The woman who walked into the Sixth Precinct early that morning, a young toddler in tow, was quite petite. That was just about all anyone could say about her; she wore a long-sleeved drab raincoat, a large scarf tied around her head and huge dark sunglasses that hid most of her face. The little boy with her was three or four, and looked solemnly around as the woman urged him along.

Sergeant Lucy Hernandez, who had pulled desk duty that morning, smiled at the woman as she approached. "Can I help you?"

The soft reply was drowned out by the little boy's cries of "Mama!." The woman lifted him to sit on the edge of the counter. Perched there, his head was only a bit below hers.

"Hush, Richie, let me talk to this lady," she said, touching her forehead briefly to his. Turning to the desk sergeant, she continued. "I -- I need to file a complaint," she said softly. "Against... about my -- my husband."

Hernandez, a ten year veteran of the Cascade PD, had seen and heard it all before, so the softly-spoken request didn't phase her. It pleased her in a grim way, maybe -- especially when the little boy playfully grabbed the sunglasses off his mother's face, revealing a painfully swollen cheek and a nasty black eye -- but it didn't surprise her. Putting on her best sympathetic expression, she pulled out the proper forms and began the litany. "Of course, ma'am. Let's start with your name?"

"Tina," the other woman whispered, slipping the glasses back on. "Ervin. Tina Ervin. E-R-V-I-N."

"And your husband's name?"

"Richard Ervin." After a slight pause, she went on, even more softly, "Officer Richard Ervin."

Blair Sandburg rolled his eyes. "Oh please, Jim, man, tell me you're joking. The auto show?"

Keeping his eyes on the traffic before the truck, his partner Jim Ellison replied defensively. "And what's wrong with that, Chief?"

Snorting, the younger man said, "It's just so... so... tacky. So bourgeois. Next thing you know you'll be wanting to go to the Monster Truck Rally."

"Bourgeois?" Jim replied, laughing incredulously. "Did I hear you right, Karl Marx? This coming from the man who absolutely had to go to the carnival at the mall last week?"

Blair easily fended off the playful slap aimed at his chest, laughing himself. "Hey! That was for a good cause! It's not like any of the proceeds from this thing will go to anyone who needs it... all half-naked bimbos showing off oversexed engines for rich white guys..."

"You know what? I think you're jealous," Jim broke into his partner's muttering, grinning. "You know you'll never have any kind of muscle car like they show... not on your salary anyway... and that's why you don't want to go with me."

"Ha ha ha. That is really funny, Ellison. I just can't believe... hey, where are you going?"

Jim glanced at him as he slowed to make a left turn. "There's a new Schlotsky's open down here -- I thought you were hungry?"

"Ewww, man! Schlotsky's? Forget it. We still have, what, an hour before we meet with Glasser?"

"Yeah..." Jim said slowly.

"Then keep going straight. I'll take us somewhere where they have real food... not that yuppified dreck." Waving his hands around and studiously ignoring Jim's long-suffering expression, Blair indicated further down the road. "Turn right on Fourth, then go into the alley behind the theater."

"Yes, oh great leader of the proletariat," Jim replied drolly.

"Hey! I resemble that remark."

"Care to tell me where we're going?" Jim asked a moment later, making the right turn. "And care to fill me in on what's wrong with the Monster Truck Rally?"

"I will not even dignify that one with a response," Blair said loftily. "As for where we're going, it's a little place called Shipman's Deli and Grocer. Best food in Cascade, man."

"Uh-huh."

The two men continued to trade insults and playful smacks as Jim parked the truck and they walked to the tiny shop front. Jim wrinkled up his nose the moment the door opened. "Is that pastrami?" he asked, blinking.

"Yeah," Blair bounced happily, "pastrami, liverwurst, gefilte fish, challa... this place is a gold mine." At the sound of the bells on the door, a short, rotund woman looked up from behind an old-fashioned counter. Jim noted a few grocery items surrounding the massive cooler, but it looked like the place did its main business in sandwiches.

"Blair! Bubeleh! Where have you been, you silly boy? And who is the handsome sheygets with you?"

"Don't even think it," Blair murmured sotto voce to his partner, who was valiantly trying to retain his laughter. "Ethel!" he called to the woman, taking her hand over the counter. "Sorry it's been so long. This is my partner, Jim Ellison. Jim, this is Ethel Shipman, owner of this wonderful place, which is rather empty for lunchtime, nu?"

Donning plastic gloves, Ethel sighed. "Lotsa new competition, hon, damn gentiles. But the precinct breaks for lunch in half an hour and the cops will all descend on me. Until then, what can I getcha?"

Pressing his nose against the glass of the cooler, Blair nearly salivated at the display before him. "Oh, man, do you still have that onion challa?"

"For you, of course!" Ethel laughed, pulling a braided loaf out of a bin and attacking it with a large knife. "And on it?"

"Ohhh... lessee. I think I'll have that peppered roast beef, and oh! You've got fresh horseradish, don't you? Do you still have that wonderful spicy mustard?"

Grinning, the efficient woman assembled a monstrous sandwich as Blair spoke. "One or two pickles, bubbie?"

"Two, please, oh thank you, Ethel," Blair breathed as she wrapped the sandwich in butcher paper.

"Sure hope it doesn't any colder," Jim muttered, "'cause it looks like I'll have the windows of the truck open all afternoon." Blair gave him a withering glance but didn't respond.

