Again, I tell you not to read this if warnings are important to you. If you don't care if the story is 'spoiled,' please scroll to the bottom.

WINTER

It was the cold that woke Blair; the kind of cold that takes up residence alongside bones and makes a bad neighbor for muscles and joints. Even with the world's best source of natural heat at his back, hanging onto him as if he expected him to flee in the night, Blair hurt with the winter's icy bite. Shaking with it, he looked around the shadow-changed loft, uselessly pulling the afghan closer around himself and muzzily wondering why he and Jim were on the couch instead of in their beds.

His throat tightened at the half-formed thought and there was an uncomfortable pressure at the back of his eyes, both so totally unexpected that he panicked and grabbed the first reason for them that came to mind. Waking up a little stressed was understandable; lately it seemed that their lives had taken a turn for the nightmare side of town.

Innocently, both he and Jim had thought that with The Press Conference (and he knew that it would be capitalized in his mind for the rest of his life) behind them, and the prospect of officially becoming partners ahead of them, that things would settle down. But though Blair had the backing of every member of Major Crimes, and quite a few of the support personnel within the PD itself, when word got around that Ellison's lying fraud of a sidekick was being give a badge, all hell broke loose.

There were so many protests from so many uniforms and department heads, even from the DA's office, that they had had no choice but to set aside the badge, at least for a while. Then, as much because of pride as anything else in Blair's private opinion, Simon and the others had somehow wrangled a continuation on his ride-along, keeping him on as Jim's unofficial, paid consultant partner. And anybody who had a problem with it had to face down some seriously pissed Major Crimes detectives.

For himself, Blair would have bowed out completely, but the only time he'd suggested it, Jim had turned completely stone-faced.

All he had said though, was, "After everyone went to bat for you, Sandburg, throwing in the towel would make them look like fools. They *want* you here - why else do you think they wanted the Captain to give you the badge in public? And they don't like being told who they can or can't work with. They're ready to do battle for that, if nothing else. Don't let them down by backing off."

For a while it had looked like civil war was going to erupt, then Oscar Malvern started his campaign of terror and every cop in the city had much more important things to worry about than Ellison's ersatz partner.

Shuddering hard, not from the cold this time, Blair scrubbed at his eyes and reached for his glasses on the coffee table. Intending to at least get the heat turned up before heading for his room, he jumped when the form of Simon Banks materialized from the darkness, standing nearly in front of him. "Simon, man..." he started.

"I'm sorry, Sandburg, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let myself in but you two must have been out like lights, and this can't wait."

"Hey, no prob, that's why you got a key." Blair sat up carefully, giving Jim a little shake as he did, surprised that the sentinel hadn't awakened as soon as Simon opened the door. On the other hand, both of them had been living on caffeine and two-hour naps for so long that a total crash wasn't unrealistic, either.

Blue eyes snapped open instantly, a skill Blair seriously envied, and Jim said, "What?"

With a gesture at the man in front of him, Blair said, "Simon needs to talk to us, right now."

Automatically looking in the direction of the nod, Jim said, "Sim...." his face showing an emotion that Blair couldn't identify. As quickly as it came, it went, leaving behind the studiously neutral expression that his partner had hid behind more and more as the Malvern case dragged. "What is it?"

Wishing that he didn't feel the need to do that in front of a friend like Simon, but grateful he wasn't turning it on him too, Blair waited for the answer, absently tugging his covering around him again.

"Daryl's missing," Banks said flatly.

"Oh, man." Blair reached out to his friend, but Banks began pacing around the loft, hands waving erratically. With a nudge, Jim told him to stand so he could sit up, and Blair automatically did so. Once on his feet, he headed for the thermostat to turn up the heat, keeping an eye on Simon.

"He spent the last couple of nights at my place," Simon explained, clearly trying to keep his voice level and professional. "But he'd borrowed his mother's car and was going to return it, then spend the weekend at her place. He never showed."

"Did you put an APB out on him?" Jim asked, his voice a study in calm.

Banks stopped in his tracks. "No! Why didn't I... Sandburg?"

Blair was already reaching for the phone. "License plate?"

Throwing himself into a chair, Banks told him, then added in self-disgust, "What kind of cop am I?"

"A damn good one," Jim said instantly. "Who is acting very much like a worried father, for damned good reasons." He got up from the couch and leaned over his friend, bracing himself on the arms of Simon's chair. "There's no reason yet to think Malvern's got him. He's eighteen, it's Friday night, and he's got wheels. If it weren't for that murdering bastard targeting cops' families, you wouldn't even be

worried yet. Mad as hell, yes. Not worried."

That seemed to settle Banks, and Jim straightened. "Coffee? Then you can give me the specifics."

Hanging up the phone, Blair was silently relieved that even if Jim was downplaying Daryl's absence for Simon's sake, dispatch was taking a cop's missing son very, very seriously. With a glance he checked to see if his partner had been listening to both sides of the phone conversation, and a small nod from Jim as he went into the kitchen told him he had. Blair went in to help with the coffee, and in short order had all of them around the table, mugs in hand.

Surprisingly, Jim moved his chair closer, then hooked an ankle around Blair's leg underneath the table after he sat. The show of intimacy in front of a witness, subtle as it was, was odd for Jim. But since Simon had just seen them spooned up with each other like long-time lovers, Blair decided that his partner had simply not thought it worth the bother to hide their growing closeness from their best friend. That notion warmed him more than the hot air blowing from the vents, improving his mood considerably. Which could have been Jim's intention all along.

