Back to Part 1

SVS-08: The Thick Blue Wall by MrsHamill, Part 2

The distant rumble of trash trucks woke Jim up early the next morning. Blair was, as usual, sprawled over two-thirds of the bed, his head buried in Jim's armpit, one leg thrown over Jim's thigh, and Jim smiled in peaceful joy. He debated staying in bed and trying to drift off to sleep again, but the knowledge that they had guests -- and his bladder -- conspired against him.

With practiced ease he disentangled himself from his lover, kissed him gently, and sat up. He found his boxers and slid them on, stood, stretched towards the ceiling and scratched himself. As he pulled on his robe, he found himself grinning like an idiot, feeling good, feeling loved. With one last, fond look at the man still buried in the covers, he padded downstairs.

After a stop in the kitchen to start the coffee maker, he paid the bathroom a visit. Coming back into the kitchen, he pulled out a mug and began rummaging through the cabinets, trying to decide what to do for breakfast. The door to Blair's old room opening alerted him to another presence.

Richie Ervin wore footie pajamas and clutched a large, ragged stuffed frog tightly under one arm as he stood in the doorway, rubbing his eyes and examining Jim shyly. He had taken the whole situation with remarkable equanimity, but Jim had heard his heart pound the night before, and could still sense the undefined anxiety in him. He was just too young to really understand what was going on, other than the fact that his mother was unhappy. Kneeling down, Jim smiled and beckoned the child closer. "G'morning, Richie. Would you like some orange juice?" he asked.

Nodding, Richie watched as Jim pulled down a cup and poured. On impulse, he set the half-full glass on the counter and boosted Richie up to sit there next to the sink. The boy giggled softly and eagerly accepted his juice, lightly thumping his feet against the cabinets as he drank, continuing his study of the big man. He wrinkled up his nose slightly as Jim reached past him for the coffee, and said, "You smell funny."

Jim barked with laughter and his ears turned pink. "Yeah, kid, I suppose I do. Let's see, what would be good for breakfast? Eggs?" Jim leaned against the island, took a sip of his coffee and smiled as the little boy made a face and shook his head. "Okay, no eggs. How about pancakes?" That didn't seem to go over well either, and Jim looked at the ceiling for a moment while he made a show of thinking. "Waffles?"

"Yeah!" Richie said, a shy smile lighting his features. "I like awfuls!"

"Waffles it is, then," Jim grinned, pulling the waffle iron out of the cabinet. "Do you want to help me make 'em?"

"'K," he replied, sipping his juice.

By the time Blair managed to drag himself out of bed and downstairs, sniffing the irresistible aromas of coffee and waffles, he found himself confronted with two children, one little and one big, liberally splashed with batter and laughing uproariously. Remarkably, batter had not gotten anywhere but on the waffle iron, the counter and the two cooks. Tina Ervin sat at the table with her own cup of coffee, smiling at the antics going on in the kitchen. Her face looked much less swollen that morning; a good night's sleep feeling safe had done wonders for her.

Pouring himself his morning transfusion, Blair sat at the table across from the woman. "Looks like we'll have to hose them down," he said to her, grinning. She laughed in reply.

"You're a laugh a minute, Shecky," Jim said with mock dignity, setting a plate with a steaming, perfect waffle before the younger man. "Keep it up... you'll need all of your humor to clean the kitchen while Richie and I take showers."

"Oh, man!" Blair whined, mugging for the little boy who came to stand with his mother. "You made the mess! Why do I have to clean it up?" Richie giggled from his place next to his mother -- who was holding him at arm's length.

"I cook, you clean," Jim shrugged, watching Blair dig into his golden waffle. "And since we're going to the auto show today..."

"I'll help you, Blair," Tina Ervin said softly, at the same time her son stage-whispered to her, "Mom! The auto show!" She rolled her eyes at him and continued, "Not now, Richie."