"And what will you have, Blair's partner?" Ethel asked as she fished two huge dill pickles out of a brown jar.

Jim turned on the famous Ellison smile for her, as she was obviously at least a friend of his beloved guide. Her answering grin was almost as brilliant. "Well, that pastrami smells fabulous," he said, shooting Blair a glance from the corner of his eye. "But I think I'll just have it on plain old rye with a mild mustard."

Booming a laugh, the woman finished assembling their lunch -- after giving a surprised Jim a choice between seeded and unseeded rye bread -- and watched, bemused, as a silent battle ensued over who could draw a wallet first. Blair won, finally. "I am getting a paycheck now, you know..." he muttered, handing Ethel a bill.

"Yeah, yeah, Chief, I know," Jim responded, shoving his wallet back reluctantly. As Blair pocketed his change, the older man grabbed the sandwiches and bottled water he had added to the order. Moving to one of three small, wobbly tables competing for space in the cramped store, they had to sidestep to avoid a small woman coming through the door. Sitting, they heard Ethel greet her new customer with another booming welcome.

"So, bubeleh," Jim said, grinning as Blair tried to glare at him over a huge bite of sandwich, "how come you never told me about your relationship with Ethel? Or were you just planning on leaving me hanging?"

"Bite me, Ellison," Blair mumbled around a mouthful of food.

"Later, bubeleh, later," Jim responded, taking a bite of his own sandwich. Blair had to laugh at the look of pleased surprise that came over his partner's face. "This is really good! You have been holding out on me!"

Taking a bite from his pickle, Blair grinned. "I knew you'd figure it out sooner or later," he chuckled.

"Just hand over the other pickle and nobody gets hurt," Jim growled, snatching the dill from the wrappings over Blair's half-hearted protests. "So tell me again why you don't want to go to the auto show with me."

Groaning in protest, Blair took another bite. "Oh, come on, man! All right, all right," he conceded reluctantly, "I'll go with you, but just don't expect me to have a good time."

"Chief, they've got a Humvee modified for civilian use there; they've got the world's fastest lawnmower there," Jim said, his eyes taking on a slightly dreamy glaze.

Completely unimpressed, Blair crunched on another bite of pickle. Behind him, the woman left the deli, bumping into his chair and apologizing. "That's all right," he said to her, smiling. "You just want to get a line on a new vehicle you can destroy in the line of duty," he continued to Jim. "In the first place, you don't have a lawn. In the second place, who on earth would need a lawnmower that can go 50 miles per hour?"

"Sixty, Chief," Jim responded, pointing the pickle at him accusingly. "Pay attention. I go to museum openings with you, you can come to this with me. And besides, it has nothing to do with the practicality of the... what?"

Blair was looking out the window over Jim's left shoulder, frowning. "I know that guy, I think. What's going on out there?"

Twisting in his chair, Jim saw the woman who had just left the deli being accosted by a man wearing a dark uniform -- a cop? -- whose back was to them. He had a bruising hold of her upper arm, and appeared to be talking to her intensely while she tried to pull away. Extending his hearing, Jim listened in.

"Please, Rich, let go," the woman was saying, tears thickening her voice.

"No, you stupid bitch, I'll never let go. Haven't you figured that out yet?" the man answered, his voice low and dangerous. "Do you have any idea how much trouble you got me into? Do you know what I walked into this morning at work? Do you?"

"Rich, you're supposed to stay away from me, you know that," she mumbled, wincing as he shook her arm, hard.

"Dammit, will you just listen to me! I've been trying to apologize, I never meant to hit you so hard, but you just make me so mad! Don't you see that? Don't you..."

"Is there a problem here?"

Jim's calm, bland tones broke into the tension of the tableau and the couple turned. Blair stood just to one side of Jim, and he blinked in surprise as he saw the other man's face. "This is a private matter, you mind..."

"Wait, I do know you!" Blair broke in. "Ervin. Right? From the Sixth. I met you last month when I did that tour of the substations."

His jaw dropping, the uniformed man reluctantly let go of the woman's arm and swallowed. "Oh. Yeah. Sandburg. You -- you're that consultant. I remember."

"Then you'll know my partner, Detective Ellison?" Blair's light tone was belied by the tightness of his lips and the gleam of anger in his eyes. Beyond Officer Ervin's shoulder, he could see the woman's damaged face; the dark glasses she had been hiding behind had dropped to the ground in the scuffle, along with the bag of groceries from Shipman's. From the stiff posture of his partner, Blair knew Jim had seen the bruises as well.

"You on your break, Officer?" Jim asked, his voice still bland but his body language screaming tension. His eyes narrowed further as he noted the absence of the policeman's shield and gun.

"Uh, no, not exactly. Detective. But... but I guess it's getting pretty late," he mumbled, staring at the pavement.

"Yeah, I think it is," Jim responded softly. "Very late."

Shooting the two men a black look, Ervin strode away. Blair immediately went to the woman, helping her with the bag of groceries and picking up her sunglasses. "Are you all right, Miss...?"

"Mrs.," she replied softly, quickly slipping the glasses back on her face. "Mrs. Ervin. Tina. I'm fine. Thank you."

"Our pleasure, ma'am," Jim said, sadly looking after the woman's husband. "I'm Detective Ellison and this is my partner, Blair Sandburg. Would... would you like any help in filing charges?"

