uneasily at the rubble as he did.

"No one alive down there, I promise, Chief. I double-checked." Jim had heard about the collapse over the police radio the day it happened, and had been among the first responders, dragging Blair along with him. He had been willing to do whatever it took to locate and dig out anyone buried alive in the ruins, but it hadn't taken him very long to be convinced that there were no survivors.

"Hopefully it was quick for them," Blair murmured half to himself. With an all-over shudder he brought himself back to the matter at hand and looked Jim over again. "Hearing's pretty much useless here; want to take down as far as you can? I'll keep Hill busy so you won't have to talk to him."

"No, it could give us a warning if this mess starts to give for some reason." Jim shrugged, and found himself admitting, "Sight is driving me nuts, and I can't figure out why. It's not like I haven't seen this kind of thing before, but that doesn't seem to matter. You know the expression, can't see the forest for the trees? I can't see the debris for the wreckage; my vision keeps skittering when I try to look closely at anything."

"Huh." Blair turned in a small circle, frowning thoughtfully. "Like a couple of puzzles dumped out in a mess, almost. You get visually pulled every which way. Or maybe, the opposite - do you keep looking at the same thing or kind of thing over and over? Like, I don't know, a single area keeps pulling you back, or you're trying to pinpoint a specific object without thinking about it?"

It was a good question, and Jim picked a spot to study, only to realize he'd drifted away from it almost immediately, glancing toward a twist of steel poking through the ruins. Several other attempts to focus on a randomly chosen item brought him back to the steel, but not always the same piece. Curious, he went to the closest, squatting to examine it more thoroughly.

A few seconds later, he gave up in frustration. There was simply too much nagging at him, pain shredding any chance he had of pushing some of the input away. Blair put a hand on his shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze to encourage him, and just like that the sensory deluge died to a usable torrent, taking much of the headache with it and leaving only an unpleasant buzzing in his overloaded sense of touch.

Shooting a smile of relief and thanks over his shoulder, Jim tried again, this time automatically stroking over the exposed end of the girder. The way the light hit it, the texture of it, was different from most of the others he could see and he reached out to touch the closest, confirming without a doubt there was a subtle but definite dissimilarity between them.

"What could make one steel beam different from another?" Jim muttered. "And why so few? I can only see a half dozen or so like this one."

"I don't see it at all," Blair said to him. "Which means we're going to have to find a reason to have this piece tested, along with some of the others. Let me go see if it's done as a matter of course during investigations like this one. Maybe we can nudge them towards at least one of the oddballs, which will give us cause to do more if there are measurable anomalies."

Calling for Hills, he scaled to the top of the small mound where Hills stood, making notes on a PDA. Jim felt the loss of Blair's presence, like sweeping aside a curtain blocking bright sunshine, and his head thumped sullenly with renewed hurt. Still, it wasn't as bad, and absently rubbing his finger tips together, he visually traced out the beam beside him before cautiously excavating it, searching for other irregularities as he did.

Luckily there was a peculiar twist in it, faint though it was, that Hills could see for himself, leading to the decision that samples would be taken and examined. Content with that, as it was a lead, of a sorts, Jim led the way to his truck, silently considering who might benefit from the destruction of the building. Blair bopped along beside him, the manic energy buoying Jim against his headache. As Blair had had a 'friend' drop him off, Jim confirmed that he would be riding with him back to the station instead of being taken to Rainier.

Personally, sneaking a peek at Blair's disheveled clothes, Jim thought he should have been more interested in finding the girl and finishing the fast and dirty nooner that Jim's call had obviously interrupted. Still, Blair seemed wrapped up in the case, and Jim had been dead serious when he told Hill that Blair was more likely to understand any physical evidence indicating that the building's destruction had not been natural or accidental. On the drive to the department, he compared notes with him, cementing the gut feeling he'd had all along that eleven murders and seventeen assaults with deadly intent had been committed with the demolition of the structure.

Traffic grew heavy enough that Jim had to turn most of his attention toward the road for a while, and by the time he was able to pick up their conversation again, Blair was staring blindly out the passenger window. Whatever had him so preoccupied wasn't pleasant, if Jim was any judge of his partner's expressions, which likely meant he was worried about school again. Since the business with Ventriss, Blair's struggle with disillusionment in academia occasionally sat on him like a black weight. Between that and learning that at least one sentinel was capable of being a sociopath, he'd been questioning his own life and beliefs in a way that reminded Jim all too much of when he'd been rescued from the jungles of Peru.

Despite that, he didn't feel qualified to give any advice on how to reevaluate your own existence, and settled for offering distraction. Putting on a faintly insulting smirk, he said into the painful quiet, "Much as it could be very entertaining, maybe you want to fix your fly before going into the bullpen. Otherwise you'll be the one getting comments on letting your mother dress you."

Blair checked out his buttons and laughed unselfconsciously when he discovered that he'd done them up wrong before putting them right. "Thanks."

To his own surprise, Jim said, "No problem, but you know, Sandburg, for a man who managed to sneak off a piece between two jobs, you're not looking too happy over there. I didn't, ah, interrupt anything important, did I?"

"No, your timing was okay." Oddly the question turned Blair morose and he went back to staring out the window. Sounding surprised himself, when, instead of deflecting Jim's concern as usual, he said slowly, "It's just... I don't know...."

His voice trailed off, then with a complete change of tone he went on. "When I was a kid Naomi once let me eat all the candy I wanted for a couple of days, and let me tell you, since I wasn't allowed it at all then, I went overboard, big time. After a few days, I not only had lost my taste for it, I started craving something else without having a clue what it was. That's what this afternoon was like: getting something good that wasn't what I really wanted." Nodding in understanding, Jim wisely kept silent, sure it would encourage Blair more than words would at this point.

Elbow on the window frame, fingers against his teeth, Blair mumbled, "It's never been a problem before when it was only scratching an itch, as long as the lady involved was down with that. But lately it's been bothering me."

Abruptly he half-turned to face Jim, hands describing odd circles. "Jim, why did you get married?" Waving off the obvious answer, he added, "Yeah, yeah, love, tradition all that, but you had to feel or think there was something about it that was worth giving up sexual freedom, among other things."

For a split second Jim considered making a joke of the question or simply freezing Blair out, but in the end he answered honestly because it seemed so important to Blair. "I wanted a family."

"Kids?" Blair asked in shock.

"Not necessarily." Jim took a deep breath, used a stop sign as an excuse to gather his thoughts, then finally said as he drove on, "In the Rangers your unit is this odd kind of family where you know intimate details about each other that you don't really want to have in your head, but self-interest, mutual protection, and loyalty to your beliefs bind you together. Your buddies will mourn your death, if nothing else, and remember you the way brothers and sisters would, if you're lucky.

"When I was with the Chopec, I was this odd, not quite normal addition to their lives that meant more safety and food, which went a long way toward accepting me, warts and all. So there was a familiarity, a closeness there, too, that's hard to explain."

"I've seen it; I know what you mean," Blair said quietly.

"So when I joined the force I was sort of expecting something like that, and at the same time, so tired of losing those close to me that I wasn't sure I wanted it. But Vice doesn't run like that, at least in Cascade, and they were more than happy to let me work solo or with rotating partners." Looking into the past Jim finally let himself admit what he'd always known at some level of his mind. "By the time I came to Major Crimes, I was hungry to be connected to something, someone outside my own head, my own problems. Marriage made sense since I didn't think the department would provide it for me."

"I take it Carolyn didn't want a family."

Barely hearing the words, Jim shook his head. "She already had one, the only one that I think will ever truly matter to her. Marriage was just another milestone for Caro, like getting her degree or becoming a supervisor. A husband was an accessory to her life, and she had this preconceived role for one that was about as personalized to me as a clown suit would be. I was supposed to meekly become a part of her biological family, not even a special or particularly important piece of it. I discovered that on our wedding day when I overheard her laughingly tell her sister something I had shared in confidence, as a kind of wedding present."

At Blair's wince of sympathy, Jim shrugged. "I knew the marriage was a complete mistake not too much later when the holidays rolled around, and she booked two flights for us to her parents' house without even discussing it with me. Her rationale was that she always spent the holidays with her family and didn't want to miss out on any of their special traditions, they all meant Christmas to her, so what was there to talk about?"

"Like maybe you wanted to start a few traditions of your own?" Blair said quietly.

Visualizing standing in front of a freshly decorated tree, someone smaller and warmer in front of him leaning back contentedly into his arms, Jim pushed away yearning. "Something like that."

"And now? You still looking for marriage to give you that connection?"

"Not really." Bemused that framing his current life into words made him smile, Jim admitted, "Now at Thanksgiving, we have that potluck buffet in the bullpen for anybody on-duty where everybody off-duty stops by to leave a dish and share a bite or two of what's already there. At Christmas we go to the shelter with the rest of the Anthro department to give a hand, New Years is the bash at Simon's, and Fourth of July is the annual Big Brother & Sister trip to McMaster Amusement Park for baseball and giving the kids too much junk food so they throw up on the roller coaster.

"If a woman comes along who fits into that and likes it, who understands why it's important to me, then I might think about getting serious with her." Jim snorted. "Like that's going to happen."

Hoping that the honest answers to his questions would encourage Blair to do the same, Jim jokingly elbowed him. "What about you? You thinking maybe a long-term thing might have its own rewards?"

"No. Or not that kind of long-term. Today just drove home that I've never really considered anything in that light and how what I want now might change tomorrow," Blair said. He twisted to sit right in the seat, fingers against his mouth again. For a moment Jim thought that might be the end of it, then Blair blurted, "You know I'm pushing to finish the diss, right? Chancellor Edwards' bullshit aside, I've got something to write, and it's time to write it. I'm getting close to the end, and I can't help but think, what next?"

Though the mention of it sent a pang through him that Jim did not want to examine too closely, he said as gently as Blair had ever coaxed him, "What do you want next?"

"No clue, man, and that's the truth. When I first started, I loved college so much I knew I'd go this far, even if I dropped out here and there to do other things for a while. And a part of me wouldn't mind being a perpetual student, piling degrees on top of each other." Blair stole a sideways glance at Jim, then added, "That's not going to be happening at Rainier, not the way things are right now."

Pulling into his usual place in the station's parking garage, Jim turned off the engine. "I know that student loans are going to be an issue, but you can take some time to figure it all out when you have the degree. You've always got a home, you know that, right?"

Smiling Blair aimed a mock-punch at Jim. "Yeah, we've got that worked out. Me permanently ensconced in your former storeroom is another one of those things your mythical lady is going to have to accommodate herself to."

Retaliating by dragging him across the bench seat to bestow a vicious noogie, Jim said, "Hey, I'm sure you'll convince her in five minutes flat that having a perpetual student in-house guarantees abundant karma or permanent positive energy flow or something."

Squirming until he was free, Blair laughingly made his escape out the passenger side door, dancing back as Jim charged after him. A passing uniform called out, "What kind of trouble are you in now, Sandburg?"

"Nothing." Blair grinned. "I swear."

Called back to the job at hand, Jim dropped into a walk, which Blair matched easily without being told that play time was over. "I've been thinking," he said, as if they'd been discussing the case all along. "While bringing down an entire office complex to cover a single murder is a bit drastic, it isn't that far out there for someone really determined to get away with it. Which is a really sad comment on the state of our society, but there it is."

"Or a way to cover disappearing," Jim said reflectively. Checking out the background of the victims would be tricky with no solid evidence as yet that the place had been deliberately destroyed, but he'd have to do it anyway. Mentally adding that to his list of legwork, he made his way to the bullpen, absently rubbing his upper arm where a residual buzz from the earlier overload lingered.

***

Jotting down a last note, Jim said into the phone, "Thanks, Stevie, I really appreciate this."

"In this instance I'm more than happy to be able to help you with a case. Tolerez is honest and reliable, a rare thing in this business, and he doesn't deserve to go down the tubes over this." A voice called in the background, and Stephen must have put his hand over the phone to answer, though Jim could still hear him tell a woman that he'd be there in a moment.

"I won't hold you up any longer," Jim chuckled. "Sometimes I forget that most people don't keep cop hours."

Stephen shot back, "I bet most cops don't keep your cop hours. Dinner still on for next Sunday?"

"Your treat this time, so I'm expecting the best, no excuses. Later."

"Later."

Jim hung up and threw his pen down in frustration, fingers going to his biceps to worrying at them in what had already become a habit after only three days spent at various construction sites, fighting too much sensory stimulation. All his discomfort had earned him besides restless, uncomfortable nights, was the knowledge that the owner of the wrecked building had nothing to gain by its loss and more troubles than he needed because of it. Stephen had just confirmed that the man responsible for its erection was in the same boat, and the company that had provided the materials was all but on its knees trying to convince Jim that they couldn't possibly afford to sell substandard supplies in place of quality goods.

Not that Jim had really expected to find motive in any of those lines of investigation, but he had hoped for a hint of something that might lead to a working theory. It didn't help that the inspection records for both during and after the construction hadn't held the slightest indication of slipshod or inferior work, and there had been several different inspectors, making bribery highly unlikely.

Glancing at his watch, he decided to call it a night. Tomorrow he had to give Simon a reason not to move the case into his inactive file, and the test results on the steel showing that it had been heat treated until it had become brittle likely wouldn't be enough to persuade him. As Hill had so succinctly put it, the number of damaged girders, scattered though they were, meant that the building would have collapsed, sooner or later. And that meant criminal negligence or perhaps depraved indifference was the best charge they could bring if they could even find a suspect, as it was impossible to predict when the office complex would have come down, or who, if anybody, would be in it when it did.

Jim stood and reached for his coat, hiding a wince at the twisting cramp in his arm. Almost automatically dismissing it, he packed away the papers on his desk, still mulling over what he could say to convince Simon that the murders were deliberate. After all, if all it would have taken was a good stomp to bring the roof down....