Simon either didn't notice or didn't care; he stared moodily into his cup, not even bothering to take off his coat or to add cream or sugar to his coffee. Trying for a realistic grin to ease things, Blair said, "You know the drill. Start from the top and try to give all the details."

It earned him the glare that he'd hoped for, half-hearted though it was. The incredibly tight line of shoulders slumped ever so slightly, though, and Banks said, sounding more like himself, "You know that I never agreed with the brass' first decision to keep what Malvern was doing from anyone not wearing a badge. They were afraid it'd cause a panic." He snorted in anger. "What it did was make that psycho's first victims easy pickings. At least they let us put that escort duty idea of Sandburg's into action after he took the Miller boys."

Simon made a motion as if to push his ire away. "I told Daryl about it from the first, proud of myself for not using it as an excuse to ground him or something so he'd be safe. This evening he left around eight, just before I escorted Sergeant Wheeler's wife to her job at the hospital. Had a couple more after that - picked up meds at the pharmacy for Susan Elders, and one other..." He frowned, then abruptly lost it again, getting up to stalk around the loft.

Blair watched him, a little uneasy for reasons he couldn't put his finger on. Jim did, too, for a minute, then asked quietly, "Cop hunch? You got worried about him?"

Pausing mid-step, Simon shoved up his glasses to rub at his eyes. "More like a father's hunch. You're right - Friday night and decent wheels, but Daryl *promised* me he'd go straight to his Mom's, and he knew why it was important."

"Doesn't matter at the moment whether it's Malvern or just Daryl going for a short joy ride," Jim said firmly. "The investigation goes the same way in the beginning. Now, you called Joan?"

Sighing, Simon returned to his seat. "No, I went over. When I got there, I could hear her through the door yelling at somebody looking for Daryl, pissed as hell about him not being home. Didn't even go in, just turned on my heel and headed straight here, so upset I don't even remember the drive."

"Why here, Simon?" Blair had to ask.

Banks lifted his head and pinned Blair with a solid, trusting look. "Because if Daryl's just goofing off, I can do the pissed father thing later. If Malvern's got him, we've got a window of opportunity before he starts sending his gory little presents cut from my son's body. You both know that the first never arrives earlier than twelve hours after the victim is taken. And if anybody has a chance in hell of finding him before that, it's Jim. And he'll be able to work his thing better if he doesn't have to worry about being under the microscope himself. Or did the two of you think I wouldn't notice Jim holding himself back in that department?"

Without conscious thought Blair glanced at his partner, then spoke for both of them. "The last thing we want is for Malvern's defense lawyer to try to use Jim's 'supposed' senses as an excuse for a technicality. If nothing else, the irony would be too much.

"And going into the closet sense-wise, so to speak, seemed like a good idea in general. The sooner everyone decides for themselves that he's just plain old boring Ellison, like always, the sooner the whole dissertation fiasco can fade into ancient history."

"There was a time," Banks admitted ruefully, "When I would have jumped for joy at the idea that there wouldn't be any more of the sentinel thing to deal with. But now?" He shook his head. "It's like seeing a race horse pulling a plow." At Jim's thunderous expression, he added hastily, "You're still the best on the force, and you know it Ellison. Don't get your panties in a bunch."

"I suppose, sir," Jim said tightly, "I should say thank you!"

Not wanting his partner to get them all side tracked, Blair put a warning hand on Jim's forearm at the same time Banks reached for his friend, catching and holding a slender wrist. "I'm just saying that I don't want you to hold back what comes naturally to you, Jim, not ever. Your senses can make a difference, *have* made a difference, and it's the world's piss poor luck that it can't appreciate the miracle it's been given."

Because he was touching Jim, Blair felt the sudden, total tension in his partner, and he determinedly said, "Amen, but facts are facts, and the fact we have right now is that Daryl's missing. Have you called any of his friends to see if he got detoured by one of them somehow?"

Bank's headshake answered the question, and with a small squeeze to dark hand on him, Jim rose. "There's only so many routes he could have taken from your place to Joan's, too. We can drive them, looking for anything unusual while you and Sandburg split the phone calls. Do we need to drop into your place to get an address book?"

Standing as well, Simon took a palm sized electronic organizer from his pocket. "Never leave home without it."

With his back to his friend, Jim swept Blair into a hard hug as the smaller man stood, burying his nose in the curls nearest his nose. Startled, Blair returned the embrace, glad that some of the stiffness was fading but clueless why his roomie would want the contact now. It only lasted a moment, and when he was released, Simon was staring out the French doors to the balcony, seemingly oblivious to what had just happened.

"I can almost understand Malvern," he said to nobody in particular, or maybe he was talking to himself. "The very thought that he might have my son makes me want to rip him into small pieces, making it hurt as long and as much as possible. I can imagine how he felt when those small time, small-brained crooks tried to hold off half the city's cops by taking hostages in a clinic of all places! As if the time they'd do for dealing would be harder than murder one.

"Malvern had to wait at the edge of the police barriers, his pregnant wife, two kids, everybody on this earth he cared about inside. All he knew about what was going on inside was given to him in bloody dribs and drabs by the press and by rumor in the crowd. Seven dead in the end, including his whole family, then to have all three of the murderers walk on technicalities!"