"Oh, that's... no. It's okay... I... I did this morning," she confessed, her lower lip trembling. "I just had to, just had to..."

"That's good," Blair said gently, patting her arm. "You did the right thing. You did." When she wouldn't look up at him, Blair shot Jim a helpless glance.

Pulling out his card, Jim handed it to the woman. "Here, take this, please. If you need help, well, don't hesitate to call me, either of us..."

Taking his cue, Blair pulled out one of his dwindling supply of PD-issued, battered cards. With a pen from his jacket pocket, he quickly wrote on the back of it. "Yeah, either of us. I can refer you to some help at the University, you know, legal stuff, if you'd like. Here's my cell number and our home number too. If you ever need help..."

Finally, she looked up at them, an incredulous look on her face. "You'd... you'd do that?" she gasped softly. "But... you're cops. Like him. They... they told me at the station that he wouldn't... that they couldn't do anything..." She looked between the two men, licking cracked lips nervously.

Jim's jaw clenched so hard Blair heard the crack and winced. "That's not how it's done, ma'am," the big man said softly, tightly. "I don't know what you were told, but that's not how it's done."

"Thank you," she whispered, a faint smile on her face. Carefully, she tucked the two cards into her purse, then took the bag of groceries from Blair.

"Do you need help getting home?" Blair asked.

"No, oh, no thank you, I'll be fine," she said, her voice a little firmer, her back a little straighter under their concern. "I'll be fine now. Thank you so much."

Without a word to each other, the two men went back to their neglected lunches. From behind the counter, Ethel caught Blair's eyes and nodded, smiling in grim approval.

After a few minutes of silent eating, Blair said, "Thanks, man."

"For what?"

"For giving her your card. For making sure I gave her mine. For letting her... letting her believe we'd be able to help her."

Jim sat back in his chair, staring out the dirty glass at the street. "I fully intend to, Chief," he finally said. "I hate that. Men that would do that to a woman."

Blair shook his head. "He's a cop, Jim. You know what went down. He was called on the carpet, his hands slapped, and an official reprimand put in his file. I'm doing my new dissertation on the closed society of the police, for God's sake. It's what happens."

"No. No, not if I can help it," Jim muttered, his hand clenching into a fist on the table. "Did you see her face, Chief? Did you see what he did to her? Just because he's a cop doesn't mean he can get away with crap like that."

"Jim," Blair said softly -- and after looking around to make sure they were alone -- he added, lower still, "lover. I think we're going beyond professional concern here," No one else was in the store at the time, so Blair rubbed his hand soothingly over Jim's tight fist, encouraging it to relax. "Maybe we need to talk about this -- later."

Taking a deep breath, holding it, then slowly blowing it out, Jim forced himself to relax. He looked back across the table to the man who meant everything in his life and found concern, approval, and pride in the deep blue eyes. "Yeah. Maybe we should. Later. Right now, we got an appointment with a bad guy."

"A possible bad guy, Jim," Blair responded lightly, rising and gathering up their trash. The deli was just beginning to fill with people as they made their way out. "Don't forget due process. He's only guilty if we can catch him at it."

"Yeah, yeah, come on Judge Judy. We gotta hustle."

The interview with Glasser didn't pan out, and it was a disgruntled pair that made their way back to the station. Blair didn't come up with Jim; instead, saying he had a couple of errands to run, he got into his battered car and drove off. Jim spent the rest of the day at his desk, catching up on paperwork and making phone calls.

At four-thirty, Simon came out of his office, pulling on his trenchcoat. "Where's Tonto?" he asked distractedly as he passed Jim's desk. He missed the sour look Jim shot at him.

"Had some errands," the detective replied shortly. "Where are you going?"

With a long-suffering sigh, Simon replied, "Got to go to a meeting with the Commissioner."

"Better you than me," Jim murmured, turning back to his computer.

Shaking his head, Simon growled, "I hate it when Sandburg isn't here. You turn into such a surly bastard."

Without looking up from his typing, Jim replied, "Consider me giving you the rude gesture of your choice, sir."

Rolling his eyes, Simon left the bullpen. Within minutes of his departure, several other detectives left as well, among them Jim Ellison, who had decided he would get nothing more done that day.

It was raining, for a change -- which was only marginally better than sleeting, which it had been doing off and on all week. Jim scowled out the window of his truck at the holiday traffic snarling up downtown Cascade and tried to refrain from drumming his fingers on the steering wheel in frustration. Doctors and the media were already calling for a nasty flu season, and with this weather, he reflected, it was a sure thing. The altercation at lunch came back to him and he sighed; he had intended to ask Simon about it but had forgotten.

The rain was letting up as he pulled into a parking space opposite Colette's. Turning off the engine, he rested his head against the back of the cab for a moment, closing his eyes and nearly zoning on the soothing, muted drip of rain. From the loft he could hear the click of computer keys; Sandburg was home. That thought made him smile and he climbed out of the truck to hurry in to the warmth. The temperature was dropping steadily and the possibility of snow loomed large on the horizon.

Blair looked up from his laptop as he came through the door. "Hey. You're home early."

"Yeah, well, the teacher left us alone so we all snuck out, Beav," Jim answered, pulling off his coat and hanging it by the door.

"Smooth, Wally," Blair answered, distracted by something on his computer. Jim walked up behind him, wrapped his arms around the younger man's neck and kissed his ear.