"Oh-ho," Jim chortled, rubbing his hands together. "We have another auto fanatic in our midst. Do you want to go to the World of Wheels Auto Show, Richie?"

"Don't get him started!" his mother laughed, taking the damp paper towel Jim offered her and wiping her son's batter- and syrup-covered face. "That's all I've heard about for the last two weeks."

"Please, mom?" the little boy begged.

Jim exchanged an amused glance with Blair, who said, "We really need to get you and your mom someplace --" Blair caught himself, and hastily censored what he was about to say -- "I mean, settled somewhere else, first, Richie. But if we can do that, well, you're welcome to come with us. Maybe your mom and I could just sit down and wait while you two children have fun." He shot a mock-glare to Jim who threw up his hands in defense.

"Oh... I wouldn't want to put you out any more," Mrs. Ervin said, biting her lip. "You've already done so much."

"You're not putting us out," Jim said firmly. "And it's no more than what anyone would do. Why don't you get Richie cleaned up and dressed, then I can get my shower and change. Have you thought about any place you could stay, long term?"

Despite his earlier words, Jim helped Blair clean up the mess in the kitchen while the two men talked over the situation. Blair had a couple of contacts at the University who he thought would help shelter the two temporarily, and he made some phone calls while Jim ducked into the bathroom to clean up.

When Jim emerged from the bathroom, he went upstairs to dress, keeping half an ear on his guests. Blair was making their bed. "I called My Sister's House," he said, plumping the pillows, "and they have an opening. I'm not sure Richie wants to go," Blair added, his voice muted.

As Jim dressed, he listened in. Richie was helping his mother straighten up the office and re-pack. "But Mom... I wanna go home," he whined.

"I know love," Jim heard Tina Ervin respond sadly. "I do too. But we can't... not just now. Soon."

"When?" Sniffles now, and Jim grimaced in sympathy.

"I don't... I don't know, honey. Soon," she added, her voice struggling for a lightness she obviously didn't feel. "It'll be our adventure. Just you and me. Okay?"

"'K," Richie said reluctantly, and Jim heard him pulled into an embrace.

Jim came back to himself to see Blair sitting cross-legged before him on the bed, studying him intently. "Are they okay?" he asked.

His lover nodded, grimacing. "It's not going to be easy. Poor kid."

"Yeah." Blair watched as Jim tucked a .38 into an ankle holster, out of the way, and winced at the necessity. "You know," he said slowly, "there are times... well, seeing what you went through, what Naomi went through with Grandfather Joseph, and now what Richie's going through..." He trailed off, picking at the bedspread, not meeting Jim's eyes.

Jim cupped his chin in one big hand. "I know," he murmured. "Every situation is different, Blair. Not all fathers are like mine, or like Ervin," he added.

Meeting his lover's eyes, Blair smiled sadly. "You wouldn't be," he agreed softly. "Do you..."

"Not now, Chief," Jim interrupted, kissing him gently. "We've got other fish to fry. And no, I don't. Come on, let's go."

Tina Ervin gave Jim the keys to her apartment, then she and her son got back into the battered Volvo with Blair. On the way, he explained the mechanics of My Sister's House, a loosely knit network of men and women who offered their own homes to battered women and children on a temporary basis. As it happened, he knew the family -- the Osters -- who had offered haven for the Ervin family; Yvonne Oster taught at Rainier.

They also happened to have a little girl about Richie's age, and two big, slobbery, exceedingly friendly dogs of uncertain parentage, which simply put the young boy into heaven. Yvonne welcomed the little family with open arms, refrained from even acknowledging Tina's battered face, and showed her to the bedroom in the finished basement. "You'll have your own bath down here, and the bedroom has twin beds. We have a roll-away crib, but it looks like your little guy won't need it?"

Overwhelmed, Tina blinked. "No, he won't. This is wonderful. What can I possibly do..."