"So now he's sharing that agony," Blair said, sounding unbelievably weary even to his own ears as he cleaned away the coffee mugs. "Blaming the force for the whole thing, sending his own bloody dribs and drabs of information to the cops about those they love."

"What happened to Malvern," Jim said tightly, "Was horrible, but it wasn't planned, it wasn't personal. That bastard has been planning his assault on us for months, right down to the smallest detail. When we broke into his house, we found books on police procedures, scanners to pinpoint our cars' locations, duty rosters for who's on, who's off, personnel files - god knows how he got those."

Taking his coat off the hook and handing Jim his, Blair said, "That isn't what's making him hard to catch; it's the fact that he doesn't care if he *gets* caught as long as he hurts us every inch of the way. He'll go down shooting, if he can."

They left the loft, Simon trailing behind them. "Wish I could argue, Sandburg. But I read the file, too. Malvern was your classic low-income loser - druggie parents, high school drop out, vandalism and petty theft, did some juvenile time, slowly working his way to a Breaking & Entering career and serving some serious time. Then he met his wife, and she really helped him turn it around. GED, steady job, night school, both of them working their asses off and actually making some progress on getting their piece of the American Pie. Those idiots really destroyed his life."

With more venom that Blair had ever heard from his partner before, Jim said, "I don't give a flying fuck how much he lost. Everyone has their tragedies and if he can't handle his, he should have eaten a gun and gotten it over with, *without* taking innocents down with him!"

Both Simon and Blair stopped to stare at him, but all Jim did was viciously punch the down arrow for the elevator, his back straight and unrelenting.

"Jim... " Simon began.

"He targets children, Simon!" Jim bit out furiously. "Children, pregnant women, elderly parents - the helpless, the defenseless. He might be telling himself that exacting revenge is why he's going after the ones without guns, but the truth is he's a coward. His wife must have had all the balls in that family, because right now he's acting like the same loser who didn't have what it took to dig in and make it on his own. Know why I want to bring him in alive? So he can spend the rest of his worthless life in jail as a baby killer, one step above a child molester, trading his ass for whatever protection he can get!"

Horrified at the violent emotion pouring off his partner, Blair stepped forward, hand going to the small of Jim's back, as if to ground him for using his senses. Before he could speak, though, Simon beat him to it.

"Hate isn't the answer here, Jim," he said sternly. "Righteous anger, yes. That you can use, channel into getting the job done. But hate? That isn't good for anything. All it does is take up all the room you have, not leaving anything besides itself." Simon looked significantly at where Blair's arm vanished behind Jim's back. "Not even love."

Instead of blowing up at the reprimand, or retreating behind his walls, Jim bent his head, blinking rapidly. It took a moment for Blair to realize that his partner was fighting off tears; the only other telltale was moisture at the corners of his eyes. "I hear you," he said thickly.

"Not good enough. I need to know that you'll do your best to bring Malvern in alive because that's the right thing to do, the legal thing to do. I know you can do it; Quinn and Galileo are alive aren't they?"

Jim ducked his head even lower, and Blair turned his light touch into an out-and-out hug. He knew his partner was fighting the sentinel within him that demanded a rougher and simpler justice for Malvern than the courts would give. Like Simon he knew Jim would win over instinct, but he had a better idea of the cost than their friend did. "We can do this," he said simply.

Hugging back one-armed and surreptitiously rubbing at his eyes as if they bothered him, Jim said, "Yeah. We can do it. No worries, Simon. I promise."

Banks gave a sharp nod of his head, as if he hadn't expected anything less from his best detective - and Blair didn't doubt for a second that was exactly the case. The elevator door slid open and the captain stepped inside first, giving the two of them time to regroup.

It was a silent ride down, then Simon took out his phone as they walked out the front door and dialed the first number in his organizer for one of Daryl's friends. He called up a second one for Blair, and the two of them began to work their way through the list while Jim slowly cruised the major routes between Simon's house and his ex-wife's. He drove with the window open despite the blowing snow to take advantage of all his senses as best he could, which made the ride a cold, cold, *cold* one for Blair.

Simon generously gave him the middle of the seat so he was sandwiched between the two of them for warmth, and to get the best of the heat coming from the vents. He appreciated it, but by the time he'd gotten the last answering machine, his fingers were numb. "Any l..luck?" he stuttered.

"Answering machines and irate parents," Banks said tiredly. "Where *is* everybody?"

"Big party tonight," Jim answered absently. "A couple of the uniforms have picked up some DUI's and a public intoxication in that age group, and while they're not talking, looks like they're all coming from the same place. Until somebody calls in a complaint, the uniforms can't go to the residence to shut it down, and that's not likely to happen. It's at one of those big estate places at the edge of town."

Remembering the last time he'd talked to Daryl, Blair said, "M...Man, oh, man... got a name, Jim?"

Shooting him a questioning look, Jim answered, "Brockton."

"As in Natira Brockton," Blair said, looking at Simon.

"As in the Natira Brockton that Daryl's been mooning over the past few months?" Banks said in surprise. "She hasn't been willing to give him the time of day; thinks she's too good for a cop's son, and hasn't been shy about telling him that. Sandburg, you don't think...."

Wishing he didn't feel like he was ratting Daryl out, Blair said, "Yes, I do. She invited him to this big bash she's been planning while her parents were going to be out of town; been the talk of the school for weeks. Even bragged that it's the kind of party that the D.A.R.E people warn you about. I thought he'd decided against going."