"Missed you this afternoon," Jim said softly. "Simon said he hates it when you're not there because I turn into a surly bastard."

"Then he's not very observant," Blair answered, tilting his head back to accept a gentle kiss. "As far as I can tell, you're always a surly bastard."

"Hey. I resemble that remark," Jim said, parroting Blair's earlier jibe and earning himself a grin and a smack on the shoulder. Reluctantly, Jim disengaged and moved to the steps of the loft. Once in their bedroom, he changed, noting as he put his dirty clothes in the hamper that it was quite full. Efficiently he emptied the hamper on the bed and sorted laundry, putting a full load of whites in a basket and carrying it downstairs with him.

"I love a man who does laundry," Blair murmured as he passed on his way out the door down to the laundry room, and Jim flipped him off, grinning. By the time he returned, Blair had finished up what he was working on and was closing down his laptop.

"You hungry?" Jim asked, moving into the kitchen.

"Not very, not after that lunch. How about soup and salad?"

"We got any of those whataya callems... rampy things left?"

"Rampions, Jim, rampions, and yes, we do. And I picked up some fresh romaine at the store on the way home, as well as replenishing our stock of bread, milk and beer, the essentials of life. You do the soup and I'll make the salad. You want to warm up that French loaf?"

"Naw. We can dip it into the soup. Chunky chicken noodle?"

"The man with the plan," Blair said approvingly. He straightened up the papers strewn across the table and carried them and his laptop into the office, making room for dinner, then joined Jim in the kitchen to prepare the salad.

In short order, the two men were slurping soup and crunching salad in companionable silence. Blair kept shooting Jim puzzled glances until Jim finally put his spoon down and leaned back in his chair. "Okay, spill it," he ordered. At the younger man's raised eyebrows, he elaborated, "You've been giving me that look again, so I know something's on your alleged mind."

"'That look'?" Blair said, blinking in surprise. "You mean, I have a look? A look you've noticed?"

Taking a sip of his milk, Jim gave his lover his best stoic glare. "Contrary to popular opinion, Junior," he said, "I am rather observant. And yes, you do have a look. So what's going on in that frightening head of yours?"

Blair broke off a hunk of bread and used it to sop up the remains of his soup before answering. "I, uh, did some calling this afternoon."

Knowing if he stayed silent his partner would eventually tell all, Jim grabbed the last of the bread to use in his own soup. After a pause, Blair did continue. "You remember when I went around and toured all the precincts? After Simon got me the official job as a consultant with the force?" At Jim's nod, he went on. "Well, turns out a friend, somebody I used to go out with, Lucy Hernandez, is, uh, well, she's stationed over at the Sixth. We stay in touch, still -- perfectly innocent, man, believe me."

Realizing where this was going and ignoring a spike of jealousy, Jim picked up their empty bowls and took them to the sink. "I believe you, Sandburg, I do. So." He looked significantly at the younger man. "You called her looking for dirt on Ervin."

"Uh, yeah," Blair said warily, cleaning off the table and bringing the rest of the dishes and utensils to the sink. "Are you mad?"

Jim shrugged and shook his head. "Naw," he said, "as long as it doesn't come back to hurt the guy's wife. And no, I'm not jealous." 'I'm not,' Jim repeated firmly to himself.

"It shouldn't," Blair replied, putting the stopper in the sink and squirting soap under the running water. "But Lucy was pretty upset about the whole thing. She took the complaint." Jim made 'go-on' motions as he put the soup pot into the soapy water. "The initial report was for felonious assault and battery, and violation of a court protection order... they're separated," Blair explained, "and he apparently moved out a week ago. Lu was utterly pissed at the guy, and just went off when I asked her about it. She said higher-ups reduced the charge to a misdemeanor and put him on suspension for a day. One day. She doesn't think IA is even aware of the situation."

"Well that explains why his gun and shield were missing," Jim growled, throwing a spoon into the sink with unnecessary force. "A day. I can't believe this, Sandburg! If the press gets a hold of this... this is just wrong. I don't care who the bastard is..."

"Well, that may be part of the problem," Blair interrupted him. "He's the grandson or nephew or something of some wig over at the state government in Olympia. Lu thinks his superiors are reluctant to do anything drastic because of that."

"He should be fired and thrown into prison."

"From your mouth to God's ears, my brother," Blair sighed. "But I don't see it happening. Plus, Lu kinda... intimated there were other things there. I think she was trying to tell me the guy's a few tacos shy of a combination plate."

"Shit." His jaw clenched, Jim turned and stalked out of the kitchen to stand by the balcony doors, staring out at the velvet darkness.

Blair left him alone for a few minutes while he finished up with their few dishes. Leaving them to air dry, he pulled a couple of beers out of the fridge, opened them, and went to stand next to his partner, offering him one of the cold bottles. With a grunt, Jim took it and with one long swallow drained half. After a few moments, he tentatively reached out his arm and Blair immediately nestled up next to him.

"Sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for, man."

The two men stood arm-in-arm before the window and watched the watery lights brighten out on the bay. Not for the first time Blair wondered just exactly what Jim was seeing. After another pull on his beer, Jim began talking softly. "It's just... this is just not what I wanted or expected when I joined the force, you know?"