Grinding to a complete stop, Jim suddenly remembered the witnesses who said that they'd felt a thump underfoot. An underground explosion could account for that, which, if done right, wouldn't have necessarily left traces of itself in the wreckage above it. Hastily sitting back down, Jim called up the Adobe file of the blueprints of the complex, scrolling through the pages until he found the schematics for the tunnels that housed the main trunk wiring, sewage and plumbing lines. They were large, man-tall at least, ten feet underground, with entrances at the edge of the property lines so that utility workers wouldn't have to disturb the businesses for entry for repairs or upgrades.

With a flash of triumph, he leaned back in his chair, trying to remember if any of the doorways had been left uncovered by the rubble. Flipping open the file to look for the pictures taken at the scene, Jim hardly had time to rifle through them when Blair burst into the room.

"You are not going to believe what I found," Blair said, waving a folder he held in his hand. "When it started looking like there was no way to predict who was going to be at the office when the whole thing fell, I thought, well maybe it didn't matter who died, and one reason for that could be that whoever did it had a grudge against one of the companies involved in the complex, trying to bring them down along with the building, so I searched to see what projects the three of them had worked on before, and okay, that didn't turn anything up, but I did find out about a fire that took out four lives and, like, nearly a block of condominiums that has some similarities to our case."

"Breathe," Jim said mildly at the first hint of a break in Blair's flood of speech. Inwardly he was a bit disturbed at the almost manic level that Blair seemed to operating on lately. He'd always worked with a 'full speed ahead' style, but now it seemed like he was as over the top as a five-year-old on Christmas morning right before his parents let him open his presents. Jim wanted to be annoyed by it, but the truth was that Blair himself seemed so disturbed by his own behavior, Jim didn't have the heart to do more than tease mildly.

Besides, joking about it seemed to call Blair's attention to the problem without upsetting him, and he'd throttle back on his own. For a while. The strategy worked this time, too, and Blair dropped into his chair, pushing his hair back away from his face. More calmly he said, "The cause of the fire was the wiring, which was the wrong gauge for the voltage going through it. It was considered a freak mistake in the manufacture as all records and eye-witness testimony indicated the correct wire had been used. One big difference between that case and ours was that the trigger for the short that started the flames was a space heater set up in the basement of one of the buildings, for no apparent reason."

Nodding, Jim saw the potential link between the fire and the collapse. "Both were a disaster waiting to happen because of a material defect that couldn't be detected with the naked eye."

"Two does not a coincidence make," Blair admitted easily, "But it might be enough for Simon to hold off on putting the case into cold storage."

"I've got more. Get this." Jim explained his theory, all the while studying the photographs of the site, especially those taken from overhead.

Finally he laid two of them aside. "There. I'm no expert, but wouldn't a bomb push up and scatter debris, causing a crater with sharp edges? And a cave-in would most likely leave a dimple to be filled in by the rubble falling. Which does that look like to you?"

"A crater, not a dimple," Blair agreed. "Don't know if that'll be enough for Simon."

"So we take a look in the tunnels as soon as possible, with Hill's help. I'm betting I'll be able to smell the explosive used, and he'll see the physical evidence in the way the rubble is stacked or whatever." Satisfied with the plan and the potential for success, Jim stood, this time taking Blair's jacket off the hook. "This calls for a decent dinner instead of leftovers or pizza. What do you say to trying that new Thai place on Walker?"

Punching Jim's stomach - gently, but not that gently - Blair said, "What, no demand for grease and cholesterol to satisfy the slob deeply hidden under all this muscle?"

With a playful slap on the upper arm in retaliation, Jim retorted, "With this nose I'm sure to find the unhealthiest, most artery-hardening dish on the menu, not that you'll know that because you'll assume from the ingredients that it's good for me."

Swinging again, Blair bopped away from Jim's next few shots. "Or you'll pick one that you think is bad, but in actuality, is made in such a way to undo all the damage."

Jim gave chase, maneuvering both of them out of the bullpen and down the hallway toward the elevators, stubbornly holding in his chuckles. "I'll eat what you do, or do you really think I haven't noticed you don't necessarily practice what you preach, especially when someone else is footing the bill?"

"Hey, who said you were paying this time?"

Blair connected a little too well on the part of Jim's arm that already ached, and in self defense, he wrapped his bantam-weight pugilist in a hug to put a stop to the mock-fight. Expecting the battle to devolve into a seriously undignified wrestling match, complete with Indian burns, Jim was caught off guard when Blair only hugged him back, hard. Though he thought it might be a distraction or ploy of some kind, he couldn’t help relaxing into the generously offered comfort. They had been at odds so much the last few months that he wasn't going to do anything that might hamper the two of them being on the same wavelength again.

It felt so damned good, as if he hadn't been held or touched in forever, and Jim laughingly spun them out of sight of the security cameras, as if still in combat, leaning back against the wall to take full advantage of Blair's warmth. He meant to pound on Blair's back a bit, or maybe plant a wet, sloppy dog lick on his cheek to harass him, but found himself resting his chin on top of Blair's head, eyes closed, enjoying the curls tickling so nicely. Blair hummed contentedly at him, so softly he wasn't sure if he heard it so much as he felt it.

How long Jim let himself linger in Blair's embrace, he didn't even bother to think about, and when it just felt right, he broke away to walk toward the elevators, draping an arm over Blair's shoulder. "Because I always pay for our celebratory meals," he said reasonably, as if there had been no pause in the conversation. "And you always make the consolation ones, heavy on the comfort food factor."

"Umami," Blair said out of nowhere, smirking at the eye-roll Jim would bet he'd deliberately elicited, doing his own bit to keep them in sync. "Bet you didn't know scientists have officially recognized a fifth taste called umami. You see, your taste buds recognize...."

Listening to Blair's usual chatter with half an ear, Jim noticed with relief that the hyper edge was gone from his voice and he was walking at more sedate pace - for him, anyway. With the vague thought that maybe he'd only needed to burn off a bit of excess physical energy, Jim let himself push their case to the back of his mind and anticipate some pad Thai. Though it was obvious Blair tried to do the same, by the time they were back at the loft, they had cobbled together a game plan for the next few days with an off-hand question here and casual comment there.

Surprisingly, Hill, the forensic expert, was absolutely unwilling to cooperate in looking at the damage in the tunnels. He fought doing so to the point that Jim began to wonder if he might have a motive for leaving the case unsolved, obscure though it had to be. It took several days of political in-fighting between various city departments, along with heated debate with the Commissioner and Mayor, to persuade all parties involved that the hands-on check was essential, but Jim and Blair managed it.

The work hours not spent in endless meetings on the subject Jim used to speak with every proprietor, businessman, craftsman, tradesman, steel worker, concrete layer, even the damned catering truck drivers, in the construction business that he could lay his hands on. It gained him more inside information on the buildings that had gone up in Cascade for the past five years than he would ever use. Strangely, he also garnered a fairly good idea of who he'd want to work for if he suddenly had a notion to change careers.

Not that he thought he could stand being a steel worker. He went home every day with his entire body pulsing from the sensory onslaught at the sites, head pounding in counter-point. It was so bad that Blair volunteered to do the rest of the legwork, but between the Chancellor and his normal class load, he simply didn't have the time to spend on it. Because he was both better at the meeting thing and the research thing, Jim unhappily left those to him when Blair could squeeze them into his already outrageously complicated schedule. At least he wasn't skimping on the sleep, usually getting in a solid eight, which Jim was tired enough to be jealous of, just a bit.

Despite that he insisted on being present when Jim, after signing waivers absolving everybody and their brother from responsibility if he were hurt, was granted permission to investigate the access tunnels. Hoping to avoid the worse of the chaos resulting from removing the rubble, they arrived early, before the sun was more than a promise on the horizon. Standing on the small mound of debris that had been cleared away from the bulkhead doors, Jim looked for Hill, trying to decide if he was surprised, annoyed, or both that the man wasn't there yet.

"Hey, what are - oh, it's you, Sandburg."

Jim turned to see Big and Beefy from their first trip making his way toward them, moving gracefully for such a bear-sized bruiser.

"Krieger, your mother let you out again? What a good boy you must have been!" Blair chirped, bouncing on his toes a little.

Saluting him with a single finger, Krieger lifted his hard hat from his bald head, scrubbing a hand the size of a dinner plate over his skull. "Guess you must have wore her out big time to put her in such a good mood, but, man, I have to tell you I don't understand why you're wasting your energy on her when you could be chasing all those pretty coeds."

"They're catching onto his ways," Jim put in dryly.

Guffawing, Krieger stuck out a paw. "You gotta be Ellison. I have to tell you, I think you're both playing with a deck that's a few cards short for going down there voluntarily."

"We don't have to go far," Blair put in earnestly, as Jim shook with the steel man. "You haven't seen Hill, have you? We know what we're looking for, but his expertise is what's going to have to stand up in court."

"So you guys honestly think this baby was brought down on purpose." Krieger surveyed the ruins around them. "Now that would take some doing. Why would they, anyway?"

"Good question," Jim said very seriously, rubbing at where his arm twitched and hummed. "Want to give us a hand with these? No reason we can't at least reconnoiter before Hill shows."

Eyeing the steel doors with an expert eye, Krieger said, "Won't do you any good. Nothing behind them but dirt is my guess."

"Still have to eliminate the prospect." Jim shrugged with a one-handed gesture.

Between the three of them they forced the doors, but Krieger was right: after the first few feet or so there was nothing but dirt and crumbled concrete mixed with jagged rebar. Expecting it, more or less, himself, Jim said philosophically, "Onto the next."

"You really going to try the garage access if it doesn't pan out?" Krieger said, falling in with Jim and Blair as they trudged across the startlingly clear parking lot.

"Worth a shot," Blair said cheerfully. "When the building went, it pulled the parking garage away from that entrance, and a lot of the debris on that side's been removed already. Not that I honestly think the tunnel is in one piece, but it's a possibility that has to be ruled out. Not to mention one of the missing people was their I.T. man, who would have a legit reason to be down there, so we might find signs of him. His is the last body that needs retrieved, too."

Krieger turned a bit pale and looked away, giving Jim the chance to bump shoulders with Blair in a silent warning that he was getting perilously close to saying too much about an on-going investigation. The nudge was all it took, though all Blair did was segue into a story about funerary rights of some tribe or another in Indonesia. To Jim's perceptions though, he flushed a bit and Jim caught a faint whiff of self-anger. Maybe it was time he and Blair had talk about this sudden increase in babbling if Blair was annoying himself with it.

When they arrived at the south tunnel entrance, Krieger excused himself with the claim he wanted to get a coffee, but he stayed long enough to help Jim and Blair open the doors. The way was clear for at least twenty feet, and after a minute's debate over whether or not to wait for Hill, they carefully went inside. It didn't take long for the dim light from a typical rainy Cascade morning to fade almost to nothing, leaving them at the mercy of the flashlights they carried.

Minutes later Jim realized that he was in big trouble. The ground surrounding them amplified the vibration from the noise and movement above them, smacking into his skin hard enough to make him wonder if he'd bruise from it. While the actual sound was muted, there was so much of it, and some of it was the creaking and groaning of the ruins, which he could not afford to ignore as it could be the only warning they had if the tunnel caved in on itself. As for sight - he instinctively pushed as far as he could to make the most of the light they had, reeling from the way the shadows would warp and bend with his attempts to make sense of what he saw. Smell wasn't bad, though he had to keep it dialed up in hopes of finding traces of explosives. Only taste was the only ability staying put, though it kept inching upwards in search of stimuli, as if instinct demanded all senses be working on the same level for some reason.

He would have backtracked out without saying a word, trusting Blair to understand the problems the location was giving him, but he caught a glimpse of something familiar. Stopping to brush his fingertips over the minute grooves in the tunnel wall, he nodded to himself in satisfaction. They were identical to etching he'd seen at the sites of other explosions. Blair had circumspectly questioned Joel about the phenomena and learned they were caused by tiny bits of debris moving very fast from the force of a blast.

"Micro-scratches?" Blair asked. At Jim's nod, he said softly but emphatically, "Yes! Evidence."

Heartened, Jim moved deeper into the tunnel, "There! You see that rebar? The ends are pointing toward us, instead of at the ground like they should if they were the result of a cave-in. Not conclusive, I know, but indicative."

"And there, just above eye level. Gouges anyone can see, radiating out." Blair took out a camera to take a shot to use as backup for the report of what they'd seen. "Scent got anything yet?"

With a sniff, Jim said, "Plain, ordinary gunpowder. Probably a home-made pipe bomb or something similar."

"So it's not likely this guy is a demolition...." Blair started, snapping the first picture.

The flash slapped into Jim's body, sending the dials beyond his control, beyond any hope of control, spinning them madly first in one direction, then the other. Sound either throbbed throughout his being as if to burst him apart, or was gone all together, leaving him in a silence that was insanely lit by an erratic strobing of black and brilliance that made it impossible to know exactly what he saw, whether it was close, distant, small or large. Touch was no help in orienting himself; he wasn't even sure if he still stood or if he had crumpled in on himself under the onslaught from his senses. Smell gagged him with its intensity without leaving him a single clue what it was that he scented, taste going along with the ride, so the even the faint traces of his last meal was overpowering, before vanishing completely.

Struggling to find a single landmark in his chaos, Jim brought his fists up to hit himself in the face, hoping the pain would provide him with a focus. He never felt the punch, either in his hands or his features. It was if his personal boundaries were gone, skin and bone erased by the torrent of information that he had no way to avoid, let alone harness.

Panic, which had ridden along the edges of the initial surge of his senses, wrapped around his heart and lungs, making the first pound erratically and the latter labor for air he could neither taste nor feel. Digging in with all his will, Jim closed himself off to all of it as best he could, ignoring what seeped past his efforts. Forget what was battering at him; choose what to see/hear/touch/smell/taste, he commanded himself.

The what was a given he didn't have to consider: Blair. He knew him the way only a sentinel could know another person, to a depth made possible by the home, partnership, and life they shared. Going for scent first because it was from the only living thing in this pit, he dug in with figurative heels and sought out Blair's fragrance.

To his immense relief it was there instantly, almost as if waiting for him to notice. With that as his building block, he grappled with the rest of the input, finding one insubstantial fragment after another of Blair's presence. They slipped from his grasp, and he stubbornly gathered them up again, each success, temporary though it might be, encouraging him that he was on the right track.