Waving her hand in negation, the other woman smiled. "Don't worry about it, it's SOP." As the two women talked, Blair's cell phone rang. He stepped away to answer it, figuring -- correctly -- that it was Jim.

"All clear over here, Chief," Jim reported from the Ervin apartment, "but he's been here. The place is a wreck. Looks like Tina was right to be concerned."

Blair winced. "I'm going to see if we can leave Richie here, then I can bring Tina over to get her stuff. Does that sound good to you?"

"Uh-huh," Jim replied, clearly distracted by something. There were background noises that Blair puzzled over for a moment, before realizing with a grin that his lover was straightening up the Ervin apartment as he talked. "I'll look for you in a few then."

"Okay." Shutting off his phone, he turned to work out the details with the two women.

Just after noon, everything was set. Tina Ervin was settled at the Osters' house, and Richie was enjoying a PB&J with Becca Oster and surreptitiously feeding scraps to the dogs -- who had taken up residence at his feet. With a child's typical short-term memory, he had been fine staying at the Osters' while his mother left with Blair to get enough clothing and supplies for a week's stay.

While helping Tina pack at her apartment, Jim persuaded her to come with the two men to the auto show, bringing Richie so that the child would have some pleasant memories of the day. Even Blair joined in, making wry comments about relative ages of children in the household and trying to get the young woman to smile. She finally agreed, tiredly, once Blair assured her that he would stay with her out of the main exhibition floor and let Jim chauffeur Richie around to their heart's content.

"You've already done so much," she whispered, looking around the wreck of her apartment, near tears. "If it weren't for you..."

Blair put his hand on her shoulder, patting it gently. "For today, forget. Or try to. My grandmother Anna would say, blessings you have."

"You do, too," Jim chimed in, unsure what to say, but wanting to reassure her somehow. "Richie's a great kid. You've done a good job with him."

So that afternoon the four of them piled into the Volvo and made their way across town to the convention center. It was hard to tell who was more excited, Jim or Richie -- and both Blair and Tina laughed to watch and listen to them. The crowds were intense, giving Jim what looked like an instant headache until Blair put his hand soothingly on the big man's back. After a moment, they smiled at each other, and Jim swept Richie up to his shoulders before braving the hordes. Blair and Tina split off from them and headed for the upper level and the food court.

The Cascade Convention Center was often called 'Finneran's Folly' -- after the council member who had pushed to get it built. It was an enormous building, so large that it could, and did, host an entire circus. However, because of its sheer size, it often stood empty, a testimony to the efficacy of rampant consumerism and lobbyists. The World of Wheels Auto Show actually rattled within its cavernous interior.

Food vendors lined the balcony which formed a large U-shape around the showroom floor. Blair bought sodas and a big, soft pretzel for the two of them to nibble on, then he sat with Tina at a table overlooking hundreds of vehicles. He pointed out a long section of trucked-in sod, obviously set up for 'the world's fastest lawnmower,' and they shared an incredulous look. Jim wasn't easy to spot in the crowd, but here the enormity of the building helped; there were many people, but it was large enough to allow for less crowding. After a few moments, Blair spotted Jim and Richie, and pointed them out to Tina.

"Jeesh, we're going to need binoculars," Blair muttered, glad that the two had decided to stay near the lawnmower area, which was almost directly under the food court.

"Looks like Richie's having fun," Tina said, her voice soft as usual. "You two have been so kind to us. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it."

Grinning, Blair waved his hand. "A good kid like Richie makes it easy. A pretty lady like you helps too," he added, winking to show his flirting was innocent.

Looking at her hands, Tina's smile faded. "Not so pretty right now, I guess. Not so smart either. You must think me..."

Blair reached across the tiny, wobbly table to take one of her hands. "Hey, hey," he said gently. "None of that. You said it yourself, he's not the man you married."