Knowing when to keep silent, Blair did so. "After all the crap I went through with Special Ops, the Rangers... I wanted to make a difference. To go someplace where I could help protect people instead of kill them -- or worse yet, stand by and watch them be killed. But it's just the same on the force as it is in the army. All politics and brown-nosing; it's not what you know but who you blow. I guess that's why I haven't pushed very hard to make Captain. I don't envy Simon his position."

Quirking a smile at that, Blair took another sip of his brew. "Yeah, well, we talk about the thin blue line... I think 'blue wall' actually sums it up better. I know we've been actively avoiding it, but you know, this is kind of the same thing we're going to have to deal with if we come out at the station," Blair said.

Nodding and grimacing, Jim took another swig of his beer. After a few moments, Blair added, "And... more to the point, I think there's more to it than that with you. You were pretty upset earlier today." When Jim didn't speak again, he elbowed the bigger man gently in the ribs. "C'mon. You know you'll feel better."

Jim looked down at his partner and smiled ruefully. "Why do I put up with you?" he asked humorously.

"Because I give great blow jobs and I'm an excellent cook," Blair answered impudently.

"Well, the cooking part is -- Hey! I need that arm, you know," Jim complained, rubbing the arm that had gotten punched. Smiling and relaxing a bit, he drained his beer and turned himself and Blair away from the window towards the sofa. "Let's sit down. I don't know about you but I'm whipped."

"Not yet, but maybe soon," Blair grinned, and took the answering swat with equanimity. They sat on the sofa and snuggled; Blair pulled Jim around until his head and shoulders were mostly resting on a pillow in the younger man's lap. Jim relaxed with a sigh and closed his eyes.

They sat like that for some while, listening to the rain turn to sleet on the windows and the skylights, enjoying the peacefulness. Finally, when Blair had begun to think Jim had drifted off, he started to speak.

"The worst thing about reconciling with Dad is all the bad memories that come up, you know?" Jim said softly, not opening his eyes. "I know it's not good to repress, well, you tell me that anyway, but there are things I'd rather not remember.

"Our neighbors to the left were the Goodalls when I was growing up. They moved away when, oh, I don't know, I must have been about fourteen or fifteen. After everyone in the neighborhood had figured out what I had known for years. He beat the shit out of her, Chief, at least once a month. Their daughter, Eddie -- Edwina -- was a few years older than me, and I remember seeing her drive her mom home from the hospital once she got her driver's license."

Breathing deeply to calm the anguish he was feeling, Blair ran his fingers through Jim's soft, thinning hair and made an encouraging noise to get him to continue, which he did. "The first time I heard it, it scared me to death. I have no idea how old I was -- except that I was in school -- and I thought someone had, oh, I don't know, broken into their house and was killing them. When I saw Eddie at the bus stop the next morning, I asked her -- in a kind of round-about way, you know -- if anything was wrong, and she just looked at me, her face so white...

"That may have been the last straw... the catalyst after everything else that actually forced me to suppress all this Sentinel stuff, Blair. I -- I just couldn't listen to that and know I couldn't do anything about it. I mean, I couldn't tell Dad, he'd just tell me not to make up more stories... God!"

Without a word, Blair gathered Jim into his arms and cradled his head against his chest, rocking gently. Jim wrapped his arms around his lover and held on tightly. They sat entwined for some time, taking and giving strength and comfort to each other, until Jim finally, reluctantly, pulled away. Surreptitiously wiping his eyes on his sleeve, he pushed himself upright. "I gotta go downstairs to put that load in the dryer, babe," he said, standing and smiling down at Blair. "Then maybe we should just make it an early night. Nothing on the tube anyway."

Smiling in return, Blair said, "Sounds good to me, man. I could use some serious cuddle time. I'll take care of the laundry and let you get first crack at the bathroom."

Though it was much earlier than their usual bedtime, the two men went about their evening routine, brushing teeth and locking up, until they ended up in their bedroom. Jim pulled Blair down to him on the bed and locked him into a comprehensive embrace, snuffling the sweet-smelling hair. "Jim?" Blair's muffled voice came from somewhere around his chest.

"Yeah, Chief?"

"I think we ought to ask Simon for advice on this," Blair said. "We were witnesses to some of it, after all. What do you think?"

Blinking in the dim light from the bedside lamp, Jim thought about it for a while. Then, finally, he said, "Yeah. I will. Tomorrow."

"Good."

"You know, I'm not really all that tired yet."

Blair tilted his head up and grinned. "Me neither."

"Perhaps we could devise a plan to be not-tired together then."

"You've always been an excellent tactician, Captain Ellison."

"Prepare to be boarded, Mr. Sandburg," Jim murmured, muffling chuckles and turning them into moans with judicious use of his mouth.

Late morning the next day, Jim knocked on Simon's door and poked his head through. "Simon? You got a minute?" he asked diffidently.

His captain waved him in. "Yeah, yeah, come in, what's up?"

"Ah... nothing... just wondered if you'd maybe like to go to lunch?"

Simon blinked at him. "Go to lunch? With you?"

Rolling his eyes, Jim said, "No, with Miss America. Yes, with me. You want to or not?"

Nonplused, Simon waved to the mounds of paper covering his desk. "Unusual as this invitation is, I can't. I was just gonna grab a sandwich from the machine."

"Well, Sandburg has a meeting on campus, but he's coming in at noon. I could call him and ask him to bring in sandwiches for all of us. He took me to this fantastic deli yesterday..."