With the same abruptness that he had been pitched into the chaos, Jim pulled it all back into normal focus again. Later, when he wasn't so exhausted that even breathing was a chore, he would pretend to be embarrassed or annoyed by the fact he found himself with his back against a wall, legs stretched out in front of him like a child, and a lap full of Blair. He was caught up in a powerful bear-hug, Blair's legs tight around his waist, his own arms captured between Blair's chest and his own, and his face was buried in the curve of Blair's shoulder.

The truth was, though, that he felt sheltered, cushioned from the deluge of information that had almost beaten him. Even Blair's soft crooning of "Find my heartbeat, Jim, use it to center yourself, you can do this, I know you can," was soothing, another embrace to hold him in place. He let himself go limp against Blair, rocking with him ever so slightly as he figuratively and literally caught his breath.

Blair rocked with him, still murmuring assurances, though he had to know Jim was back in control. Why Jim was so sure of that, he had no idea, and the certainty roused enough curiosity in him that he actually gave the question serious thought, though it was more because he wanted an excuse to linger where he was, just a little while longer, than he truly needed to know. After a moment he decided the answer was pretty obvious: the timber of Blair's voice had changed and his vitals were standing down from 'battle ready.'

In fact.... Jim frowned, because he was positive that Blair was blaming himself for what had just happened, though it was Jim's fault for not being ready for the flash. It wasn't as if he hadn't known that Blair was going to use the camera, for god's sake. Jim's frown deepened. In fact, Blair was going beyond blame, and into fear - the one that Jim was all too familiar with himself.

Unsurprisingly, Blair was afraid that he was going to fail his partner; that he would not understand quickly enough, have enough of the right information on tap, find himself unable to give Jim what he needed to survive as a sentinel. Much as Jim understood the power of the fear of failure, he stayed silent because Blair would not trust any words that Jim might have to share in encouragement. Blair's tool of choice was language, so of course he couldn't help but be suspicious when anyone tried to use it on him.

Perhaps that was why he had so easily accepted the deeds and actions Jim had always preferred to use as communication. Likely Blair saw them as a more honest, pure way to converse, which was a point, in Jim's opinion, as it was harder to put a lie in what is done than in what is said. As far as Jim was concerned, it was cleaner, too, as words could be twisted so easily, which lawyers and their ilk proved on a daily basis.

So Jim took advantage of the slight loosening of Blair's hold to ease his own arms around Blair in return, sighing almost silently at the simple animal pleasure of holding and being held. As he expected, Blair's all but audible internal litany of doubt and self-castigation slowly faded until all Jim sensed from him was the same uncomplicated enjoyment. Despite duty, obligation, and the growing level of activity from the work site above them, he stayed exactly where he was, waiting for Blair to make the next move.

As luck would have it, he heard Hill calling for them, and reluctantly stirred. "Now he shows up," Jim groused.

With a last squeeze, Blair shifted, got his knees underneath himself and stood. "Our tardy forensic expert?"

"Yeah." Head tilting to one side, Jim added dubiously, "He's afraid? Of being late?"

"Maybe his mommy was very unforgiving of tardy little boys," Blair snickered. More seriously he said, "Senses in hand?"

Jim grimaced and stood himself. "Unhappy, but behaving themselves, more or less."

"I'm...."

"You did nothing wrong," Jim said firmly. "Nothing. I should have been ready for the flash, not that it wouldn't have taken much of anything to topple me over, bad as it is down here." He touched one of the gouges in the wall. "It was worth it."

Leading the way to the surface, Blair said, "Well, we have proof of murder, at least. Method is established, sort of, but, man, we are nowhere near motive or opportunity."

Despite going along with Jim's change of subject, it was clear that Blair hadn't given up on his guilt. For the time being, Jim put away the argument himself; he would find an opportunity to get his point across in a way that Blair wouldn't be able to doubt. Instead he said, gesturing to take in the entire ruins, "I think this is one case where method is going to lead to the rest of that particular trinity. Once we know how those beams were weakened, we'll be that much closer to the who. I mean, how many people could possibly have been in the position to accomplish it?"

"Point." Shielding his eyes against the growing brightness from the entrance, Blair waved at the shadow that momentarily eclipsed it.

"You found what you were looking for?" Hill said, managing to sound prissy despite his clear astonishment.

"Yes," Jim said flatly. "As soon as we can find a way to stabilize the tunnel, we'll be bringing in a full forensics crew to confirm, and what we've got will be enough to get the go ahead for it."

"Want to see for yourself?" Blair held up the camera to indicate the method he meant, but, to Jim's surprise, Hill went back a step, terror pouring off him, before he realized what Blair meant.

Considering that very, very carefully, Jim watched Hill hastily gather himself and take the offered camera. "Only two shots?"

"Hey, no need to stay down there longer than necessary. Between this and our report, it's enough." Blair said reasonably.

"I... Yes." Following Blair's lead, Hill walked away from the tunnel. "You know, I've made this sort of destruction my life's work. I've seen the results of terrorist bombings, arsonists, and just plain bad design, and it still astounds me that this was planned in what has to have been an extremely patient, methodical manner, and for no good reason that I can see."

"Yeah, that's stymieing us, too." Blair admitted cheerfully.

"Thing is, I think I may have seen something like it before."

"What?" Jim barked, grinding to a standstill, bringing Hill and Blair to halt with the tone of his voice.

Seemingly both befuddled and apologetic, Hill looked around, saw a stack of beams set to one side, and sat on one. "You know I work mostly for insurance companies, right? Trying to prove malfeasance, in most instances, not that I don't see my share of criminal court, but I don't automatically think, 'mass murder' when I go into the remains of a building and find the unexpected."

"What did you see it as, then?" Jim asked, shortly.

"Good fortune." Hill fussily adjusted his hard hat, then brushed at his clothes as if he found the dust on them especially distasteful, but finally gave up the delaying tactics. "About two years ago I investigated the collapse of a gym that had been built attached to Tacoma Central High. It had been gradual, to the point that it had never been a danger to anyone, though the builder and the architect were mystified as to why it crumbled. Finally, they pulled it down and sent me in to see who was going to pay for the loss.

"I found that the primary drain lines that had been installed for the plumbing to connect to the city sewer had crumpled, almost as if they'd been made of tin foil instead of heavy gauge steel, which was almost the case. So most of the water from the bathrooms and what have you had been pooling under and in the foundation instead of draining away. All it would have taken was on seriously heavy rain - not uncommon there, though they'd been enjoying a dry spell - and the whole thing would have come down in a crash, probably taking at least half of the school with it.

"Records and bills of lading showed that the proper piping had been bought, paid for, and used, so it was eventually chalked up to an act of God and the insurance paid off on it. Personally, I could never accept that, but couldn't find a better explanation."

"Whoa," Blair breathed. "That is close to what our guy does. Maybe a first try for him. Whether he's a serial killer or simply a sociopath with a love of watching buildings crash, it's likely he's made earlier attempts that weren't successful or he wasn't exactly sure what he wanted, yet." He waved at the rubble around them. "I mean, it would have to take some practice to get this done right."

"That," Hill said, standing and pursing his lips as if in disgust, "Is a perfectly horrible idea."

With that he stomped away, leaving Jim staring after him.

"What are you thinking?" Blair asked softly.

"That it's odd that he was at another deliberate collapse, and that he didn't want us in the tunnels."

"Huh." Blair shook his head as he headed toward the truck. "The first, not really, if you think about it. After all, his area of expertise isn't exactly common, so he's bound to have worked some of the buildings that we'll be interested in. It's like how I got acquainted with Krieger. I went to the union building, thinking that maybe someone had a grudge against one of the companies involved here and that would be a good place to pick up on any talk about it. He's a union shop Steward and was there listing prospective hires at various sites, because you know, there only so many places going up at a time, and some positions are very specialized. There just aren't that many people who can work a tram crane, for instance."

"And the tunnel?" Jim asked, genuinely curious.

"Not want us in there or not want to be there himself?" Blair pointed out reasonably. "Maybe he's just seriously claustrophobic."

"Still, if he's fairly unique in what he does, he could be making work for himself. Money is always a good motive. And he has the know-how necessary to arrange the sort of destruction we're looking at."

"How'd he do it, then, without calling attention to himself?"

"Point." Taking his keys out of his jacket pocket, Jim froze, staring at his truck, suddenly not sure he could handle the impact of the drive on his senses. Normally it was such a commonplace thing in his life that automatic pilot handled it nicely, even when he couldn't trust himself to do much of anything else. But now the world was still wobbling around the edges, like a heat mirage in the desert, and he had an abrupt terror of losing focus again while driving.

He glanced at Blair to catch him sneaking a peek at his watch, apparently concerned about getting to the university without being late. That ruled out him taking Jim to the station; it would take too long for Blair to get back to Rainier. For a moment Jim silently argued with himself and his conscience. Despite his acute sensitivity, he'd be able to handle the input while driving; he'd done it before. There was no reason to make like a selfish, self-centered dick and inconvenience Blair, probably acting like an asshole on top of it because he had to ask for help.

A particularly loud and virulent jackhammer started pounding from what felt like two inches away, forcing Jim to reconsider the decision he had been on the verge of making. All of his abilities throbbed with the machine, promising to do so for a while, long after he was out of range of the thing. He sighed, ready to surrender, but before he could, Blair turned to survey the street beyond the parking lot.

"Good, there's a bus stop nearby," Blair said distractedly. "If you want to hang around here for a while longer or have some place else to go besides the bullpen, I can catch the cross town to the U and save you a trip."

Irritated for no damn good reason, Jim stomped down on his first reaction and quickly considered all the options, not just the ones that would suit him. After all, Blair had his own work that had to be done, much as Jim wanted his attention on their case, and it had to be done at Rainier. It wasn't as if....

Jim yanked his own line of reasoning to a stop. Blair's job had to be done in the classroom, but at the moment, Jim's was mostly paperwork. Theoretically, what he had to do could be done in any office. Including Blair's.

In the split second after Blair made his offer to make his own way back to school, Jim decided. Handing Blair his keys, he said, "I don't think it's a good idea for me to be behind the wheel right now, Chief."

He didn't miss the quick flash of aggravation tinged with anxiety, but Blair killed that reaction almost instantly. With genuine concern, he said, "No problem, man, I'll get you to work."

"Actually, I was thinking I'd go to the campus with you. I can use your computer there as easily as my own, along with your phone, and that's all I really need right now." Because Jim thought Blair might need a little persuading to accept such an uncharacteristic suggestion from him, he added, "And you'll be close if it all goes bad again. I do not like the idea of having one of the guys in the bullpen call for a wagon because of another overload."

Without a trace of the relief that Jim knew he'd feel himself, Blair nodded. "Yeah, I can see your point there. Honestly, though, if you're going to stay clear of more building sites for a while, you should be okay."

He got in the truck, still talking, almost to himself. "I mean, you have a certain amount of tolerance simply because the city itself is a pretty overwhelming place; you probably just need a chance to fortify your defenses, so to speak. Which, come to think of it, would probably best be done in a familiar environment, but not one you're so accustomed to that you can already dismiss all the input, so yeah, my office would be good."

"You won't get in trouble for letting me use your equipment? I know Edwards via your department head is on you about every little thing." Jim said, after walking around to get in on the other side.

"Unless you go surfing for porn, it'll be okay. I'll just tell all concerned that I'm doing a tit for tat thing to convince you to speak in one of my classes again." Blair grinned as he belted himself in, a hint of wicked in the expression. "They won't like it, but since I'm obeying the most recent mandate to find cost-free ways to enhance curriculum, they won't be able to complain about it, either."

Eyeing him suspiciously, Jim did the same and said, "Does this mean I'll actually have to get up in front of your students again, all the female ones glowering at me because I'm not you?"

"And all the male ones getting in your face because they wish they were you," Blair shot back cheerfully.

"I was afraid you'd say that." Before Jim could add anything to that, Blair started the truck and the vibrations caused by the engine almost sent him off into bedlam again. Somehow he endured it, but when a tow truck went by, lights flashing, the impact on his sight had him teetering on the edge. Without thinking, he blindly groped for Blair's hand, not sure that he'd even feel it when he found it. Strong fingers closed around his wrist, pinching just tight enough to pull him back to himself, and he dropped his chin to his chest to take a long, slow breath.

"Jim?" Blair asked worriedly.

"Give me a minute."

Blair did, driving one-handed slowly and cautiously, warning Jim when he thought they were about to encounter something that would put a strain on his control. Eventually Jim relaxed, slumping in his seat, trying to imagine the flood of sensory information as if it was the rush from a parachute jump, with Blair's sure touch like a rip cord in his hand, promising safety. It worked to the degree that he was able to put his head back on the seat, actually somewhat enjoying the novelty of not paying the slightest bit of attention to what his senses were throwing at him.

After a long quiet, Blair asked tentatively, "Everything good over there?"

"More or less."

Blair gave a faint squeeze that Jim interpreted as a mix of both reassurance and curiosity. "So I'm like an anchor for you in the maelstrom?"

"More like a, a standard to measure by, or maybe a pattern to match." Jim sat up a bit straighter because that didn't sound completely right, but he couldn't think of anything that would describe what Blair was doing for him.

Apparently misunderstanding Jim's sudden tension, Blair asked, "You okay with this?"

Like in the tunnel, Jim could read far, far more from him than the words themselves. Blair really meant not just this overload, or even the one in the tunnel, but with his part in Jim's coping with them, forcing him to rely on someone besides himself for command of them. It was on the tip of Jim's tongue to say that the only problem he had with depending on Blair was getting used to it, only to lose it down the road to Blair's career or wife or just life itself, but he didn't get the chance.

On the heels of the question, Blair added, "Not that I expect you to act like a homophobe or something because I'm holding your hand so to speak, and, man, I know how comfortable you are with your own masculinity and orientation, but everyone's got their limits, you know? And I was practically sitting in your lap at one point; that would freak almost anyone out, let alone a seriously straight man like yourself."