Blair looked out of the window for a second, then admitted, "No, I was hoping that he'd decided against going. It sounded to me like she was going to do a DnD on him."

Jim negotiated a turn, pulled the truck into a parking spot, and turned in his seat enough to be able to see both Blair and Simon. "DnD?"

Putting his head back on the seat, Simon said in disgust, "Dis and Drop."

"Been a problem at Rainier for a year or so," Blair said. Then, at the exasperated look on Jim's face that said, 'get to the point, people,' added hurriedly, "Ever heard of guys hitting on girls, going all out to make them think that they're in love, then as soon as they get them into bed once, dropping them? The whole object is to score as many points as possible, virgins counting extra."

There was no question what Jim thought of that little game when he said, "Broke someone's face for it in high school."

"Why does that not surprise me?" Banks grumbled, taking over where Blair had been interrupted. "Anyway, few years back, it was the hot thing to do among the freshmen guys at Rainier. Got so bad, that it was part of the welcoming speech to the co-eds to look out for it."

"Then things changed. The idea, originally," Blair put in, "Was to give the guys a taste of their own medicine. Let them woo and court, give expensive presents, show how much they were willing to put up with to get a girl to go out with them, then, on the first date, stand them up and refuse to return their calls. Got to the point where the girls, especially the sorority girls, were trying to outdo each other by how far they could get the guys to go just to get a date."

"Only a matter of time until someone's younger sister introduced it to the high school cliques, and it really caught on at Trenton High. I told Joan that a private school had its own problems," Banks said. He shook his head in disgust. "Daryl's too smart to fall for that."

"Remember your first crush?" Jim said surprisingly. "Even when you *know* you're acting like a chump, you can't stop yourself."

Blair couldn't help it; he snorted. "As if some of us ever outgrow that."

"We're not talking about your love life here, Sandburg."

"No, I believe that it was yours that was the object lesson we all had in mind," Blair shot back.

"Gentlemen," Banks said, trying for aggravated, but looking a little relieved, as if as long as the two of them were sparring, all would be right with the world. "Can we get back to the subject at hand? I still don't believe that Daryl would go to that party. First, he promised me he was going straight to his mother's; second, he's still saying he wants to go to the academy after college. He's lived and worked around cops long enough to know the kinds of chances he's taking with his future if he goes to a party like that."

"Simon," Blair said as carefully as he could, "Daryl's a few steps past crush, here, and she's been working on him pretty carefully. He thinks he's in love and is more half-convinced all he needs is a chance, and he can show her that she loves him, too."

For a moment it looked as if Simon wanted to argue, then he shook his head. "Yeah, he's got it bad. He could be there." Then he sat up straight, somehow holding both of them with a look. "Any way we can test the theory? In my book, Malvern is still a possibility."

"Even if Daryl did go the party," Jim agreed. "The route there is just the sort of deserted, empty road that coward would take advantage of."

"Speedo," Blair said instantly.

"Daryl's best bud," Simon agreed. "If he's not home, his mom will know exactly where he is and who he's with. She's one of those parents that believe in letting teens make their own decisions as long as they're up front. Can't say as I know if it works or not, but Speedo wouldn't have gotten out of the house without telling her where he was going and leaving a number. Did you dial her already, Sandburg?"

Puzzled, Blair double-checked his outgoing on the cellphone. "No, that must have been one of yours."

Banks ran his own memory, then said slowly, "It was a bad connection I think. Answered, but she couldn't hear me."

"Let me try." Reading the number from the cell, Blair dialed his own, and a moment later a woman's voice answered. "Hi, my name's Blair Sandburg," he said to her. "I'm a friend of Daryl Banks, and I was hoping he was with Speedo. I really, really need to talk to him."

A sultry voice said, **Hon, you must be the only senior at Trenton that *isn't* at Natira's place. You grounded?**

Rolling his eyes, Blair said with false cheeriness, "No, just had to work 'til late, but Daryl said he'd pick me up if I called. But I haven't been able to get him, and no way do I want to miss this party."

**Well, I don't know what to tell you, hon. Daryl picked up Speedo at about 8:30, didn't even come in the house. Sorry.**

"If he calls or comes in early - like *that's* going to happen, right? - have him call me, okay? Please? Even if it's late; at least I can find out what I missed." Blair waved away Simon's attempt to take the phone, half turning to put his shoulder in the way.

**No problem. I'll leave a message for him if he doesn't get home before I get to bed.**

"Hey, thanks! I really appreciate it. Bye!" Blair disconnected just before Simon snatched the phone away. "What did you think you were going to do? Read her the concerned parent act? She'd give you an earful and hang-up!"

"You could have given me the chance!" Simon groused, but he shoved the phone back towards Blair. "Damn. Damn!"

Putting the truck in gear, Jim asked, "How do you want to play this, Simon? Be backup and just keep an eye on Daryl until he leaves the party and gets to Joan's house? Call in an anonymous tip and get the party busted? Go home and wait? Your call."

"First, let's just see if he's okay," Banks said grimly. "Once I'm not worried half out of my mind, I'll decide how I want my pound of flesh."