She shook her head, not looking up. "I..." she choked, then took a deep breath and visibly forced her eyes up to look at Blair. "I used to wonder, how a woman could stay with an abusive man, you know?" Blair nodded but didn't let go of her hand. "He didn't start any of this until last year. He was passed over for a promotion he thought he would get. Our rent went up, Richie was growing and needed clothes, and Rich just got quieter and quieter. When I told him I had applied for a part-time job as a waitress, he -- he just -- snapped. That's when it started."

She took another deep breath and looked over the balcony rail to the crowds below. "I never would have... he's not a bad man. I would have never thought he could do that. Do this."

Studying her face, Blair's eyes were sympathetic. "You can't tell, you know," he finally said. "I used to think you could... but you can't. I mean, look at me. I'm an anthropologist for pity's sake... I study people. Societies and people. How they fit together; how they work. I used to think I could tell if someone was good or bad or whatever."

He smiled wryly. "Police work disabused me of that notion real quick, let me tell you. I've been working with Jim for, geeze, almost five years now. That was one of the first lessons I learned... you can't tell. Somebody could look positively angelic and turn out to be a serial killer, you know?"

Tina snorted slightly, the corner of her mouth turning up. "No, really," Blair continued earnestly, warming to his topic. "There was this guy, filthy, smelly, looked like he had been living on the streets, you know? He had the most foul mouth I've ever heard, and believe me, I've heard a few. He was a suspect in a murder, I was sure he was the one. Nope, turned out to be some well-dressed yuppie student-type that actually pulled the trigger." Shrugging, Blair smiled. "And the slobby guy was a software guru and a millionaire. Go figure."

Shaking her head and genuinely smiling now, Tina studied the young man across from her. "You two are good together," she said, breaking off a bit of the pretzel. "You and Jim, I mean," she added.

Looking down, Blair grinned crookedly. "Well, uh. Yeah. Thanks." When she chuckled at his blush, he gave her a rueful glance. "Y'see, this is kind of, well, new. We've only been a couple for a few months. And... and..."

"And nobody knows, right?" she asked, her look perceptive and penetrating.

"Yeah," he replied softly.

"My cousin is gay," Tina said, once again looking down at the exhibition floor. "He's a good person. Like you two are," she added. After a few minutes, she asked, "How did an anthropologist end up working with the police force, Blair?"

"Now, that's a story and a half," Blair admitted, grateful for the change of subject. It was one the young man never tired of talking about, and it was a good way to get the woman's mind off her troubles -- and off Jim and Blair's relationship. Blair chatted and Tina listened, occasionally interjecting a chuckle or an incredulous comment, and the afternoon wore on.

Blair was in the middle of a rather heavily-censored version of the events surrounding the golden incident and how Jim handled being effectively blind, when something caught his eye on the main floor. His voice trickled to a stop and he frowned.

"What is it, Blair?" Tina asked, trying to follow his line of sight. Most of the attendees were gathering around the incongruous grassy area, as it was obvious a demonstration was about to start. But several groups and individuals remained roaming around, and one group in particular -- back in a corner, behind several large vehicles, in a space that would have been invisible to most of the convention-goers -- had caught Blair's eye.

"That can't be," he muttered, then stood and craned his neck to get a better look. "Goddamn. It is! Oh my God! Why me? Why here?"

"Blair!" Tina said, becoming alarmed, "What is it?"

Whipping around, Blair yanked out his cell phone and pressed some buttons. "Tina, I need you to stay right here. I'll be back with Richie. Don't leave, okay?" Before she could say anything, he was barking into the phone. "This is Blair Sandburg, consultant to Major Crime Division and partner to Detective Ellison. My twenty is the convention center, upper level, food court. I need all available units to respond; wanted fugitives Sammy Chin and Wen Ho have been spotted along with other suspects. Detective Ellison and I are responding." Blair was aware of Tina's shocked gaze on him as he fought his way to the stairs and started sliding down them as fast as he could.