Understanding that Blair was providing an out for himself because he wasn't certain he wanted to hear an honest answer, Jim countered, "How about you? Your definition of personal space is pretty flexible, but this has got to be pushing it even for you."

"Always has been," Blair agreed calmly. "No surprise, I'm sure, given the way I was raised and my chosen profession. As far as you're concerned...." His voice trailed off as he considered his response. "It's like I don't have any at all. Hanging onto you with all four limbs was damned reassuring under the circumstances, and probably would have been on the nice side if I hadn't been terrified out of my mind."

Pleased, though he couldn't say why, Jim said, "I'm the opposite, I guess. My boundaries are more or less set in concrete with hard-core rules and regulations about who gets how far."

"And I'm pretty much the stubborn goat head-butting through them as needed," Blair said, trying for a humorous tone and getting it, for the most part.

To his own utter shock, Jim said without thinking, "No, you just slipped right past all of them and set up housekeeping, as if I wanted you there without ever realizing that I did. Now I can't imagine it any other way."

Thankfully, they arrived at Blair's parking spot at Rainier at the about the same moment as Jim's announcement, and the mechanics of pulling into place amidst an out-flow of traffic absorbed any reaction that Blair might have had to make beyond a quick, startled glance. From habit he looked at his watch as he took the truck out of gear and yelped before scrambling out. Jim followed at a more leisurely pace, glad that Blair's habitual tardiness gave him the opportunity to recoup from his own surprise.

Oddly, he didn't really need it. In part it was because Blair said over his shoulder, "You've got the dials nailed, right?" At Jim's nod of yes, he took off at full speed, but wore a wide, happy smile as he went. And that was the biggest reason Jim was certain he had no reason to regret being completely honest with both himself and Blair for a change.

Aware he was wearing a pretty broad grin himself, he went to Blair's office and settled in for more marathon phone calls. His first was to Simon giving his whereabouts and why. From there he compiled and started down a long list of agencies in the Northwest who insured larger buildings and/or their owners, looking for disasters that may have had human help in the making, or at least unusual natural assistance.

As the day progressed, Jim tried to make an effort to leave Blair's desk free for him as he came and went for class or meetings, especially when he settled in to do paperwork or write. It seemed the only fair thing to do since he was an intruder in the one place that Blair had always seemed to prefer to keep cop and cop business free.

At lunch time Jim wandered over to the Student Union building to visit the cafeteria, which he had learned had surprisingly good food for a school. After choosing a few things that a busy but hungry grad student could eat one-handed while multi-tasking, he carried the resultant meal back to Blair's office and went back to work himself, picking at the picnic-style spread he put on one corner of the desk. The next time through Blair slowed down enough to eat some choice bits, joking with Jim around bites, still trying to do half a dozen other things.

It gave Jim a whole new appreciation for how busy Blair had to be on a daily basis, above and beyond what he did at the department. From the bits and pieces of conversation he overheard from faculty and staff - deliberately eavesdropping out of pure curiosity - Blair did it all well, too. Most of the few negative comments could easily be attributed to either sour grapes, disgruntled students, or the sort of close-minded individuals that could be found anywhere. The positive ones made it clear that Blair was well-liked and respected, the business with Ventriss and the Chancellor's vengeful attitude notwithstanding.

Mulling that over on some level deep in his mind, Jim began to accumulate emails, faxes, and couriered files on what seemed like the demise of every structure within a two hundred mile radius. Wading through them took most of the afternoon and early evening, barely interrupted by really decent Chinese takeout. Blair, after finishing with official duties for the University for the day, started to work on his dissertation, barely looking up when Jim shoved chopsticks and a carton under his nose.

Jim gave up before Blair did, creating tidy paper stacks beside the couch before stretching out on it. At first he dozed more than he slept, letting his thoughts tumble this way and that through the information he'd soaked up as he read. From the case Blair found, the current one, and the one Hills had mentioned, he thought he had a feel for how their unknown worked, if not why. Erring on the side of caution, he kept three possibles in his mental file and put the others aside. Somewhere between a fire in a nursing home and a mall collapse, he fell into dreamless slumber, the best rest he'd had in a while.

At dark o'thirty, Jim woke when Blair stood, sighed, and stretched hugely before shutting down his laptop. "Man, I am so sorry. I completely lost track of time."

Glancing at his watch, Jim sat up, scrubbing at his face. "No point in going to bed; might as well go home, shower up, and head for the station. I need to write up a report for Simon, check out a few things I couldn't access from here, and I want to set up a board with a timeline for the likely candidates I've got. I take it the writing went well."

"I was smoking, too stoked to even get tired, so I'm up with helping you wade through those files, if you want a second opinion. You mean like the murder board the FBI uses? Found something?" Blair started filling his back pack and putting papers away in his desk.

"One, I'm sure of. Remember when the roof collapsed on that big mall in Brenton, Oregon a few years ago? Over thirty people died?" Jim did his own version of packing up, wishing he had a box, at least for the mass of paper he'd collected.

"That one was in the news for a week or so. The tank system for the artificial waterfall that made up one end of the mall was the cause, right?" Blair paused, mid-reach of his jacket, clearly remembering what he'd heard or read about the disaster. "The valves that were supposed to keep the rain-filled tanks from over-flowing were clogged, and the water backed up onto the roof of the mall, which wasn't built to take that kind of weight. The architect insisted that it wasn't possible if the mall owners had done the proper maintenance on them, and the owners said the architect had misjudged how much attention the valves would need." He stared at Jim. "You think they might have been sabotaged."

"The maintenance records matched what had been recommended and all the experts say that should have been sufficient to make sure the valves didn't fail, not to mention there were tell-tales that didn't work, as well," Jim said distractedly, putting on his own jacket. "The architect's reputation is sterling; he's done far flashier and complicated work than the mall. The mall itself was successful, none of the owners were in a financial position where insurance might have been useful. In fact, given it happened during the holiday shopping season, it would have been the worst kind of stupidity to tamper just then."

"Definitely sounds like it might be one of ours." Blair froze, eyes on the floor, long enough for Jim to pause in picking up his bundle, worried about what was racing through that hyperactive mind. "Ours," Blair murmured so softly that Jim wasn't sure he heard it. "Ours."

As if coming to a sudden decision, Blair put down his things and crossed to where Jim stood. Gripping him loosely by the upper arms, he said, "I want to keep working with you once the diss is history. I don't know how we'll manage that. Maybe I'll go for another degree in a different subject, something more useful in police work, but what we do together, how we do it - we save careers, lives, family, hell, even the ecology. No way do I want to walk away from that."

Jim had listened impassively, though his heart was thundering in his own ears. He had hoped, almost prayed, that Blair would want to continue as his partner, but he hadn't felt it his place to ask. There was simply too much risk, too much heartbreak in being a cop, however unofficially. Telling Blair that he always had a home with him was the closest he felt he could honorably come.

As if he thought Jim might have objections to his first argument, Blair dropped his eyes again. "And, honestly." He swallowed hard. "No way do I want to walk away from you."

"Good." Jim gingerly put his hands on Blair's waist, vaguely wishing he had an excuse to draw him into a full-body hug. "I've been dreading the day you do. We'll talk to Simon, see what he says about a consulting position or something, or even paying you out of the snitch fund if we have to.

"Hell, if it comes to that, more than one cop does a little moonlighting. Maybe you can take a position that I can consult on, like setting up expeditions or doing advance work for tourist excursion into exotic locales. We'll find a way to make it work."

Blair beamed at Jim, probably doubtful that becoming official partners would be possible, let alone easy, but reassured regardless. Blessedly he didn't need as much of an excuse to hug as Jim did; he stepped close to wrap his arms around him tightly. Jim soaked in the warm, solid contact, eyelids dropping down to half-mast in pleasure.

It struck him that simply holding Blair felt better than sweaty, naked sex with anyone else did, which really said sad things about his love-life, not that he could bring himself to care. He'd already decided that Blair was one of those things that any potential Mrs. Ellison was going to have to accept. In truth, thought, he no longer believed a wife was in his future because no woman really had a chance to get as close to him as Blair was.

That thought needed a more thorough examination - a much more thorough examination - but Jim set it aside to selfishly enjoy the moment. With his usual lack of self-consciousness, Blair let the hug fade away naturally, moving away to pick up his pack as if he hadn't interrupted his own getting-ready-to leave process. Following his lead, Jim gathered his own burden, but slung an arm over Blair's shoulders as they headed for the door.

"So you thinking of studying forensic anthropology? That's a lot of time in the morgue."

Making a face, one deliberately exaggerated, Blair shot back, "Maybe forensic psychology? New field, but I could get into being a ground breaker for it."

"Maybe go all the way and become a M.E. Yeah, that would give the 'doctor' in Dr. Sandburg a hell of a lot more weight when I introduce you. Your mother would love it. My son, the doctor, doctor."

"My mom?" Blair spluttered, torn between laughter and indignation. "MY mother? Oh, man, you're more a Jewish mom than Naomi is."

Despite his intention to keep a straight face, Jim had to laugh at that himself, and they continued the silly banter on potential professions for the two of them all the way back to the loft. While Blair was in the shower which Jim had magnanimously let him have first, Jim made the first of several phone calls that he hoped would get the ball rolling in securing an official position for Blair at the department. Simon didn't really appreciate being awakened on a sleep-in Saturday, but the information Jim had on both the case and Blair's decision to stay got him moving with only a minimum of bitching. Joel, like himself, was a habitual early riser and was already up, enjoying a cup of coffee and the sunrise from his back porch.

All in all, Jim was in an excellent mood by the time they had a good breakfast and arrived at the bullpen. Taking advantage of the quiet shift, they set up two white boards in one of the interrogation rooms where they wouldn't be disturbed and started writing. Before long they had a time line spaced out with the four structures they were fairly certain had been deliberately demolished, the specifics of owner, insurance, builder and other pertinent points lined up underneath them.

Once they were done, Jim sat back in one of the chairs, balancing on two back legs, twirling the marker through his fingers. "Not a single commonality that I can see."

"So we look at what makes them different from each other," Blair muttered, half-perched on the edge of the table and obviously already taking his own advice.

Weirdly, the first thing that hit Jim was the timing. In all four situations, there was a noticeable overlap between the destruction of one and the construction of the next. Thinking it through, he leaned forward enough to circle the dates in red. "He has to be intimately connected with each site, and it looks our suspect is involved with each while it's in progress."

"That's good, that's good." Blair got up to pace as best he could in the small room. "He wouldn't have to be there on a daily basis, but often enough that no one thinks twice about seeing him around."

"Even if he's seen close to the building materials," Jim agreed, turning it over in his head for himself. "Or maybe because he is? An inspector or delivery driver?"

Blair shook his head. "We looked at that angle when we thought it might be about money - none of our local people have worked at any of the out-of-state sites, and Hill's only worked the school."

"Who else would know their stuff well enough to be able to hide tampering so extensive it compromised the structures?" Jim pointed out reasonably.

In the background he heard two people enter the observation room on the other side of the two-way, but he recognized both of them and relegated their presence to inconsequential. For a second he wondered if he should mention them to Sandburg, but Blair was in the groove. Jim didn't want to derail him, and, besides, he had a pretty good idea of why they were watching and approved.

"Why use such differing methods?" Blair said reflectively, snapping Jim's attention fully back to him. "I mean...." He stopped, finger tapping on the first, the school gym. "This was almost passive. Do one thing and let nature take its course, literally. What if the suspect noticed that the piping was flawed or damaged as it was being installed and simply didn't do anything about it?"

"Like a serial killer and his initial victim? The first kill is often accidental." Jim knew he sounded doubtful; underneath that, though was a niggle of a hunch. "The second was more premeditated, but still a case of taking advantage of what was available, if you want to look at it that way."

"The next, though," Blair said, sounding excited, "That was planned from the start. Plotted. I'll bet, anticipated, too. I wonder if he watched?"

"Found where his thrills were," Jim mused. "Setting it up, making it happen when and how he wanted." He frowned. "Why not more kills then?"

"Yeah, yeah. The mall, only halfway planned, had the most casualties, and the two after could have easily had more, as well. It's like he's not really interested in that."

"What sort of serial killer doesn't want a major body count?" Jim mused.

Fingers bouncing on against his lips, Blair stopped to study the board again. "What kind...." He spun to face Jim and threw out a hand to gesture at the notes behind him. "He's not killing people! He's killing buildings. Think! It's exactly like the pattern of serial, but it's not aimed at the occupants, it's aimed at the structure, every time. First kill, almost accidental, second clumsy, no real pattern yet, only the promise of one, then he hit his stride on the third, the fourth shows signs of perfecting his ritual."

"Damn," Jim breathed, the front legs of his chair hitting the floor hard. "That could be why we're not finding any commonality between businesses or people involved. If it's not directed at them at all...."

"...we have to look at the commonalities between the buildings," Blair broke in excitedly. "Not the who, maybe so much as the why behind the construction. We're going to have to research the backgrounds, just like we would for a human victim. Who owned the land previously, why was the building put there specifically, were there any problems during the planning or preliminary construction?"

To coax Blair into showing off more of his reasoning for their unseen audience, Jim played the idiot. "What good will that do?"

"Because you catch a serial killer by studying his victims," Blair explained distractedly, already jotting in what he knew about each site. "Once you know who he targets, you have a better of idea of how he targets, when, all the necessary parameters you need to narrow the suspect pool so that you can begin to eliminate possible candidates and hopefully pinpoint your most likely perpetrator."

"That sounds like a direct quote from an academy text," Jim teased, eyes and fingers already flipping through a file for the pertinent information to put on the board.

"Quantico," Blair murmured absently. "Read up after Lash."

Jim let the conversation lag, not because he couldn't think of more ways to keep the banter going, but because he wanted to hear the quiet conversation Simon was having with the mayor on the other side of the two-way mirror. Head bent over his papers as if all his concentration was on that, he stifled a smile at Simon's muttered, "...doesn't even know there is a box."

"And you say this is typical input from your Dr. Sandburg."