"And I thought it was tough answering to you as a boss," Blair muttered, fatigue weighing him down now that there wasn't anything to do but wait out the drive. Thankfully Jim rolled the window up, then casually looped an arm over his shoulder, pulling Blair close for warmth. It seemed that nobody felt like talking, and Blair dozed lightly, distantly wondering why he was so *tired.*

The truck stopping again jarred him completely awake, and he sat up, scrubbing at his face in a useless effort to make himself more alert. He looked out through the windshield to see a lavishly large Tudor-style house sitting at the end of a long driveway, every window in the place lit up. Most of the driveway was covered with cars of all makes and models, as was most of the lawn on either side. Even at the distance the Ford sat, Blair could hear the music shaking from the house, and wasn't surprised to see his partner wince, hand going his head.

All Jim did, though, was wrinkle his nose and say shortly, "Pot." He looked over at Simon expectantly, and Blair could see the father warring with the cop.

Finally Banks asked, "Is he here?"

Jim pointed out a car at the end of the driveway, tucked into the shadows to one side. "That one has the license plate you gave as Joan's." Almost to himself he added, "Smart move. If there is trouble, he can get out without dealing with any of the other cars, and no one would notice him doing it if he kept his cool and coasted down the hill."

Banks glared at him, but Jim didn't notice. From his intent expression, Blair knew he was dialing up a sense, and by the gradually deepening lines of pain, guessed it was hearing. When Simon started to speak, he hushed him with a quick shake of the head and significant nod at his partner. Annoyed, the captain stayed silent, though there was clearly a grudging respect behind it.

After a moment, Jim closed his eyes and rubbed his fingers over his forehead. "He's not in there. Car might be here, but he's not. Could he have loaned it to his friend and stayed somewhere else so his mom wouldn't know?"

The last question sounded dubious and Blair had to admit it seemed far-fetched. Before either Jim or Simon could bring up Malvern, he nudged his partner to move. "One way to find out. Neither of you would get in, let alone get a honest word, and this isn't the first party I've crashed."

For a minute Blair thought he was going to get an argument from both of them, then Jim opened the door and slid out. "No way to warn you if the uniforms come knocking, understand?"

"Like we're not already in it for not calling this in?" he answered, going for light and coming out scared. "Don't worry; I'll be fast."

"Wait, wait... Jim, how good *is* your hearing?" Simon asked. "Do you think you could pinpoint anything that's, I don't know, out of place in there? Somebody crying or swearing or even just wondering what the hell happened?"

Seeing where he was going, Blair nodded. "Speedo. If something bad is up with Daryl, there's a chance he's still here and can help us."

Looking up at the house, Jim said doubtfully. "That's a long shot. It's one thing to try for Daryl; I know him, know what to listen for. I've never met this other kid."

"Can it hurt to try?" Blair waited patiently, expectantly, and after a moment Jim took a deep breath, attention obviously on the party. The muscle in his jaw began jumping double-time, making Blair want to reach up and soothe it with a fingertip. Not wanting to distract his partner, he kept his hands to himself, though it was getting to be more and more of an effort to restrain his impulse to comfort.

A few minutes later Jim asked tightly, "Is Speedo skinny, with dreadlocks?"

"Yes!" Banks said in both acknowledgement and victory.

"He's by himself, in a mudroom or pantry next to the kitchen," Jim said, distraction evident as he pointed out a small window at the rear left of the building. "Got his reflection off of a walk-in freezer or something. Looks and sounds miserable, really coming down hard on himself."

"Is that a door there, Jim?" Blair asked, peering through the darkness. "Like a delivery man's entrance?"

"Yes." With a quick squeeze to Blair's shoulder, he added, "Watch your step in the snow."

Already psyching himself up, aware that his partner was probably listening to every anxious gurgle of his body, Blair managed a casual wave and headed for the side door. Unsurprisingly the sidewalk had been shoveled and salted down against the few inches that had dusted over Cascade since morning. He was willing to bet that there was a groundskeeper or service that practically removed every flake by hand.

Finding the door unlocked wasn't a great shock either, for different reasons. Though there was probably a state-of-the-art alarm system, maybe even a private security service doing checks, Natira had probably taken care of all that so her guests could come and go with ease. Especially go, if she were smart enough to realize that emptying the house very quickly might be important.

Blair slipped inside, not worried about making noise but wanting to have a chance to size Speedo up for himself before saying anything. Eyes already adjusted for the night, he didn't have any trouble finding the young man sitting on the floor in the gloomy room, hunched in a corner where he wouldn't be easily spotted by anyone using the door. "Hey," Blair said softly. "You okay? Need help?"

Startled, Speedo jumped to his feet, an odd mix of defiance and worry on his face. "What makes you think anything's wrong?" he snapped.

"Well, hiding in the dark was a clue," Blair said honestly.

"I'm not hiding. Just, just...."

"Just taking a few minutes to regroup, right?" Blair supplied for him.

The young man shrugged off the suggestion, but didn't deny it. He brushed nervously at his gray Dockers and tried to say casually, "Well, it's a hell of a party, you know."

Hoping he wasn't going too fast, but not wanting to wear out Simon and Jim's patience, Blair said, "Doesn't mean everybody's enjoying themselves. Especially Daryl." Speedo tried to leave nearly instantly, but Blair was ready for it and added quickly, "My name's Blair Sandburg. Please tell me Daryl's talked about me, 'cause I think we've got a problem here."

Though he stopped mid-step, Speedo's worry obviously increased. "That teacher from Rainier? The one that rides with Daryl's dad sometimes?"

"That's me."