Barely hearing the "ten-four" from dispatch to his hasty report, Blair began calling to his partner, fervently hoping that Jim didn't have his hearing turned all the way down. "Jim? Jim? Buddy, you better be able to hear this, I need you, need you NOW! Sammy Chin and Wen Ho are here, man, and they got other members of their gang, I called it in, dispatch is sending units, but man, we gotta get Tina and Richie to safety! You hear me, Jim? Please say you hear me!" Ignoring the strange looks he got from the people he was racing around, Blair continued his monologue as he made his way towards the last place he had seen his partner.

Jim heard him. Suddenly looming up in front of Blair, Richie still perched on his shoulders, Jim halted the younger man's headlong rush before they could collide. "Whoa, Chief... I heard you. Here, take Richie, you sure it's them? Where are they?"

"Over by the Humvee, behind the trailers in the corner," Blair responded, breathlessly accepting the sturdy young boy. "Jim, you can't go alone. You've got to wait for backup! Those two will eat you alive!"

Sourly agreeing with Blair, Jim grimaced. "Yeah, yeah... c'mon, we'll wander that way and do a bit of eavesdropping, confirm it's them. No one will notice us with a kid, right, kid?" Jim reached out and tickled Richie's ribs, causing the boy to squirm and giggle in his new place on Blair's shoulders. "You called dispatch, right? Then backup should be here soon. Let me hear what I can, then you take Richie up to his mom."

Not liking it much, but realizing that he needed to be with Jim to prevent the bigger man from hot-dogging again, Blair led them to the display of surplus army vehicles. One, a huge Humvee, had been modified for personal use, something that Blair found ludicrous. Under the guise of inspecting the vehicle, Blair let Jim listen in to the meeting taking place a few yards away.

After a moment of stillness, Jim shook his head like a dog shaking off water and grinned wickedly at his partner. "It's them, all right, and we've got them nailed," he said quietly, pulling his gun from the ankle holster. "It's Ho, and Chin, and Wendell Burgess is there too with a couple of his cronies. Sounds like they're negotiating a merger, which is just not gonna happen now." Cocking his head, Jim's grin turned feral. "Backup's just pulled in. Take Richie. They'll be coming in the entrance by the steps. Tell them to meet me here."

"Will do, but don't you dare do anything until backup gets here, you hear me?" Blair's voice was low but adamant, and Jim's expression softened.

"I won't." At Blair's narrow-eyed glare, he insisted. "I promise! I smell Simon's cigars. Go tell him where I am, okay Chief?"

The oblivious crowd was mostly gathered by the lawnmower, waiting for the demonstration. Blair managed to skirt the area and nearly ran into Simon coming in with Joel and several uniforms. "Sandburg!" Simon bellowed. "What in the hell have you gotten into now?"

"Simon! It's not my fault!" Blair protested. Pulling the bigger man aside, he quickly filled him in. "I've got to get Richie here up to his mom, then I'll come down and..."

"No, you won't," Simon interrupted. "You'll stay up there and observe like a good little consultant. We've got more than enough firepower here to handle these bozos. Go on... you say Jim's over by that... what the hell? Is that a Humvee?" Muttering, Simon strode off, gesturing for the other police officers to follow him.

"Mr. Blair? How come I can't see the cars any more?" Richie asked as Blair slowly climbed the steps, watching the police fan out.

Reaching a landing, Blair indicated the spot they had been, pointing with his chin. "Just for a little bit longer, Richie. See those guys behind that big car?"

"Yeah, those were the ones Jim and us was listening to?"

"Yup. They're bad guys. And the good guys are gonna catch 'em and put 'em into jail. Sound good?"

"Yeah! Can we watch?"

"Sure can, pardner. But let's get you up to your mom first."