"Almost doctor," Simon put in carefully. "And yes. And I want to keep it, if at all possible. Not only does his contribution help close and convict, but he also aids in the smooth functioning of my department in a wide variety of ways. For instance, he's helped our Australian exchange officer, Conner, adapt to proper procedure and process for the force, in addition to alerting her to some of the more confusing American customs, such as why rookies have tricks paid on them by senior officers."

"Commendable, but...."

"Mayor, that young man has been instrumental in proving that a mass murderer has been operating with impunity in the Northwest for some years, and because of him, Cascade will have the honor of first, identifying his crimes and later, of bringing the criminal to justice. Not the Tacoma police force and D.A, not the Portland authorities, but Cascade's."

"There is that," The mayor admittedly, slowly, sounding to Jim's ears as if it hurt.

"We could, of course, keep silent about his participation, but frankly, after that mess with Ventriss, Rainier could use a little positive press. How long do you think it will take Chancellor Edwards to 'leak' that one of her Ph.D. candidates, nearly ready to defend his dissertation, was key in breaking the Cascade Demo-man, or whatever catchy name the press comes up with for this nut job."

"I don't see why she would even know about Sandburg's involvement."

"Because his dissertation is being written about this police force, in part," Simon said. Jim crossed his fingers that the mayor wouldn't ask for more specific details; he didn't trust a born and politician like him with the truth of what he could do.

"Who approved this?" the mayor asked suspiciously.

"Your predecessor, more or less. Sandburg submitted the proper paperwork for ride-along privileges, including details on the information he was seeking and how it would be utilized once his research was complete. I have the original forms, if you need to see them, or I can arrange for him to explain himself to you directly. In addition, he's written several professional papers based on his work with us, which I also have copies of. You'll find the force portrayed very favorably."

There were several long moments of silence that had Jim invisibly sweating. He hadn't told Blair that he'd read those papers and then shared them with Simon, for reasons that he couldn't quite explain to himself. For that fact, he wasn't sure he was even supposed to know about them, not that Blair had tried to hide his labors. But he'd never discussed them with Jim, either, and for the first time Jim had to wonder why.

"These are very erudite," the Mayor admitted after a few minutes of silence, breaking into Jim's mental meandering. "Well-received?"

"Yes; there are highly complimentary letters of comment from various professors of note that I can provide, if you like. I'm sure that if you wanted a preview of his dissertation, he would be more than willing to do so, allowing you to vet the contents, if you felt it necessary."

As if, Jim thought, but it was a good offer to make. If the issue came up, he was positive that Blair would be able to obfuscate around the mayor's 'editing,' if not avoid it all together. It also sounded as if the mayor was beginning to come around to the possibility of making Blair an official part of the department, probably visualizing how he could use Blair's accomplishments to further his own political agenda.

A soft tap sounded at the door to the observation room, and Joel let himself in. "Captain, I have those numbers you asked for, including a breakdown on Sandburg's participation in various cases. You also asked for benchmarks on the salary of civilian consultants in other cities. As you can see, most use billable hours, using extensive documentation to prove their involvement. However, there are instances where grants obtained by the consultant for their police department have been used to cover a portion of an established salary."

"Sandburg's a genius at grants," Simon said thoughtfully, as if to himself.

"Hey, you still with me?" Blair said, jarring Jim back into the interrogation room and the now well-scribbled-over board.

"Sorry, just thinking about all the repeat interviews." Jim's tone was just short of sharp, caused by his embarrassment at being caught not paying attention.

To his surprise, Blair flopped down beside him in another chair, leg brushing Jim's. "At least we won't have to go back to the building sites; phone calls should cover most of this; that or a chat in the office."

Chagrined that Blair was worried about another overload, Jim started to downplay the stress, but instead blurted without thinking, "No, I have to go to where they're putting up new buildings. He's a serial, Chief. He's already got his next victim lined up and is doing his version of stalking."

"Oh, my, god," Blair breathed, hands going up to tug at his hair. "You're right, you're right. And we don't have enough info yet to eliminate any major structure going up anywhere in this region. How in the hell do we check them all?"

Too aware of their audience, Jim stood, pushing the white boards until they were face-to-face. "We can't. We can't even warn potential targets without more proof and approval from higher up. Time to brief Captain Banks on what we've got and talk with Hill again. If we could get a handle on how this guy got his hands on the materials he substituted in the last two cases, we might be able to catch him in the act this time. Hill is our best bet for that, I think."

Jumping to his feet to scoop the files into a stack, Blair nodded unhappily. "You're right; no way to avoid more visits."

Though he knew perfectly well why Blair was concerned about that, Jim said as he opened the door to leave, "Simon's aware that you're on a push to finish the diss, and he approves. Not to mention that with the strong possibility that another building will be going down, he's likely to assign more people to this to help with the drone work."

Following Jim out, Blair caught him by the arm, fingers rubbing at the spot on Jim's bicep where the lingering effects of too much sensory stimulation had a tendency to announce itself with a throbbing ache. "I'll see if I can't come up with a way to help tone down the way your body is responding to all the input. Maybe a different kind of dial - a sliding one, so you've got a finer degree of control over the level."

"Wish there was one that acted like filter," Jim grumbled, softly, though he was certain they wouldn't be overheard where they were. "The way you do for me when you're there to give me a hand. It's like you actually take away the useless part of it, or make it easier to focus on the pertinent stuff."

Blair said slowly, "You use me to mask what is being thrown at you, not just calibrate the dials?"

"More like it just happens. Why?" Jim stared at him, eyes narrowing as he all but saw Blair's brain take off on some tangent he couldn't begin to imagine. Or worse, he could imagine at least part of it, and he added half-facetiously, half-worried, "No tests. Not now, in the middle of all this. I don't know what they could tell you besides how whacked out my senses get when I'm stressed."

"Actually, I've got that fairly well documented," Blair said absently. "And visa versa. It's the combination of both at once that's important here, and finding a solution to draining off at least a portion of the residual."

Abruptly he came back to the here and now to grin cheekily at Jim. "A whole 'nother chapter, not that I need one. I meant it when I said I had enough for ten dissertations. If I thought Edwards would let me get away with it, I'd submit them all, too, just to see my committee's reaction. And hers."

Privately Jim didn't believe that Edwards was going to be that much of a problem for Blair before too much longer, not that he had any proof to go on for that opinion. Unless, of course, past experience could be used as evidence, and he hid a feral grin because he was willing to bet that was just the case in this instance. Edwards had better be looking in her rear view mirror.

Aloud, he said, "Let me know if you do, so I can watch the fun."

Anything Blair might have had to say to that was lost when Simon came out of the observation room, causing one of Blair's eyebrows to lift in surprise. Simon very deliberately swept them both down the hallway, demanding a status report on the case, allowing the mayor and Joel to make their escape the other way without Blair seeing them. If Blair thought there was anything odd about Simon's behavior, he didn't mention it, but started convincing him that they had a reasonable theory to work on.

That didn't stop Blair from occasionally casting a suspicious glance at Simon, and then at Jim when he realized that Jim didn't see anything odd with Simon being there on a Saturday without an emergency in progress. And that Jim apparently thought it perfectly normal for Simon to calmly accept their reasons for believing that the buildings themselves were the prey, not the people in them. It suited Jim just fine to have Blair off balance for the time being; it would make the surprise that much more entertaining when they finally let him in on what Major Crimes was up to on his behalf.

Hiding a grin, Jim sat back and took what pleasure he could in the moment. He had a feeling there wasn't going to be much to smile about for too long a while.

***

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Jim concentrated on bringing his dials down below normal levels in preparation for surveying, one sense at a time, the last construction site on their list for the day. Not that it helped much, given that the deluge of sensory information was still there; the dials only helped him ignore the bulk of it in favor of what he specifically wanted to take in. Despite his best efforts, the sheer volume of input in these places still hammered at his nerve endings, leaving a lingering effect that he couldn't shake off.

"You know," Blair said quietly, from his side of the truck, "For once we're not working against the clock to catch the bad guy. The methods he uses require patience, perseverance, and stealth. That gives us time."

Not opening his eyes, Jim put his head back on the seat. "The problem is that the only way I'm going to spot the sabotage is if I know what each place should look like as opposed to what it does look like. I won't know if he's made his move if I can't compare the before and after. And we're just guessing that he likely hasn't tampered yet, if he will at all."

"It's a solid guess," Blair defended, brushing his hair away from his face and frowning. It was his data they were working from after all, but Jim could tell he was confident in it, at least. "We have four solid cases that have three of four elements in common."

Jim recited, "An occupied, in decent condition, building was torn down for a new one; except for the mall. A man with more money than common sense was involved in all of them but the condos. There were delays and construction issues from the first on all except the business complex, and the school gym was the only one that didn't have some legal proceeding against it at some point."

"I'm certain that we'll find that the missing factor that truly ties them all together will be a personal one, such as a son who went to the school, a wife who lost her shop because of where the mall went up, and so on." Blair said distractedly. "But what we've got has allowed us to eliminate dozens of potential targets." He went back to his original objection. "Which doesn't mean...."

"In the jungle," Jim broke in, vaguely surprised that he didn't sound at all snarky, "You learn very quickly what sounds or smells or whatever means danger. Same for combat situations, though the trick there is discerning the degree and immediacy. Both translate fairly well to the streets, or at least it did for me."

"But this is too subtle," Blair said, not asked. "Not imminent danger, but potential."

"Which is why we've been rotating through the local 'at risk' buildings at different times of the day and levels of activity," Jim unnecessarily reminded him. "It's not much of a chance, but at the moment it's all we've got."

"Wearing yourself out now isn't going to help in the long run," Blair argued.

"I know my limits, Chief," Jim snapped back.

"Yeah, that's why you're not sleeping worth a damn and ache so bad you can't even make it through your regular workouts."

"Who... Brown! I'll...."

"Thank the man for being worried enough about you to ask me what was up with you!"

"It's none of his business how I'm doing my job as long as I'm getting it done, however and whenever I'm getting it done!" Too late Jim realized he'd put too much emphasis on the last few words, implying that if Blair had been doing the same, Jim wouldn't be in such bad shape. He fought to bring down his temper and modulate his tone because Blair was doing the best he could to accompany Jim when he went to one of the buildings in progress. It wasn't his fault that it wasn't very often, and Jim sincerely didn't blame him when it wasn't possible.

Taking a deep breath in the pained silence, Jim said wryly, "Well, fuck, that didn't come out the way I wanted it to at all. There goes my resolve to watch what I say when I'm pissed."

To his delight, Blair chortled, however weakly. "Let me guess. Lasted about, oh, eight minutes?" He leaned over and circled one of Jim's wrists with his fingers, massaging lightly over the heel of the palm. "Seriously, much as it must grate to know that he's out there, already planning and preparing, we can afford to ease up on the pace of the investigation, at least for a while."

"I don't think so, Chief." Jim could hear the fatigue in his voice, but it seemed pointless to hide it from Blair. "Our cover of trying to learn the construction business because of the last collapse won't hold forever. Sooner or later our guy is going to start worrying about us showing up at his job over and over to check things out. He'll abandon what he's got in progress and either go onto something else or give up for a while in hopes of us cooling too much to be able to catch him when he starts back up."

After a moment, Blair said, "Much as I'd like to disagree with you on that, I've been worried about spooking him, too. Most serials don't feel guilt for what they do, but he's no idiot. We hang out at these places long enough, he'll start wondering if we suspect what he's doing. I think his total confidence in being completely under the radar is part of what drives him."

"So let's get this over and get home. I'll even try that aroma therapy thing you got to see if it brings down the residual some." Jim got out of the truck, glad it was late in the day and most of the crew had left.

"Actually," Blair said, coming around the truck, "I have another idea that I think might help more. It's, ahhh, a bit more radical than the heated wrap and scented foot bath."

Jaw locked so tight he could hear the throbbing in the muscle, Jim said, "Right now I'd agree to stand on my head and chant 'there's no place like home' if it would get this damn overload out of me." At Blair's evil grin, he added in a mock-snap, "Don't go getting any ideas."

"Who me?"

Jim heard the honest humor in the innocent sounding comeback and mentally clung to it while he went to the first vantage point he'd chosen during a visit earlier in the week. Once there, he planted his feet as if expecting a blow, and cycled through his senses, not attempting to identify what he picked up so much as comparing it to memory. Once done, he let out a long, harsh breath, and proceeded to the next of the four spots he'd earmarked for recon.

Under the guise of telling a long, involved joke, Blair touched, patted and bumped him. Each contact, fleeting though it was, blocked enough of the irritation dancing along his nerves to make the prospect of opening himself up again that much less daunting. Halfway through the third check, Jim stopped in the middle of a visual sweep, for a moment not sure why.

Trying for a casual stroll, despite Blair stumbling after him because of his abrupt departure, he made his way to toward a young man near the electrical shed. Too skinny and with a bumper crop of pimples on his face, the kid was anxiously comparing a sheet on a clipboard to the contents of an odd a-frame contraption studded with long, slender bars holding rolls of wire. At Jim's approach, he gulped, but held his ground, holding the clipboard up defensively.

"I'm s'posed to do this," the kid blurted. "Well, only once, but I figger, can't hurt to double check, everybody's heard that all the new buildings are getting a major goin' over because of what happened with the Cortman Complex."

"Bet you guys are up to your asses in inspectors and safety engineers," Blair said lightly, putting the kid at ease.

"And how." He waved at the wire."The master electrician will go over this too, maybe with the shop Steward as a backup, checking against the specs on file."

"Maybe you wouldn't mind showing me exactly what you do," Jim said. "While some might consider all the different colors pretty, my guess is that they're coded in some way?"

"Oh, yeah. Yellow, for instance, is all for the HVAC - heating, ventilation, and air condition - system. See?" He held up the sheet so Jim could see the correlation between system, color, and interestingly, gauge of the wire.

While talking, the kid compared the tag on the wire, the number of them, and the color to his list. Lifting the plastic chip, Jim asked, "Is this the only way you know what thickness the wire is?"

"Ah, no, it's printed on the wire, see?"

"But you didn't look at that."