"Oh, Christ, I *told* Daryl his dad would find out! I told him, I told him!"

"My guess is Daryl probably thought that Captain Banks would let it wait until he got home before dropping the hammer, and that it would be worth it," Blair agreed. "Thing is, like I said, we've got a problem and need to know where he is right *now.*"

"I don't know! I wish I did," Speedo burst out. He hugged himself tightly, fairly vibrating with emotion. "Natira, she did a drop on him, did it classic, a little while ago. Got him on the dance floor for a slow number, half way through it just steps back and says loudly 'That's all *you're* worth, little pig.'"

"Shit!" Blair put his fingers to his mouth, heart aching for his young friend.

"How'd he handle it?"

"With more class than that daddy's little girl is ever going to have, no matter how much money her mommy lets him spend on her," Speedo bit out as scathingly as only a teenager can manage. "Daryl bowed to her like she was this princess or something, and said, 'Every second of it memorable, lovely lady,' and turned on his heel and strolled off as if he'd just sunk the winning basket."

"Good for him," Blair said, not without some pride. "How long did he manage to hold it together?"

"I don't know, I don't know. Everybody laughed, not everyone at him, if you know what I mean, and I was on the other side of the room, trying to get through, and nobody listened to me telling them to get out of the way. Lost sight of him and can't find a trace, not a trace! Me, I want to get out of here, but he's got the *keys,* and nobody else is ready to ditch this early, and I can't leave until I know he's cool, anyway!"

"It's covered," Blair said quietly, hoping to calm Speedo's rising hysteria.

"Captain Banks is here with another one of Daryl's friends; we'll find him, make sure he's okay and give him a ride." Forcing a smile, he added, "Granted, he's going to have to face his dad's wrath a lot sooner than he expected, but right now I'd say Daryl would probably welcome anything as normal as getting grounded."

"For the rest of his life is my guess," Speedo said, gamely trying to match Blair's nonchalance.

"You got money for a cab?" Blair asked, reaching for his cellphone.

"My mamma didn't raise no fools, despite evidence to the contrary right now." The dry, slightly amused tone was almost perfect; only the faint tremors still running through the slight frame gave away Speedo's true state of mind.

"Good, then go wait for it at the foot of the hill, as far away from the house as you can safely get." Blair rang up the cab company, waving the young man toward the door. "I'd hurry. I don't know how much longer Banks is going to wait before he comes in looking for Daryl personally."

"Oh, man!" That got the teen out the door at top speed, Blair at his heels, though not moving quite as fast.

By the time he got to the where the truck was parked, Jim and Simon had their heads together, trying to decide what to do next. They weren't arguing... exactly... but it was obvious that they weren't in agreement. Pretending not to notice, only wanting to make things as easy as possible for Daryl, he skidded over the last few feet of the snow-covered lawn. "Jim listened in, right? Okay, what would Daryl do? He's upset and off crying somewhere, he's pissed at himself and beating his head into the wall, he's heart-broken and getting drunk for the for first time, he's what?"

"He's mad," Banks said instantly. "An all-over mad that includes the world in general, you and me in specific for being right about Natira."

"And he would...?" Blair glanced at his partner to see if Jim would let him take the lead, and found that for the first time in a long, long time he couldn't read his sentinel at all. Mystified, he pushed that away and focused on Simon's answer.

"Get away to clear his head. At home he'd take a walk around the block a couple of times."

"Okay, then, we wait until he gets back to be sure he's got it together, let him go back in there and salvage his pride by facing everyone down, carefully follow him home and wait for him to 'fess up. You know he will, Simon."

"Sandburg," Banks began tiredly.

"No way Malvern's an issue here," Blair said insistently. "The profiler's say he's a cookbook crook, has to follow his plans to the letter because he can't improvise and knows it. I mean, nobody but Daryl and Speedo knew they were going to be here tonight, no way for Malvern to find out. If he was following because he was planning on a snatch on the way to Joan's, the three of us being here scared him off. Come on, Simon. Give Daryl a chance to deal with what Natira did to him."

He thought he was getting through to his friend, then Jim said unexpectedly, "He'll walk? The more upset, the longer?"

"Didn't I just say that, *Detective?*"

Undeterred by the rising irritation in his captain's voice, Jim asked quietly, "Is that his coat in the car; black with a bright blue piping down outside of the sleeves?"

Thrown off, Banks said, "Sounds like his, and he usually leaves it there." He snorted in parental amusement and added, "Says that only losers wear coats unless they're trenches, and I'm not about to lay out the bucks for one just so he can lose it."

"Simon, it's 20 degrees out, 15 or less with the wind chill and blowing snow. He was dressed for a party, and maybe too upset to notice how long he's been walking. Hypothermia could be a real threat if he's far enough away when he turns back." Jim's tone was soft, but deadly earnest, and Blair suddenly realized that his partner was convinced Daryl was in trouble that went deeper than a little heartache.

Looking around the area the same time Simon did, Blair saw that the mansion was more than private - it was isolated. No other lights could be seen in any direction, and the road twisted through woods and hills for several miles before reaching civilization. If Daryl was out there, it wasn't likely that he would stumble onto help if he needed it.

Talking to himself, studying the grounds, Jim muttered, "Seriously pissed, go out the first exit you find, don't feel the cold, don't see the snow, just got to move and move now, you go in a straight line from the door." Oblivious to Blair and Simon trailing him, he walked up the driveway, after stopping at Joan's car to get the coat out of it, eyes flicking from side to side.