Eyes closing in exasperation, Simon interrupted, "That's enough, Detective. Give. What's wrong?"

Shaking his head and shrugging innocently, Jim replied, "Nothing... nothing's wrong. I just, well..." he trailed off helplessly.

"Jim," Simon said in his very best I'm-being-patient-with-you-at-the-moment-but-don't-push-it voice, "what is wrong? Is everything all right with, um, the Sentinel thing? You and Sandburg... uh, having problems with it?"

"Yeah.. no... Simon, that's not it... aw, shit. Look. I need to ask you, to talk to you, as a friend. Not as a captain. I need some advice. Okay?"

Leaning back in his chair and grinning at his best detective's discomfiture, Simon said, "Then why didn't you just ask? A new deli, huh?"

Giving up and smiling his defeat, Jim said, "Well, not new, but an excellent deli."

"Tell the kid I'll have ham and swiss on either sourdough or wheat with mustard. Hot mustard if they've got it. And a pickle. What?"

Jim's eyebrows were nearly to his receding hairline, and his arms were crossed. "It's an excellent Jewish deli, Simon. You can't have ham and cheese. You can't have ham."

Rolling his eyes, Simon shook his head. "Oh for... Roast beef meet with your approval?"

"Yes, sir," Jim answered, backing out of the door.

"And tell Sandburg he's paying!" Simon yelled before the door closed.

-------------

Blair bought four pickles this time, and managed to keep one and a half to himself, but not until after a battle with Jim, who had opted for corned beef on sourdough. Both Simon and Jim were disgusted by Blair's liverwurst on onion bread, but the young man seemed happy enough with it. Simon grunted his approval as he inhaled his sandwich.

"You going to the World of Wheels this weekend?" Simon asked Jim, blotting mustard off his chin with a paper napkin.

"Hope so," Jim mumbled from around a mouthful of corned beef. "If Karl Marx here will go with me. And if I get a break in the Glasser case today."

This time, Simon's grunt denoted extreme skepticism. Jim frowned at him. "The guy's cooking the books, Simon! I know he is, I know he's laundering money for half the goons in Cascade, Seattle and Tacoma, I've just got to prove it."

"Good luck. The man's more slippery than trout. I'd wager that's not what you wanted to talk about, however."

"Uh, no," Jim replied, giving Blair a look. "But I've -- I mean, we've -- got to talk to Simon, not Captain Banks."

"Well, Simon is feeling pretty good after that sandwich, so talk away," the big man said, leaning back in his chair.

Swallowing the rest of his sandwich with a swig of soda, Jim kept his eyes on the table as he spoke. "Yesterday at lunch, Sandburg took me to that deli, we... uh... we kinda witnessed a... well, I guess you'd say a domestic. In front of the deli. Guy was assaulting his wife; she was pretty badly beaten up and it looked like he was planning on finishing the job before we interrupted. He was a cop, Simon. Uniform out of the Sixth."

Simon grimaced and rubbed his eyes under his glasses. "Shit," he muttered. Rising, he waved his hands to Jim to go on. He went to his desk, grabbed a cigar from his case, and sat back down.

"Anyway. We helped her out, let both of them know we were around and that I outranked him. So Sandburg knows somebody over at the Sixth..."

"Lucy Hernandez, she's a sergeant," Blair broke in, and Simon nodded, waving his hand to signify a vague memory the name.

"Yeah. Well, she had taken this lady's report that morning. She told Sandburg that the guy had violated a court order and his wife had sworn out a complaint against him for assault and battery. But the brass let him off, one-day suspension, and reduced the charge to a misdemeanor. Simon, that's just not right."

"No, it's not," Simon said wearily, rolling his cigar between his fingers. "But it's nothing I haven't seen before." He looked significantly at Blair, who nodded somberly. "What do you want me to do, Jim? I can make some inquiries, ask around unofficially, but it's really out of my hands. I don't work at the Sixth, and, well, I can't say I'm unhappy about that. Captain Williams is a political appointee."

Jim suddenly slapped the table hard with his hand, making the other two men jump. "Goddammit," he muttered, "this is what I was talking about, Chief. Goddamn politics."

"What were you expecting, Ellison?" Simon asked, confused. "It's like that wherever you go. Look. I'll look into it, quietly, and let you know. But that's about all I can do." He looked as his best team -- Ellison glaring thunderously at the table, Sandburg staring sympathetically at him -- and continued slowly. "Of course, if the woman were to turn to friends for help, I'd have to encourage those friends to help however they can. On their own time, of course."

Blair's head swiveled and his eyes gleamed as he stared at Simon. "Purely on a non-official basis, right?" he asked, in a suspiciously off-hand manner.

"Yeah, right," Simon agreed, pleased with the direction the conversation was taking. "Like I said... as friends. You know."

Jim's head slowly came up, his eyes narrowing. "But I don't suppose it would be, uh, kosher--" he shot Blair a look that was almost a smile -- "for her friends to, uh, offer that help."

Sighing, Simon agreed. "No, probably not. Especially when said friends have a crooked accountant to nail." He looked pointedly at his watch and the door to his office, indicating that 'friend Simon' was about to give way to 'Captain Banks' again. "But privately, I hope she does. Now get out of here and nail Glasser for me."

"Yessir," the two men chimed together, rising from their lunch with lighter hearts.