Tina was beside herself with worry and seemed to almost collapse when she saw her son with Blair. Richie crawled up into her lap, chattering continuously about Jim, and cars, and Jim, and lawnmowers that supposedly go "faster'n a rocket ship, mom!" and Jim, and of course, bad guys who were going to end up in jail, thanks to Jim. Blair realized with a grin that the boy had developed a serious case of hero-worship on his partner.

They had a prime seat for the fun, which went down without a hitch or a shot being fired, to Richie's dismay. Blair's call for 'all available units' meant there were enough police to completely surround the suspects, who wisely elected to surrender rather than fight their way out. The threesome sat at their table and watched as the half-dozen young men were approached, ordered to lie on the ground, and handcuffed.

A sudden, horrific sound -- part explosion, part jet engine -- split the air, making everyone jump. The lawnmower had started up. Blair spared it one brief glance, realizing as he did that there was what looked like a JATO rocket unit attached to the damn thing, but a shout brought him back to the scene of the arrest. One of the young men had taken advantage of the earsplitting noise to leap to his feet and start running -- right for the crowd around the mower. None of the policemen on the scene could fire, for fear of hitting a bystander, though nearly all had their weapons drawn and were shouting to the man to stop. Jim, of course, took off running after the fleeing perp.

"Oh, no!" Blair groaned, knowing exactly what was going to happen. "Stay here!" he called to Tina, already on his way. "I've got to get to Jim!"

The crowd had been oblivious of the police drama taking place in the corner, but the young man shoving his way through, followed closely by a large man wielding a gun and shouting for him to halt, brought the situation to their attention rather dramatically. The uniforms dispersed on the edges of the mass of people, directing and calming them and watching for the suspect. Shrieks and yells began to compete with the cacophony the mower was making.

The running man, who Blair identified as Wen Ho, leapt over the barricade onto the strangely out-of-place grass and headed directly for the riding lawnmower. It was idling at about 180 decibels, a manufacturer's representatives sitting stunned on the seat, and Ho pushed him off to climb on. Jim had nearly reached him when he figured out how to release the brake and rocketed off, a comically stunned expression on his face as he realized how fast he was going. The crowd screamed; Ho screamed; Jim bellowed for him to halt; and over it all was the horrible noise of the modified jet engine, spewing flames and exhaust as it propelled the lawnmower in a weaving path across the grass, cutting a drunken swath.

There was nothing directly ahead but a short barricade and a wall. Somehow, the panicked criminal managed to turn the mower around, gouging up the grass and slicing into the faux-marble floor beneath, and head back the way he had come. Unfortunately, at that moment, the large double doors of the service entrance opened to let another group of vehicles into the center. The doors were located directly beneath the food court balcony, and about ten feet past the other end of the long grassy area. Manufacturer reps, convention-goers, police and one frazzled observer leapt for safety as Ho tore across the showroom floor toward the exit.

Blair was closest to the doors and could see the three surplus army tanks trying to get into the building. Jim threw a piece of the barricade at Ho, making him swerve, which meant he had to circle around again to get through the door. Blair ran for the lead tank while Jim ran for the Humvee.

Pandemonium is a dull word for what followed. Jim somehow got the Humvee started and headed for the door. Ho circled around, creating small fires with the exhaust (which, in turn, started the sprinkler system) and tearing up barricades, lawn chairs and manufacturer's flyers, and giving at least one small dog a panic attack. Blair climbed aboard the lead tank and directed the enthusiastic driver to move to block the entrance, figuring the tank should easily outrank one lowly lawnmower -- even if the lawnmower was going sixty miles per hour. Meanwhile, Simon directed the officers remaining outside to bring their patrol cars around to the service entrance, and lights were flashing brightly behind the tanks.

There might have been just enough space for Ho to get out between the edge of the door and the lumbering tank, except Jim managed to block it with the Humvee. Ho screamed something before throwing his arms in front of his face and plowing the modified lawnmower directly into the tank. Blair, several dozen soaked policemen, outraged exhibitors and members of a wildly clapping audience (sure that this was just a publicity stunt -- though the owner of the dog had some doubts) converged on the scene in time to see Jim pull a battered and bloody Wen Ho from the wreckage of the mower, cuff him, and hand him over to a uniformed cop.