"Too many cars to weave through, if he came out front, so he'd cut across the lawn. No footprints." Angling toward the back of the house, he picked up his pace to a jog, forcing his friends to do the same. "There! See them?"

It took several more yards before he could, but Blair caught the dark splotches in the snow leading away from a patio exit. Without a word, the three of them began to follow the trail, trotting to one side of it at the best speed they could manage on the slippery grass. A few hundred yards later, it led into the woods, and any chance Blair might have had of following it on his own vanished. Not much snow had made it to the forest floor, and the trees blocked the reflected brightness of it that had lit up the night to almost full-moon clarity in the meadows outside.

Blindly trusting Jim's Ranger skills to keep them from getting lost, Blair navigated the undergrowth and wood fall as best he could, but all of them were forced to slow down their search. "At least, it's not as arctic with the trees to block the wind. And Daryl's got some survival training; he'll know what to do if he loses his way," he said to reassure himself as much as Simon.

"If he's thinking clearly; one of the first signs of hypothermia is mental confusion," Banks said grimly.

"We'll find him." Jim's tone didn't brook any argument, not that any one wanted to disagree.

A short time later he stopped in a small clearing, kneeling to touch the ground. "All torn up here, like he milled around for a while. Either he was calming down finally...."

"Or he realized he's lost," Banks interrupted. "Damn! He should have stayed put. I've drilled that into him since he was five. He has to be feeling the cold."

No one had anything to say to that, but Jim stood to walk a spiral pattern around the area, then pointed to a-near invisible spot. "There. He went on that way. Ground slopes away; probably thought he could find the road and make his way back or catch a ride." Touching a footprint in the wet leaves that even Blair could see, he added, "This is fresh, very fresh. Can't be too far ahead."

They forged ahead, nearly fighting the brush and long dead weeds, and it became obvious that someone else had thrashed through it, leaving broken branches and trampled vegetation behind. It spurred them into nearly running, Blair locking a hand into his partner's coat on the assumption that Jim was focused on seeing as far ahead as possible. When he broke into a near-run, Blair muttered, "Yes!" sure the sentinel had seen Daryl.

It seemed to take forever, but less than five minutes later they broke into another tiny clearing, this beside a partially frozen stream struggling against the ice to make its way to the ocean. A thick thatch of reeds grew to one side, and some of them had been bunched and tangled together, obviously by human hand. At one edge they could see the soles of two sneakers blocking a small opening, and Simon put on a burst of speed to fall by them, pushing aside the reeds. "Daryl! Daryl!"

A second later Jim was beside him, blocking his hands. "Easy, Simon! Easy! Let me check for injuries!"

Banks didn't seem to hear, and Blair dug into his friend's coat at the neck, pulling hard to hold him back. "Wait! Let Jim do his thing first!" With an obvious effort, Simon sat back on his heels, dragging his hand over his mouth as if to scrub away words that he wanted to shout.

Immediately draping his own body-and-exertion-warmed coat over the still form, Jim ran his hands over Daryl, then pried away the crossed arms from the young man's chest. "Good, he kept his hands in his armpits. No frostbite, but he's too damned cold. Wet as they are, his shoes are better than nothing until we get him to the truck. Sandburg, call ahead to County, it's the closest."

As he spoke he knotted Daryl's coat over the lower legs and feet to provide what protection he could, then carefully hoisted him to his shoulders, grunting slightly at the effort.

"Jim." Banks sounded nearly plaintive, though he didn't try to interfere.

"You might be bigger, but I'm stronger," Jim said bluntly. "And I'm trained for traveling on this terrain; I won't drop him. You two go on ahead and get the truck warmed up and ready to move; every bit is going to help."

Blair looked back the way they had come and, though it was dark, they had left enough of a mess behind them that retracing their steps wouldn't be a problem. Pulling out his phone, he gave a last tug to his friend's coat. "Come on, with luck we can get dispatch to have a rescue unit meet us halfway." He took off, hit 911, and gave the operator the facts in breathless gasps as he plowed through the snarls of weeds and brambles. Learning that response time was forty-five minutes, thanks to a major pile up on the interstate, he swore and put the phone back in his pocket.

By then he was at the first clearing, and he stumbled to a halt to catch his breath, bending over with his hands braced on his thighs. Only then did he realize that he was alone, and for a split second, the night and the woods closed around him claustrophobically. Fighting off the reminder of other terrifying runs through the forest, he muttered to himself, "Well, I wouldn't have left my kid behind, either."

Distantly he heard his partner yell, sounding a bit winded himself, "Keep moving, Sandburg!"

With his own, "Fuck you, Ellison!" Blair took off again, falling to his knees once he finally reached the lawn of the mansion. In the distance he saw Speedo's taxi pulling away, and that one or two other partygoers were making discreet exits as well. Thinking, 'good for them,' because he planned on making an anonymous call as soon as he found a pay phone, he stumbled his way to Jim's truck and climbed in.

After starting it, he dug out the emergency blanket stored under the seat, and thought about doing the same with the first aid box. Deciding that any scrapes or cuts they got fighting through the woods could wait, he stood like an idiot outside the door, nervously bouncing from foot and foot and chanting, "Come on, come on."