By Friday afternoon, the plodding, backbreaking and eyestraining portion of police work -- in other words, the stuff that happens every day -- had finally paid off and Jim had enough probable cause to get a warrant to search Glasser's office. Even so, without Jim's special abilities, they would have missed the safe that was built cleverly into the bottom of a faux-antique sideboard. Glasser, who had been supremely confident up until the point when Jim had asked him to open the safe, tried to make a break for it but didn't get far. One very satisfied consultant to the police force sat heavily on him (after tripping and tackling him) until he gasped out the combination -- while said consultant's partner tried to keep from laughing and insincerely urged him to get up and off the suspect.

The two men were in good spirits as they worked their way through the requisite paperwork back at the station. With Glasser behind bars (until his lawyers got him out on bail) and the weekend coming up with nothing huge looming on the horizon but relaxation, things looked fine.

Sending a report to the printer for his partner's signature, Blair leaned back in his chair and stretched. Across from him, Jim finished up the last of the requisite forms and ignored the eraser that bounced off his forehead. "What do you want for dinner, man?" Blair asked him, popping several vertebrae in his back.

"Your turn to cook, Chief," Jim answered shortly.

"What say we just have pizza delivered?" Blair said, standing and retrieving the report.

Grimacing, Jim signed the last form and tossed his pen down. "Nah, I'd rather not, since tomorrow we'll probably have junk food, sandwiches and pizza and stuff for dinner at the auto show," he drawled, smirking at his partner who instantly sagged.

"Oh, lordy..." Blair moaned theatrically, shoving the freshly printed report at Jim. His muttered diatribe about Sentinels and elephants was cut short by his cell phone ringing.

"Yeah, yeah, hello," he answered the phone, still glaring at his partner. The glare faded quickly though, and he settled heavily back into his chair. "Yes, yes, I remember, hello Mrs. Ervin... oh, okay, Tina... what? No! Not a problem... are you all right? What's happening?"

A glance from Blair and Jim extended his hearing to listen in. The woman sounded calm on the surface, but Jim could pick up her accelerated heart rate and the underlying fear in her voice. "...so sorry, I didn't know where to turn, and you did say call if..." she was saying to Blair, who reassured her.

"It's all right, it's fine, we're glad to help, but what's going on?" the young man asked.

"It... it's Rich. My husband. He's... he made some threats. Said he... said he's going to come home to settle things. I... I know he's working tonight. But he's, well, I'm afraid, Mr. Sandburg. My little boy..."

"It's Blair, please, and is there anywhere you can go? When do you think he'd be by?" Blair looked at Jim for guidance but the bigger man just spread his hands helplessly.

"Nowhere. I have nowhere to go, he's got the car anyway, and I've got no money. And the police... they just said there has to be a crime committed. I've... I've already tried a restraining order. He just... Oh God. He'd find me at a hotel, and I don't have any cash... I don't know what to do!" Both Blair and Jim could tell she had started to cry.

Jim stood and walked over to Blair's chair, squatting down beside it. Blair put his hand over the mouthpiece and looked down at his lover in despair. "Tell her," Jim murmured, just loud enough for Blair to hear, "that she can come stay with us."

Eyes widening, Blair whispered back, "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Jim answered. "We can come by and pick her and her kid up. They can stay in your old room."

Blair's eyes showed his doubt, even as he smiled his pride at Jim. "Jim, be sure on this, okay?" he whispered, looking around the mostly empty bullpen. "She'll, uh, she'll be seeing things, you know? I mean, Naomi knowing is one thing..."

"I know, Chief," Jim replied, also in a whisper. "I'll take the chance, though -- she needs help."

Nodding, he took his hand away from the mouthpiece. "Listen, Tina. Jim just suggested you and your son come stay with us tonight. To be safe. Then we can figure out what to do tomorrow. But at least you'll be safe tonight."

"Oh..." she gasped, obviously trying to think. "I... I couldn't. I'd put you out... I don't... you don't even know me..."

"Yeah, well, it's not like you'll be in danger, Jim's a cop, an ex-Army Ranger, I'm a Ph.D. candidate at the University where I teach -- used to teach -- we've got the room, please. Let us help you." Blair put every ounce of persuasion into his voice that he could, holding his breath as he waited for her answer.

After a few moments of silence, she said, softly, "I'm so frightened. Not for me... for Richie. I..." There was a sound that Jim interpreted as her wiping her eyes on a tissue, then her voice came back strongly. "All right. If you're sure."

Jim nodded and smiled, passing Blair a pad of paper and a pen. "We're sure," Blair said decisively. "Give me your address, we'll pick you up... in an hour?" Blair raised his eyebrows to Jim, who nodded.

Writing quickly, Blair took the address and directions, then once again soothed the distraught woman. "Pack light. How old is your little boy?"

"He's just four," she answered softly. In the background Jim could hear cartoons on the TV. "You're sure..."

"We're sure," Blair said, smiling. "We'll see you in about an hour."

Tina Ervin and her son were waiting for them when they arrived by truck and car an hour later. Richie Ervin turned out to be a solemn, dark-haired, sturdy little boy who hid behind his mother until Blair enticed him out with question after question. Mrs. Ervin was effusive -- if nervous -- in her thanks to the men, and Jim reassured her, his clenching jaw showing the rage bubbling up in him at the sight of her vividly colored face. Blair installed the little boy's carseat in the Volvo, and Jim took their bags, then they caravaned back to the loft, Jim on the alert for anybody trailing them.