Puzzled, the kid waggled his clipboard. "Well, no, but I've never been told to. Quality control at the manufacturer and the shipping department would handle that. Not to mention we store them on well-marked shelves. I just check the amount that's supposed to be put in the wire puller."

"You mean," Blair said thoughtfully, "You have a machine that actually runs the wire through the conduit and what have you? This is the only human contact with the wire until it's connected at the outlet or breaker?"

"Saves a hell of a lot of trouble on these big buildings," the kid said, still sounding confused. "If you're thinking that there could be a mix-up, the electrician checks the labels again before letting the thing go."

"Thank you, you've been very helpful," Jim said absently, thumbing the end of a wire. He held it up to study the print on the plastic casing around the copper wire, scrubbing at it with his nail. "How difficult," he said softly to Blair, "Do you think it would be to substitute the right gauge for the wrong one and no one notice?"

Studying the label on the end of the reel, the clip on the end of the wire, and the wire itself, Blair said, "Not that hard, and nobody would think to actually examine the thickness of the metal itself as long as the visuals all agree or seem to agree. It wouldn't take much to smear the first few feet of the substituted roll, or to change the tags."

"I think we're looking at how the condos were brought down." Jim said, turning to leave. "Doesn't bring us any closer to the who, damnit."

"Wait, wait," Blair said eagerly. "It does. There aren't that many people who would have access to make the switch. I mean, our guy isn't going to do it in broad daylight where anyone can see. He'll have to do it right after the rig has been set up in the supply shed, and that's always locked because of the value of the copper. Man, you know how much a problem metal scavengers are for unoccupied or unprotected buildings."

"Good thought," Jim said grudgingly. "We'll see what kind of security they put on the condos while they were in progress. With luck that'll eliminate at least the majority of the casual laborers and all the steel men and heavy equipment drivers."

Blair fairly bounced along beside him. "Better than that. It's the same situation with the mall. Only so many people could get to those pump valves and they would have had to been damaged within a fairly specific time frame for the water to accumulate on the roof without being noticed."

Shooting him a wide grin, Jim said, "Cross reference the two lists." Before Blair could go on, he added hastily. "Yes, I know there are bound to be a good number of people on both because there are only so many skilled craftsmen out there, but it's a hell of a starting place."

With a complete change of mood, Blair tucked his hand into the crook of Jim's elbow, hanging on tightly. "Good enough that you can take a break, now, and get some rest!"

The stubborn part of Jim wanted to argue, to deny just how gray and blurred he felt from the weariness. The smarter part argued that Blair was right; rest now and be able to battle on in better condition when they got closer to their objective. To his surprise, the better part of him longed to simply give himself over to his partner's care, at least for a few precious hours.

In the end it didn't matter at all. They arrived at the truck and Blair took the keys from Jim's nearly numb fingers and shoved him into the passenger side of the truck. Slumped in his seat, Jim closed his eyes and concentrated on pushing away everything but his awareness of Blair's presence, succeeding so well that he didn't know they'd arrived at Prospect Street until Blair opened his door and gently tugged him out. Trusting him to navigate him to the loft, Jim blindly walked, hardly feeling his own footsteps.

He felt the cool and quiet of his home close around him and barely stifled a sigh of relief. Before he could fumble toward the stairs to his bed, Blair put his hands flat on Jim's chest and gingerly pushed him into the door, leaning his weight into him as if to pin him there. It wasn't the same as a hug, but it felt so damned wonderful that Jim didn't think to protest or make a joke. Wrapping his arms around Blair, he held on for all he was worth, willfully absorbing every tiny nuance of his friend, partner, shaman.

On some level of his mind he'd always known that Blair pleased his senses in ways few ever had and none so thoroughly, but he'd never bothered to give it much thought. Blair just was to him, like any force of nature. In the middle of a tornado the farthest thing from your mind was that it had been caused by the collision of a two weather fronts.

Snorting at himself in amusement, Jim dropped his nose to the hidden dip behind Blair's left ear, nuzzling to release more scent. It soothed him, along with the heat seeping into his over-tense muscles, and the almost subliminal murmur of Blair's heartbeat and breathing. For a fleeting moment he wondered if Blair's taste would be as pleasant as everything else about him, but Jim let the idea go without regret. It wasn't the right time to pursue it.

He didn't question himself as to why he was so certain of that, any more than he questioned how right it was to hold Blair so intimately. Above and beyond the comfort taken and given, being close to him felt like the first time he'd picked up his badge, or when Incacha had named him Enquiri: as if he had finally found a portion of what he needed without ever knowing he needed. Except with Blair, the satisfaction and elation was complete, filling his heart and soul to the brim, spilling over onto the scars that distorted both to heal and ease ancient hurts.

Despite that, he couldn't help but wish they could be skin-to-skin. He wanted to learn every line, every curve, every swell of muscle and rise of tendon on Blair's body with fingers, tongue, and his own flesh. It would be, he suspected, an orgy of sensation that would be as opposite to the overloads he'd been fighting as up was to down.

With a sigh, Blair eased back, and it wasn't until his erection dragged over Jim's as he did that Jim realized that they were both aroused. It wasn't burning or urgent, as yet, but it held a promise of passion that was very alluring in and of itself. He caught Blair's eye to see the fire there, but didn't stop him when he put a few feet of distance between them.

"You're not weirded out," Blair said, half-accusing, half-wondering.

Well aware that he was referring to not just their hard-ons, but to the calming effect from the full-body contact, Jim admitted wryly, "I'm not even weirded out that I'm not weirded out."

"Ooooookay." Blair puffed out a breath, stirring a curl clinging to his forehead. "Now that weirds me out. And on that happy note...."

"You're going to go write for a while," Jim broke in.

Blair shot him a puzzled glance, but only shook his head before retreating to his room. Climbing the stairs to his bed, Jim listened to him set up his laptop, muttering under his breath so quietly that he wasn't sure what he said except that it seemed to have something to do with a 'lifetime's worth of dissertations.' Smiling, he shed his clothes and crawled under the comforter, asleep almost before it settled around him.

Waking from a deep, restful sleep, Jim was mildly surprised that he hadn't dreamed. At the very least he'd expected the blue-tinged dreams that were his gifts trying to speak to him, if not wet-dreams of serious porno quality. As he lay in the warm hollow of the bedding made by his weight and stillness through the night, he realized that despite that, he'd already made up his mind about a good many things, including a few that should have shocked him into fucking into oblivion the first warm, willing female he could find.

Instead, he gave serious consideration to a sturdy, hairy male body and was wryly amused when his own body didn't have a single problem with what would be seen on the outside as a very abrupt switch. Silently laughing at himself - the change had only been nearly four years in the making! - he got up to go downstairs. Jim thought about dressing, but decided that the implied vulnerability of a robe and sleep-mussed hair might help the upcoming conversation.

The keys of the laptop were clacking in a fast, smooth rhythm, and Jim didn't disturb Blair's flow by speaking to him. In fact, he was a little pleased and flattered that Blair took his presence in stride, not distracted at all. He settled himself on the futon, back against the wall, idly flipping through the pages of Blair's precious "Sentinels of Paraguay" as he waited.

Before too long, Blair's fingers slowed in their frantic attempt to capture the words in his brain, and he finally sat back in his chair, arching his back to get the kinks out of it. He didn't speak to Jim, though, very clearly putting the ball in Jim's court, though he didn't really have a clue how to start. Oh, he knew a lot of what had to be said, but there didn't seem to be a good jumping-off point to get it all rolling.

For lack of anything better, Jim said, "How long have you suspected that you could cancel out the residual from an overload by touching me?"

"Since the day after the last bad one, when you told me that I somehow mask the input when it's overwhelming," Blair said, somewhat shortly.

"You realize that you get hyper before taking care of it, right?"

"Yes."

"And that when you get rid of the buzz for me, you calm down and get very creative?"

"Yes."

Snorting at himself in amusement at the role reversal going on between them, Jim twisted until he could lie on his back and stare at the ceiling. Not that it was particularly interesting, but the idea was to make Blair as comfortable as possible. Hard to come off as threatening when you resembled a big cat waiting to have his tummy scratched.

With another twist of his odd-ball humor, Jim asked, "Do you think it's got anything to do with what happened at the fountain after Barnesthebitch drowned you?"

That got a reaction. Slowly, almost menacingly Blair turned toward him. "You said you weren't ready to take that trip with me."

Accepting the accusation and anger because he deserved it, Jim nodded. "At the time, there was a psycho sentinel on the loose who had hurt the best human being I know, and she had several canisters of deadly gas, along with no compunctions about using it, and it was my fault for being a complete and total ass. Thinking about anything but shredding her into bloody bits took more concentration than I was capable of until I had hunted her down. I have no idea how I managed to appear as normal as I did. Practice, maybe."

"Oh!"

"Of course, in the grotto, you were the light that stopped the darkness from devouring me, which I had no problem with on a personal level, but was pretty sure that it meant I was screwed in the long run." Jim blinked, willing away the faint pang of tears because he had no idea how to explain them to Blair yet.

"Oh," Blair said, sounding pained.

"As I saw it, you hadn't been given a choice in the matter," Jim went on, hoping he could make Blair understand. "Incacha had dumped responsibility for the sentinel thing on you without so much as warning you what a burden it was. Then I went and dragged you back from the spirit world without bothering to find out if you wanted to be dragged back, both of which went way beyond our original bargain of studying my abilities in exchange for helping me learn control."

Plucking at a thread in the hole in his jeans over his knees, Blair said, "You hate being studied."

"Actually, I acted like an ass at first because I wanted to make sure you never lost sight of the fact that I was a person. You were already that important to me. I'm a soldier and cop, a good one, I hope, and I'm not so stupid that I didn't understand the value of the tests I fought so hard against. What you taught me saved my life a dozen times over."

Jim shrugged with his hands, lifting them toward the ceiling. "But after I read the first chapter, I realized how much of me was going to be in it and, yeah, that I hated. I was expecting a dry account of facts and figures; not a dissection of my life, my behavior and the motives behind it."

"The why is as important as the how," Blair defended softly.

"I get that, I really do." Jim considered, and made himself add honestly, "And I get how important the diss is in general. There might be others out there like me, who think they're losing their mind, or surrounded by people who are convinced of it. What you're doing could save lives, not just the sentinel, but all the lives he or she might touch."

"You've really put some thought into this," Blair said with so much surprise Jim could have been insulted by it.

Since he'd never given Blair any reason to believe that he'd ever given any of it an ounce more mental space than necessary, Jim shrugged again. "Not really. It was all just there in my head waiting for me to look at it, but I was trying very hard not to because it was the only way I had of not doing something incredibly stupid, like trying to make you choose me over the diss. You told me you would when I read that chapter, but even before then I knew it would have been wrong for so many reasons. You have no idea how relieved I was when you said you wanted to work with me after it was done."

Head dipping a little and rolling the thread at his knee between his thumb and forefinger, Blair confessed, "Your expression told me; that's why I hugged you so hard. But you know, it wouldn't have hurt to tell me some of this before now."

"It didn't feel right, and you're the one always telling me to trust my instincts." Jim sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, his knees touching Blair's. "But this does because I think you need all the facts before we go any further."

Jim leaned forward slowly enough that Blair could retreat if he wanted to, making his intent clear in his movement. Clearly startled, Blair tensed, but didn't back away. His hands fisted suddenly, as if he wanted to reach but had strong reasons not to do so.

Untroubled by that, Jim cupped Blair's head in careful palms and touched his lips to Blair's, inhaling sharply at the first sweet, satin contact. Their first kiss was everything that Jim had hoped, needed, it to be - had wanted his first kiss as Carolyn's husband to be. It was tender, cherishing, full of devotion and promises: a pledge toward a future shared that held many things, including passion and physical intimacy.

He drew back reluctantly, thumb skimming over Blair's lush lower lip. "It's your call whether or not we ever go any further than this, but you deserve to know that it's possible, that I want it."

"You're putting it all on me?" Blair's tone was a mixture of anger, wonder, and worry.

"Yes, because it's your life. We both know - know, Chief - that what we have now is good, will work for us in the long run if that's all you want. And I'd be happy with it, no problem, I swear."

Hesitantly, Blair traced a fingertip over where Jim had just touched, then repeated the action on Jim's mouth before dropping his hand back in his lap. "You're straight. I'm straight."

"I've had the occasional stray, curious thought," Jim admitted, heart pounding insanely from the simple caress. "Hard not to with some of the things you see in the Army and in Vice. That's it."

"Who hasn't?" Blair muttered distractedly. "Long way from bi-curious to a gay marriage, though. I mean, do either of us even have a clue about the mechanics of it all?"

"We're good at making do with what's at hand," Jim said, straight-faced and pun intended. "We'll manage, if it comes to that."

To his relief, Blair finally smiled, practically beaming at him. "Yeah, that pretty much sums it up for us, doesn't it?"

Returning the grin, feeling a little goofy and not caring in the least, Jim said, "Between your skill at improvisation and my habit of being prepared for everything, yeah, it does, doesn't it?"

Blair started to say something, changed his mind and frowned. "Making do with what's at hand," he repeated. "Making do...."

With one of the abrupt mental left-turns that Jim knew so well and still couldn't keep up with, Blair shot to his feet, pulling at the hair on either side of his head. "Our building killer uses what's on hand, works with what he's got already so there's no way to track the changes in material back to him." He stared at Jim. "I think I know what he did to the steel at the last collapse."

Accepting that Blair needed time to process their kiss and his own reaction to it, Jim stood. "Better call Simon."

Several days later, Simon, Jim and Blair stood in front of a stack of steel for a new building that they had not visited before, looking on anxiously as a worker followed Blair's directions, occasionally shooting him bewildered looks. "That," Blair said, pointing to what looked like an engine on a cart, "Is a diesel generator. Most of the big construction sites have a few on hand to provide electricity temporarily for the office trailers, the big spot lights, along with other things. They tend to run them almost non-stop, except for weekends or holidays, because the machine is made to work that way. It's actually more fuel efficient."

"Okay," Simon said with an air of 'get on with it, already.'