A small eternity later, Jim materialized from the woods like a ghost, stubbornly trying to jog despite his burden. Blair had just long enough to wonder where Simon was before the big man appeared a few feet behind his detective, picking his way with care. Snatching up the blanket, Blair raced to join them, throwing it over Daryl for extra warmth, not incidentally shielding his partner from the frigid blasts of air.

The three of them staggered back to the Ford, and Blair got in first to drive. Turning sideways, he helped guide the limp body onto the bench seat, putting the soaked feet into his own lap, ripping off the shoes and sticking the clammy limbs under his shirts to share body heat, shivering at the bite of the dampness from cold flesh. Simon started to climb in as well, but before he could, Jim stepped in front of him, a hand up to hold him in place.

"No," he panted, but managing to make the refusal gentle despite it. "There's not enough room. Normally the more, the better, I know, but I need space to work on him if I have to. I know how badly you want to be with Daryl, but this time the best thing to do is follow us."

Fury filled Simon's features, but Jim never lost his composure, staring at his friend with infinite compassion in his eyes. As readily as the anger come, it faded, and Simon sighed, unashamedly brushed a kiss over his son's forehead and stepped away. "I expect lights and sirens, Ellison."

"Yes, sir." With that Jim climbed into the truck, half-lifting Daryl to prop him up against his chest, arms going around him for warmth and security. "You heard the man, Sandburg."

"Got it!" Blair hit the accelerator, glancing back once in the rearview to see Simon standing alone in the night, his coat flapping around him like dark wings.

* * *

Blair was afraid to look at the clock when he and Jim finally made it back to the loft from the hospital. Though it couldn't be *that* late, it felt like it had been an eternity since he had last been snug in his bed. At the moment, he was beginning to wonder if he'd ever be warm again.

Though the heater had been going full blast during the frantic drive to County Hospital, it couldn't melt the icy fear he felt for his young friend. Daryl never regained consciousness, and from Jim's blank, listening expression, he knew that the younger Banks was in serious trouble. A medical team was waiting for them at the Emergency Room doors - as was Daryl's mom, Joan.

It took less than ten minutes for her to undo the warming rush that getting Daryl safely into a doctor's hands had given Blair. Blaming the police department in general, and Simon in particular, for no other reason than because she had to have an outlet for her terror for her child, she refused to allow any cop anywhere near her or Daryl.

If she had been screaming hysterically, he and Jim might have been able to persuade the hospital staff to at least let them stay close by, but Joan had used the rigid, totally cold tones of the up-and-coming legal shark she was. After the words 'lawyer' and 'lawsuit' had been used in Joan's carefully precise way, the desk clerk had shown them out, her eyes filled with sympathy.

Amazingly, Jim had taken it calmly. He stopped once to talk quietly to the doctor he must have overheard being assigned the case, and again on the way out to speak with Joel Taggart. Whatever Jim said, it had made the older man look more mournful than usual, but Taggart nodded and went back to his car, obviously waiting for something.

Once Jim and Blair were back at the Ford, what it was had become clear. His partner had sat, engine off, head bowed, and so clearly *listening* that Blair hadn't been able to suppress a grin. After a bit, the sentinel sighed, sat back, and started the truck. "He'll be okay, and it doesn't look like there's any permanent damage to his toes." Nodding at Joel and receiving one in return, Jim had driven away.

"You told him?" Blair had asked with some surprise.

"He knows you too well and has worked with me too long to have bought that press conference," Jim had answered distractedly. "Not that he asked specifically or I confessed. Just told him I'd let him know as soon as Daryl was in the clear, and he didn't ask any questions on how I'd get the info. He'll stay to guard, just to be on the safe side as far as Malvern is concerned, and to share the news on Daryl with anyone from the department who needs to know."

"And you're okay with that?"

To his complete and utter delight, Jim had snagged Blair's hand and pulled it to his lap, hanging onto it loosely enough that he could get free if he wanted, but tight enough to tell him that Jim hoped Blair wouldn't want to. "Let's just say I'm doing some major re-evaluating in that department. And a few others."

Blair had tightened his own hand until he was hanging on for dear life, and they had sat in companionable silence all the way back to the loft. Releasing those long, warm fingers had been an effort, but not as great as what it took to actually make it upstairs. Almost mindlessly he shuffled toward his bedroom. "Joel will call if he needs or learns anything new?" he asked, almost rhetorically.

"Probably." Then Jim crossed the room and wrapped Blair up in an embrace that didn't leave any space between them from head to toe. It was exactly what he needed, and he hugged back hard, surprised, delighted and relieved, all at once. It went on a good long time, melting the frost that had seeped into him all the way to the core, leaving him shaking a little, both from the effort he put into it and in reaction.

Jim's breath stirred against the curls at his temple, a delicate, nearly imperceptible sensation, but one that moved Blair strongly. His partner must have sensed it. He asked softly, "Sleep with me?"

The feeling that question caused was anything but delicate, and Blair shivered once, powerfully. He knew his partner too well to think that it was a simple request for comfort or even sex. Though he didn't step away, he said, "We've been avoiding having a relationship for some very good reasons, Jim."

"I know," his partner agreed in a whisper by his ear. "I'm beginning to think none of them are really good enough. Chief, we're *together* already; we just haven't been making love. Do you think adding that is really going to make a difference to how much I feel for you or how hard I'd fight to keep you with me? Or how bad it would hurt if we did lose each other?"

"There's still the whole gay cop thing and the diss fiasco," Blair argued quietly, but his he