Blair got his way that evening and dinner was delivered pizza, to young Master Ervin's delight. Blair entertained Richie after dinner, making him laugh with stories of his travels while Jim put the boy's mother at ease about the sleeping arrangements. The office, once Blair's room, was straightened somewhat and clean sheets put on the futon. Richie would sleep in Blair's sleeping bag and foam mattress on the floor next to the bed. If Mrs. Ervin had any comment about where Jim and Blair would be sleeping, she kept it to herself, causing Jim to regard her with increased respect.

By half-past ten, Richie was finally settled in the sleeping bag and his mother was also ready to retire, reluctant to leave her child alone in unfamiliar surroundings. It was obvious the last few days had taken their toll on her -- she wouldn't talk about it much, except to say that she feared for her life. "I -- I don't think he's quite sane any more," she murmured at one point to Blair over a cup of hot tea. "He's definitely not the man I married. And I have no clue what to do about it."

"He hasn't hurt Richie, has he?" Blair asked quietly, his face twisted with concern.

"No, no, but... I can't take the chance," she whispered, swallowing heavily.

By the time Jim finished securing his home, taking extra precautions in light of the visitors sleeping within it, Blair was in bed, contemplating the clouds through the skylight. He turned his head to watch as his lover removed his robe and slippers before sliding under the sheets. The two men took up identical positions: on their backs, their hands under their heads, staring out the window contemplatively.

As usual, it was Blair that broke the silence. "You amaze me sometimes, Jim," he said softly, mindful of their guests below them.

One part of Jim's mouth quirked up in a half-smile. "How's that, Chief?" he asked, equally quiet.

Blair waved his hand in a gesture meant to encompass the whole loft. "All this. Not knowing that lady from Adam yet giving her and her son a safe place to stay. Knowing that she could spill the beans on us and just not caring. Too many people want to help but never can or know how. You just do, man."

Shrugging, Jim replied, "I guess it's my way to make it up to Mrs. Goodall. The way I couldn't all those years ago."

Jim could see Blair smiling in the dark as the younger man turned to his side and propped his head up on his hand. "Doesn't matter why, Jim. You just do."

Pulling one hand out from under his head, Jim dragged his finger in a line down the side of Blair's face. "Maybe I was just being selfish, then," he said, his voice suspiciously thick. "Maybe I was just hoping to get lucky with my wonderful lover."

If anything, Blair's grin got wider. "I could arrange that," he said, "considering how lucky I've been every damn day of my life since I found you."

"You're such a romantic, Chief," Jim said, still smiling gently.

"Yep, that's me, soppy, romantic, and..." He reached behind himself to the bedside table and came back holding lube and a condom, "...practical too."

Without a word, Jim took the condom from his partner, then slowly pushed Blair's boxers off his hips, easing them down over a growing erection. Opening the package, he gently smoothed the rubber over Blair's penis, hearing the hiss of pleasure coming from his lover as he did so. Looking back into deep blue eyes, Jim smiled and kissed Blair, then pushed his own boxers off and rolled over, presenting his back and grinning at the muffled groan of lust he heard as he shifted in bed.

Not wasting time, Blair thickly coated his erection with lube, then spooned up to the broad, warm back, wrapping his strong arms as far as they would go around Jim and holding on tight. A bit of maneuvering and he was at the entrance to Jim's body, pressing in firmly but slowly while the bigger man relaxed and allowed himself to get lost in the fiery pleasure of being entered. Jim closed his eyes and moaned softly as he felt himself be impaled, fighting to delay his orgasm.

Blair's tiny, careful thrusts, as Jim's body loosened to accommodate him, threatened to overwhelm him as well, but he managed to hold off as he slowly, gently seated himself deeply into Jim. Long, sensuous, uncounted minutes later, Blair was balls deep, panting softly and holding Jim tightly.

"God..." he whispered. "Every time..."

"It's like the first time..." Jim murmured. "Stay like this... for a few minutes..."

"Yeah, oh damn, good, Jim it's good..."

"Love you, Blair... love you so much..."

"Love you too Jim... gotta move... oh..." Blair began to gently pull out and thrust back, languorous movements designed to hold off the inevitable for as long as possible. One hand, still slippery with lube, found its way to Jim's rigid cock, slowly pumping and fondling it.

The two men floated on a sensual cloud, both nearly zoning on the intense pleasure of their joining, until Blair felt the familiar tightening, the tension in his body ratcheting up, the feeling increasing and growing, and he began seriously pumping his hips and his hand. "Gonna come, babe," he gasped, burying his face in Jim's broad back. "Yeah... oh, yeah... coming..."

Jim didn't reply, but tilted his hips back a little more to encourage Blair to rub over his prostate. The jolt of delight he felt nearly made his eyes roll back in his head, and an extra squeeze on his penis brought him to a breathless orgasm. Behind him, Blair froze, grunting as he climaxed deep inside, then melted into the mattress and rubbed his sweaty forehead against Jim's back.

Before he fell asleep, Blair managed to remove the used condom and throw it away. Jim did a cursory cleaning of himself and the bed with tissue, then rolled over and pulled the smaller man to him. Clasped tightly in each other's arms, they drifted into a deep sleep.