"So, seeing one chugging away with a bunch of power lines running from it is no big deal to anybody. It's the job of a few, very specific people to know where each one is and why it's running," Blair explained patiently.

"If you're thinking our guy used an arc torch or something with nobody noticing," Simon started.

"No, he used the electricity directly on the steel to create heat induction to weaken the girders." Blair pointed to a beam slightly isolated from the rest. "That one is the next to be used; it's been nudged into the right position to be craned up. Notice that it's on wooden blocks - non conductors. It's also coated with an insulator for a variety of safety and construction reasons."

Nodding to his helper, Blair watched as he stripped a power cord down to its wires and attached it with alligator clips to a small bare spot scratched into the edge of the steel beam. After making sure everyone was clear, he flipped a switch on the generator, slowing the throb of its operation for a hardly noticeable moment. Taking Blair's lead, Jim and Simon waited patiently, but Jim could perceive the heat accumulating in the girder almost immediately.

"How long," Jim asked, "would it take to get hot enough to do damage?"

"According to the figures a metallurgist expert gave me, not that long at all," Blair said. "And he said it wouldn't glow bright enough to attract attention unless you were specifically looking for it. Won't leave a noticeable mark, either."

Approaching gingerly, Simon held his hand over where the wire met the steel. "You can feel the heat, though." He looked around, nodding to himself. "The location is fairly isolated from the rest of the site, which makes sense, as you'd need room to maneuver for loading and unload. Nothing but wall on two sides, so no casual observers to worry about. I'll bet the complex that went down had a similar or better spot for their steel."

"As I said, there was some risk involved, not only of being caught, but of accidentally shocking one of the workers, but not a great deal, especially if you did it on a weekend night."

Something in Blair's tone warned Jim. "You said only specific people would be in a position to use the generators like this. You have a suspect in mind, don't you? And you know him."

Sadly, Blair said, "Yeah. I'm having a hard time imagining he's behind all those deaths, but he worked on all the destroyed buildings."

"That's circumstantial, Sandburg," Simon warned. "You're going to need more than that to build a case. The DA's going to scream for hard evidence."

Switching off the generator, Jim said in resignation, "Time for more legwork - lots more legwork."

***

Looking the observation window into the interrogation room at their suspect, Jim mused that in the end, like in most cases, what they really wanted was a confession. In part because it made a conviction that much easier, but, in this case especially, it was because it helped make sense of why the crime happened. Knowing the reason behind the lost of a loved one wasn't that much of a comfort, he knew to his sorrow, but it was better than chalking a death up to 'shit happens.'

Next to him, Simon took his cigar from his mouth and used it to point at the big, burly man in the other room. "He doesn't look like the type to sneak around and commit mayhem. You'd expect him to take matters into his own hands, in a big way."

"Story of his life," Jim said noncommittally. He disliked the man immensely, and not just because he was a callous murderer. The disappointment and sorrow that Krieger had caused Blair echoed through Jim as if it were his own. "There's quite a brain driving that mass, if his records are anything to go by. He's got multiple degrees in industrial safety and hygiene, and wound up being a head tool pusher because no one would hire him for a white collar job. Not that you could prove it, but I'll bet his appearance had a lot to do with that, along with the attitude he apparently doesn’t feel he needs to tone down."

"Tough, but no reason to kill people." Simon turned his back on the view, and twiddled with his cigar. Not bothering to try to make a smooth change of subject, he asked, "Sandburg almost done writing? The past few weeks, since we pinpointed Krieger as a suspect, he's spent more time with the department than he has with the U, let alone at home. Don't want to get him in trouble with the Chancellor this close to the end."

"Homestretch, I think," Jim said casually, hiding his smugness. "And since that investigative reporter's been biting at Edwards' heels, she hasn't had time or energy to worry about anybody but herself, let alone a lowly teaching fellow. Rumor has it she won't have a job in a few more days."

"Interesting that a scandal would crop up for her now," Simon returned, just as casually. "You know that if it comes to criminal charges, which it very well may from what I hear from the DA's office, Major Crimes is going to have to stand down because of Sandburg's involvement with our department and his history with her."

"Of course." Jim knew where Simon was heading, but had no intention of making it easy for him, if only because it would make it that much easier for Simon to cover his ass with the brass if it came to it.

"Which, of course, begs the question as to whether or not any of my people know this reporter, personally. Just in case Edwards gets the wild hair to claim police harassment because of Sandburg." Simon carefully didn't look at Jim, as if worried that he'd see a lie.

With perfect honesty, Jim said, "I've never met her myself, and I think if any of the rest of the bullpen had, they'd come forward with it. It's not exactly news that Major Crimes can't be involved in investigating Edwards."

"True, true." Simon rocked onto his toes a bit, trying to look thoughtful. "It's doubtful an anonymous tip would have gotten a reporter of her caliber interested in Edwards. She had to trust her informant, who likely had decent intel that simply wasn't police evidence quality."

"I can't even begin to imagine who would have the goods on the Chancellor and be able to get it to the proper person, too," Jim said, playing along with the don't ask, don't tell, but damnit, give me a hint game Simon was playing. "It had to be someone who works with the press on a regular basis so they'd know who would listen to them, and they'd have their own sources at the University if they're not affiliated with it directly. All it would have taken, really, was noticing that Edwards had spent more money than a Chancellor should have, and that her pet projects at the U were often funded by not-so-nice businessmen who suddenly were seen about town with lovely, young co-eds from the school."

"Not many people in that sort of position," Simon said reflectively.

Mentally thanking Orville Wallace for listening to his tirade against Edwards, which, not incidentally included enough intimations of possible offenses against her office that a child would have known where to look for proof, Jim waved away the difficulties. "More than you'd think, I bet. Like all criminals, she probably thought she was too smart to be caught and too important to fall under suspicion."

"Didn't occur to her that one of the people she was trying to ruin would have an ex-covert op, ex-army Ranger watching his back, either," Simon said softly enough Jim could pretend he hadn't heard it.

Turning back to the window, Simon said to bring them back to the job, "This guy probably thought he was too smart to get caught, too."

"Why wouldn't he? He's spent his entire life not being seen for what he really is, and his crimes were done in the same manner. You look right at the tampering and not see it."

Jim tilted his head, hearing Blair trudge out of the elevator. "Sandburg's here. Thanks for letting him sit in on the questioning. I'm pretty damned sure it'll get us what we want."

"In more ways than one," Simon said cryptically, taking his turn at being the one who had the answers and only hinting at them.

Letting him get away with it, Jim left observation, joining Blair at the door to the interrogation room, laying a hand on his shoulder in support. Blair flashed a grateful look up at him and briefly leaned into his side, subtly enough that the security cameras wouldn't see anything except one man assuring another. Not that Jim would have objected to anything from Blair up to and including a let's-get-down-and-dirty kiss.

But all Blair had been willing to share with him since Jim's confession had been subtle, if definite, contact that let Jim know in no uncertain terms that he hadn't retreated from their relationship. It was simply on the back burner while he dealt with all the other issues in his life, waiting its turn to be processed. That wasn't a problem for Jim, and he had the distinct impression his patience pleased Blair deeply, making it even easier to continue.

Taking a deep breath, Blair went into the room, bringing Jim back to the here and now so he could follow closely on his heels. Krieger glanced up at them, frowning at Blair and glowering at Jim. Effortlessly letting the evil look bounce off him, Jim sat in front of him, right beside Blair. Since he'd already promised Blair it would be his show, Jim leaned back in his seat, crossing his legs at the ankles, hands over his stomach as he apparently studied the wood of the table top while actually watching Krieger's reflection in it. From all he'd learned of Krieger, the man wasn't a brawler, despite his size. Announcing with his body language that he didn't expect a fight might put Krieger off his stride, as accustomed as he had to be to people assuming he settled everything with brute strength.

As Jim had expected, there was a flash of confusion in Krieger's expression, but he hid it instantly. Leaning forward, shoulders hunched and fists clenched, he glowered at Blair, who stared back at him, disappointment clear on his face. That seemed to disconcert Krieger even more, not that he changed his belligerent posture.

"Since I expect you'd prefer to go down swinging," Blair said quietly, "I'll lay it out for you a step at a time, and you can either refute it as we go along or try for the out-of-the park slam at the end. Your call."

Shaking his head, Krieger examined his own knuckles.

Taking that as a cue, Blair laid out the photograph of Tacoma Central High, as it had stood before the renovations. "Your alma mater. You were a big man on campus there, with letters in football and wrestling, and you led your team to the All State Championship in the latter.

"My understanding is that the biggest pain in your ass back then was Harrington Perry. Must have been a blow to your memories to have the perfectly good gym where you had so many good times torn down so that he could have a big, fancy field house put up with his name on it, just for ego's sake. Odd that you worked on that structure; with your experience you can almost pick and choose your jobs."

When Krieger only shrugged, Blair laid down a picture of the new gym with its sagging roof line and walls on the verge of collapse. "Bet you liked seeing that, though."

"Didn't cry any tears over it," Krieger said easily. "Pity the investigators didn't look a bit more closely at who provided the materials and their relationship with Perry. Might have found a few interesting tidbits."

"As a matter of fact, I did just that." Jim made his voice disinterested, and he half-closed his eyes as if bored. "Looks like Perry's already under a state investigation for various kinds of fraud, including faking quality control records for supplies in a company where he was a silent partner. No solid evidence as yet, but chances are good at least some of the piping used in at Tacoma High was seriously sub-standard, and he knew it. Charges could be in the offing on that as Perry managed to get his hands on a substantial part of the insurance - and the new field house still hasn't been built."

Vitals all over the place, as they had been from the start of the conversation, Krieger muttered, "Bout damn time."

"When did you notice that the main drainage lines were pure crap?" Blair asked. "You're very hands on as a tool pusher; you check everything your men are going to work on and with for safety's sake. And if they'd noticed anything odd about the pipe, they would have mentioned it to you before they would have to their own foreman."

"One batch of pipe looks like another. Who notices anything besides whether or not it's laying right?" Krieger contemptuously flicked the edge of the second photograph and sent it back towards Blair.

Ignoring the gesture, Blair laid down a picture of the wreckage of the Brenton Mall. "That was built on land taken from you by Eminent Domain, which was insult added to injury, since you were among the people who protested the plan to put a mall there in the first place. The location was damaging to the small businesses not far from it, as the by-pass to it diverted traffic from Brenton's downtown. In fact, the only members of the Brenton city council in favor of the mall were two wealthy men who owned the rest of the property. Interestingly, both have been fighting allegations of using blackmail and bribery to get their way in regards to the mall."

When Krieger didn't use the pause Blair gave him to speak, Blair leaned forward. "Strange that you were employed for its construction, too. And that you recommended an old friend of yours as the maintenance manager for the place. Who, since the mall was destroyed, has been hired on every site where you've worked as your second-shift relief."

"He gets hired on his own merit," Krieger spat out. "I don't featherbed."

"No, he's got a great record, but it doesn't hurt that you always recommend him," Blair said mildly. "As maintenance manager at the mall, though, he'd know the schedule for checking on the valves for the tanks for the waterfall, what usually fouled them, how to get to them without anyone noticing. He wouldn't turn on you, by the way, but it wasn't hard to find witnesses who saw you behind the scenes."

"So?"

Blair raised an eyebrow at the comeback, but only said, "Thirty-one lives lost, Rick. Thirty-one, including five children. How can that not bother you?"

Turning his head to one side, Krieger swallowed hard. Despite that, he said levelly, "We all go one way or another, and they shouldn't have been there in the first place. It was still being picketed; they were no better than scabs."

"That attitude won't win you much from the jury," Jim said just as levelly, pointedly not reacting to Krieger's sudden increased tension.

As if the by-play meant nothing, Blair put down yet another picture, this one of the condos. "You were on the crew for these, as well, and it had a lot of things in common with other places you've helped build that abruptly self-destructed. The most important was that you saw several safety violations, protested against them, and were shut down by the management, not once, but twice. Then three men were seriously hurt, one permanently disabled, and the company tried to blame them and refuse workers comp and other benefits."

Jim said softly, "Rich bastards putting in up-scale condos when what the country needs is reasonably priced housing, then they won't pay when decent, hard-working family men get hurt because of their greed."

With a sub-vocal snarl, Krieger pinned Jim with a vicious stare, but Jim kept his own eyes where they were, as he had all during the discussion.

Inexorably Blair put down the image of the ashes and ruins of the condos. "Four deaths. Bad way to go, fire is."

"Idiots had disabled their smoke detectors," Krieger muttered, gaze still pinned on Jim. "Died of smoke inhalation."

"Asking for it, huh?" Blair shook his head, and arranged another picture. "The guys in this place, too? Yes, you worked the construction; yes, it was being put up by an asshole with too damned much money and ego. This time it was family that got the screws put to them by the rich.

"Your sister and her husband were told that it didn't matter that they'd just bought their own home and that their new office space was nearly an hour's commute away. It didn't matter that they were leaving a perfectly good building which said rich asshole sold for more than it cost to build the new one, thanks to his less than stellar standards for the comfort and safety of the occupants. You weren't the one who filed the injunctions against him this time around, but the civil liberties lawyer who did it does lots of union work. Knows you by name, much as he tried not to admit that."

"Eleven deaths that time," Jim said. "What I don't get was the victims there were working Joes, doing what they had to for their paycheck. Just like you."

To his surprise, Krieger flushed and locked his jaw. He obviously wanted to defend himself, somehow, but whatever he had to say clearly would be incriminating. As if gaining strength from it, though, he said defiantly, "I'm hearing lots of what could be called circumstantial evidence against me. Not a bit of proof that I had anything to do with any of those disasters, except that I helped put them up. Not A Shred."

"Point," Blair said tiredly. "But it was enough for a judge to sign off on surveillance on you, Rick."

He flipped down the last photo of Krieger squatting beside the footer for one of the arches on the new museum going up on the waterfront. "Want to see the video? It didn't take an expert to see that you were tampering with the concrete so that it was no longer completely level. Tested it, too, and it had been altered so that it wouldn't set right, crumbling at the least provocation. With all the rain we get, it wouldn't take long for erosion to destroy the stability of the base, which arches depend on big time to stay up.

"My guess is that you were planning on giving one a good bump, one way or another, during a bad wind storm. Down she'd go, all the others with her, and there goes the museum being built by rich people so they look good instead of like the scum they are for destroying the homes of all the people who had lived in the area before they decided to turn it into a tourist trap."

Finally meeting Keiger's gaze, Jim let all his contempt, distaste, and disgust show. The man recoiled as if hit, and Jim gave him another punch with words as hard as he could make them."The question now is, are you going to have the balls to own up to what you did, including the deaths of those kids at the mall, or are you going to make like a rich bastard and make us fight this out in the courts?"

Softly, so very softly, Blair said, "Taking down the buildings had to feel good, feel right. I can see why you didn't want to stop, found reasons to excuse the loss of life. But all those people still died, Rick, and by your hand. It's time to pay the bill. Didn't you tell me once that was the difference between being a good person and being a waste of space? Paying what you honestly owe without welching?"

For a moment Jim thought that they still had a battle on their hands, but then Krieger put his elbow on the table and rested his head in the palm of his hand. "Sandburg, I knew from the moment I laid eyes on you that you were nothing but trouble."

***

All in all, it took longer to do the paperwork on Krieger than it took to break him. Hours later Jim signed off on the last report, listening to the disgruntled murmur in the bullpen about how fast the DA's office had announced the arrest of a serial killer. Not much after that his prediction about Edwards jumping on the bandwagon by releasing Blair's association with the case came true. Not that it was going to save her career, he mused, over-hearing the order for her arrest given.

Jim didn't think her final scramble to save herself was going to make a difference to Blair's cache with the University. Chances were that he was going to have more options on that front than he'd ever thought he'd have. And that, Jim thought in satisfaction, dropping the file in his out-box, was the name of the game as far as he was concerned: choices.

Sneaking a peek at Blair, who was finishing up his own paperwork, he considered mentioning what he'd heard. Blair was in serious mourning for a basically good man who had let anger, envy, and frustration erode him until murder seemed justifiable. It didn't take a shrink, Jim decided, to realize that the news on Edwards wouldn't cheer Blair up, coming as it did at the expense of another person, regardless that they had brought it on themselves.

Holding down a sigh because he had no idea what he could say or do that would help his partner, Jim sat back, preparatory to getting ready to leave for the day. Before he could, Simon came out of his office, calling together the other members of Major Crimes with a gesture. Including, Jim saw with some surprise, those who were already off duty or on another shift. They gathered in a semi-circle around Jim's desk, and Simon cleared his throat noisily, pulling Blair's attention away from his typing.

"Hey," Blair said with a false cheerfulness that Jim was pretty sure he was the only one to hear. "Something up?"

"It's tradition to celebrate the close of a case," Simon started blandly. Before Blair could interrupt, he held up a hand to silence him. "We know you're not really in the mood for it, and for good reasons."

"Thanks, man." Blair sat up a little straighter, his smile a tad more genuine. "I'll make it up to you next case by buying the first round."

Simon let the general murmur of approval sound for a few seconds before reaching into his inside jacket pocket. "Still, we don't want to let this one slink away un-noticed. The man was getting ready to do it again, Sandburg. You saved lives. That deserves some recognition."

Sensing something was up, Blair said warily. "Thank you, I think. What did you have in mind?"

With a flourish Simon pulled out a laminated card, holding it up so everyone could see it was the official ID of a paid police consultant. "How does a job sound?"

Jim, Simon, and all the others had the distinct pleasure of seeing Blair shocked into silence, jaw hanging open.

Killing his grin, Simon added sternly, "Provided you get those three letters after your name in a prompt fashion. How close are you to finishing the dissertation?"

Blair's shock blinked away to a shit-eating grin that had Jim mentally searching for an escape plan. It must have worried Simon, too, as he frowned. Before he spoke, though, Blair said airily, "As a matter of fact...."

He reached into his backpack and pulled out a manuscript binder. Giving it to Simon, Blair said, "My copy. My committee already has theirs."

"The Search for the Modern Sentinel," Simon read aloud from the label on the front, voice empty. "By Blair Sandburg."

Stomach hurting, heart aching nearly as badly, Jim clenched his jaw and waited for his life to end.

"The search?" Joel asked, the accompanying mutter from the others indicating he said what everyone was thinking. Only Megan and Simon remained silent, expressions blank. "What is a sentinel and why didn't you find one?"

Excitement clearly beginning to bubble through him, Blair got up and gently tagged Joel on the arm. "In primitive times, a sentinel was someone who had a genetic advantage that allowed him to protect and serve his tribe. He had five enhanced senses that let him see farther, hear more, feel subtle changes in the weather, taste if the food was good, smell the spoor of game. I found hundreds of cases of one or two enhanced senses - perfume makers, food tasters for instance. So I reasoned, if the gifts had fractured, where could I find more useful examples?"

"Us!" Rafe crowed. "That's why all those questions when you first got here."

"Well," Blair said reasonably, though Jim could tell he was hiding major anxiety, "If the abilities were linked to the need to protect, the police department and fire department would be natural places to find those with them. I connected with Jim because of his time in Peru, living with the natives. He'd learned there to use his senses more effectively than most urban residents, but they were giving him trouble in this environment. One of the doctors he saw when it got bad, a McKay, referred him to me because of my research on senses.

"You'll find a lot of Jim in the 'construct' I used as what a sentinel could have been capable of. But Joel's in there too, because of his sense of touch - one of the most discerning I've tested, man - along with some others you hopefully won't recognize. Anyway, Jim helped me talk Simon into letting me ride so I could see if there were any other potential part sentinels in the department."

"Why the bit about closed societies, then?" H asked.

"So the data would be true. If you knew, you might accidentally skew it," Blair explained patiently, not looking at Jim but giving the impression he wanted to. "I hope none of you consider it deceit, H. I always explained right up front that your names would never be used, and I'd tell you if I found anything you might want to know, like I did just now with Joel."

For the first time Megan spoke up, her voice carefully neutral to Jim's ears. "Will just searching for a sentinel be enough for your committee, though, Sandy? You don't need to actually find one?"

"As long my source references convinces them that there were sentinels in primitive times, yeah." Blair smirked convincingly, hands moving in odd patterns as if that would communicate his surety better. "It doesn't hurt that I managed to find ways to quote their own research here and there to help make my point. You see, many ancient cultural archetypes still exist in modern form. For instance, you could make a very convincing case that a captain of a police department takes on a role much like that of a headman in a village. Stoddard did several excellent papers on comparisons just like that, so I have precedent to work with, as well."

"Wonder what the press is going to make of this?" Megan said reflectively - and honestly, from what Jim could tell. A general rumble from the others seconded the question.

"Hopefully it'll intrigue them enough they'll make it part of their story on me and my work with you guys on this case. That way the concept will get out there, and if there are sentinels who don't understand what's happening to them, they'll come forward." Blair bounced on his toes in happy anticipation, which, Jim saw in relief, was a real emotion."Just discovering there's a name for their condition, ways to control the problems likely associated with it, or use their abilities more efficiently.... Man, what a difference it could make to their lives!"

"Leave it to you, Sandburg," Rafe chuckled, "To find a way to use a degree in anthropology to help people as well as study them!"

"The press is going to love him," H added. "Humanitarian, well-spoken, major under-dog background, and moderately good looking - everything they need as a crowning touch for the serial killer news."

"Speaking of which," Jim said firmly, scooping up Blair's things, then standing to take his coat and Blair's off the rack, "According to my sources, they're laying in wait at both the main door to the building and the parking garage entrance. I've arranged an unmarked car for transport, which is parked at a side exit. You'll forgive us if we leave before that pack of hyenas gets wind of our plans."

Taking Blair by the upper arm, Jim hustled him away, Blair waving a farewell over his shoulder. Behind them, Brown called, "Hey, Hairboy, you ever get tired of Ellison's aversion to the press, you can partner with me for awhile. I could stand being in the lime light once in a while, for the sake of the force, of course!"

It was hard to tell, but it seemed to Jim that Blair was just as glad to be able to avoid the cameras. On the other hand, nervousness was percolating through him with an intensity that fell short of fear by millimeters, if Jim was any judge of scent and heart beat. He expected an explosion of words as soon as they were in the relative security of the elevator, but that wasn't the reason he detoured to the staircase.

"What? Oh, yeah, back way, which you know better than most thanks to Kincaid taking over the place a couple three years ago." Blair made no attempt to free himself from Jim's grip, but that didn't slow his babbling. "Look, I should have told you I changed my focus on the diss, but I meant it when I said that pre-knowledge could skew the contents, besides, it's not like you wanted to know much about what I wrote, and there was this problem with the original plan in that I couldn't figure out how to keep your confidentiality because even if your name hadn't been all over it because I couldn't have written it without thinking about my subject as Jim, can we say gone native in a big way boys and girls, it wouldn't have taken a genius to add up my living with you the past three years and who could I possibly have been studying given all the time I gave to the cops, and why was I riding with them in the first place. This way...."

They reached a landing that was offset from the rest of the stairway so that anyone coming up or going down couldn't see it or the occupants if in use. Between that and the acoustics, which made an opening or shutting door as loud as a gunshot, Jim felt they were as private as they could be. And he simply could not wait a moment longer.

With more gentleness than he'd suspected existed within himself, Jim pushed Blair into the corner of the landing for maximum concealment, despite how painful it was to watch Blair cut off his babble mid-word. He bear-hugged him into a lift and sat him on the ledge running the perimeter of the landing, snugging himself between Blair's thighs. To his surprise, Blair hooked his ankles behind Jim's knees, fisting the front of his shirt to hold him as close as Jim held him and every bit as tightly.

Forehead resting on Blair's, Jim whispered, "No one has ever, ever chosen me over anything before, especially something as important to them as your work is to you."

"Jim, I...."

Interrupting him with a strong squeeze, Jim forced out words he should have said much earlier. "Our original bargain was that you would help me in exchange for studying me, but you've always, always gone farther than that, despite how much of a bastard I can be. I've never dared hoped that you could give me this much, and I don't have clue one how to react. It feels like we stepped back from the edge of a cliff we didn't see."

"Or avoided a catastrophe we could have never predicted," Blair broke in, voice thick.

Pulling back enough to look into Blair's face, Jim willingly lost himself in the incredible blue of Blair's eyes, hoping that Blair read as much in his own, praying that for once they held the truth of him. Not that Blair hadn't always been able to see past the shields and walls; it was the gift of openness that Jim wanted so desperately to offer. He must have succeeded to some degree because Blair lit up to almost blinding happiness before leaning in to cover Jim's lips with his own.

If Jim had harbored any concerns about his ability to respond physically to Blair, that single kiss forever dispelled them. With no grace and less rhythm, he plundered Blair's willing mouth, eagerly opening to be ravaged in return, all the while trying to push past fabric and skin to be as close as possible. Almost instantly erect, he ground against Blair, nearly dizzy with relief at finding matching hardness awaiting him.

While caution and common sense screamed that this was no place to lose control, that a first time should be done with far more finesse and comfort, Jim simply couldn't stop. And, thank all that was holy, it didn't seem Blair was capable of it, either. The thought flickered across his mind that Blair was likely trusting him to be sure of their safety and privacy, despite his urgency, and that was all Jim needed to crash beyond need and into ecstasy. Blair was with him, even in that, moaning into their kiss as he shuddered into his finish.

They clung to each other through the waves of pleasure, muscles straining for more contact, yet unable to maintain the intensity as long as Jim could have wished. Eventually they relaxed into each other, cuddling and caressing instead of grappling frenetically. Sighing, they released each other's lips to go back to resting their foreheads together, fingers petting each other's features.

"I feel like I should apologize for not picking a better time and place for this," Jim confessed, amazed at how easily the words came to him, for once.

"Don't," Blair murmured happily. "Seeing you lose it so completely, and over me? Wow. Seriously. Wow. I'll never look at another stairwell without remembering what we did here, not that I needed the strange locale for this to be the most memorable moment of my life, hands down. In fact, there's only one thing that could make it perfect for me."

"Name it," Jim said instantly. "I want, I want to make every promise you ever needed to hear, and spend the rest of my life keeping them all." He kissed him again, deeply, then drew back. "I want to give you whatever your soul desires to be happy and healthy, to find all the ways it takes to bring you joy."

Halfway expecting Blair to chuckle at the half-crazed words, Jim melted into so much goo on the inside when Blair studied him solemnly, as if judging how sincere Jim was. Though it was on the tip of Jim's tongue to assure him that he'd never been the kind of lover to swear incredible oaths in the heat of passion, only to dismiss them once his pants were on, he stayed silent, suspecting that wasn't what Blair wanted from him. In fact, after a long moment of intent scrutiny, Blair hid his face against Jim's chest, hands clenching at the fabric of his shirt in the back.

"Blair?"

"I love you. Don't say it back if you don't mean it all the way to the bottom of you, but like you said to me not so long ago, you need all the facts before we go any further."

"Oh, my, god," Jim breathed reverently, rubbing soothing lines up and down Blair's back. "I never... I mean, of course... but like that? That much?"

Nodding into his breast bone, Blair whispered, "I think it was like what Krieger did to the buildings he brought down. It was there, an unseen change that I didn't feel or realize until you kissed me, then my whole world shifted. For a while I didn't know if it was for the better or not, but I had to give us a chance to find out."

Jim pulled Blair to his feet, using as much care as if he were made of glass. "We need to go home. Right now." Though Blair didn't so much as twitch, Jim felt the beginning of an internal collapse within him that bespoke only pain and sorrow. Not giving it a chance to make itself known to Blair he added, "I don't care who hears me say 'I love you' back, but I don't think either of us really want to see it in the media. I'd rather be screaming it at the top of my lungs in our big bed back at the loft."

Without warning, Blair started down the stairs, grabbing Jim by the hand to tug him along. "Sounds good to me. How fast can we get there and does the press know where exactly we are or just what our game plan was?"

Laughing, Jim let himself be led away, eager to see what Blair would do next and already certain it would be nothing he would have ever expected.