Jim turned to see Blair standing behind him, a goofy grin on his face. Then they both turned to see a sopping wet Simon, in a towering snit, and despite best efforts by both of them, they just cracked up. Simon closed his eyes and shook his head sadly.

"Ellison," he said wearily, looking at the ruined remains of his cigar, "you may have just hit personal best. A Humvee?"

Blair was laughing so hard he was bent over. Jim scrubbed his face with his hands, then shrugged at his captain. "What can I say? Army training. Use what you have at hand, sir." That just sent Blair into fresh gales.

Simon glared at them. Behind him, the sprinkler system sputtered out, leaving acres of wet cars and muddy grass and furiously screaming exhibitors. "I just can't wait to read your report on this mess, gentlemen," he said finally, shoving the soggy, drooping cigar back into his mouth. "I'll expect it on my desk by tomorrow. Early."

"Uh, Simon, tomorrow's..." Blair started, wiping his eyes.

"So? You got a problem with that, Sandburg?"

"No... he doesn't, Captain, sir," Jim interjected quickly, whapping Blair on the back of the head. "We've got to take care of the Ervins first, though, then we'll be in to get started."

Simon had started to turn away, but that halted him. "The who? And who was that kid with you earlier, Sandburg?"

"That was Richie Ervin," Blair explained, still bringing himself under control. "The, uh, friend we mentioned to you the other day, remember? I left him with his mother upstairs."

Jim glanced up as Blair spoke, then blinked. "Where did you leave them, Chief?" he asked quietly.

"Right up there... oh my God." The table was empty.

"Simon," Jim said urgently, "can you find out if Richard Ervin was in one of the black and whites that responded? I've got a bad feeling about this." Blair was already heading for the steps at a dead run, and soon had Jim right behind him.

There was no sign of either Tina or Richie. The table was fine, but one of the chairs had been knocked over, and there was no one around who might have seen what had happened. "Oh man... I don't believe this," Blair was muttering, pulling his hair back out of his eyes. "I shouldn't have left them, I shouldn't..."

"Stop it, Chief. This wasn't your fault," Jim said firmly, looking around. "Think. They wouldn't have gone back down the stairs, there were too many people, too easy to get separated, or for Tina to get help."

Deliberately slowing his breathing, Blair closed his eyes in thought. "Right, right. Okay. So they didn't go back down those stairs. What other exits are up here?"

As Blair looked around wildly, Jim stood still and hunted with his senses. The cavernous building was awash in echoes and scents for him to filter out, and he frowned. Blair immediately recognized the look. "Do you think you can pick them up? Hear them, or smell them?" he asked, grounding Jim with a hand to his arm.

"It's hard, Chief," Jim said, struggling to eliminate the extraneous. He closed his eyes, trusting Blair to keep him level, and concentrated. A woman's high-pitched shriek, cut off, and a boy's sobbing... there. "Over there... must be a closet or something. Come on."

Jim had shoved his gun into the waistband of his pants during the excitement; now he pulled it out and led the way to a door marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY beyond the food vendors' stalls, Blair right behind him. Easing the door open a crack, Jim frowned; it led, not to a closet as he had thought, but to a very large storeroom, jammed with shelves and foodstuffs. He could hear voices deep in the back of the room, and indicated to Blair that they should go in.

They left the door open behind them, to signal where they had gone. The deeper into the room they went, the clearer the voices became... a woman, sobbing; a man, yelling in anger; a little boy, crying and pleading for his daddy to stop. Motioning for Blair to stay back, Jim threaded the maze of shelving, following the voices, until he rounded the very last corner. Before him stood Officer Ervin, towering over his wife who lay on the floor before him, blood dripping from a fresh gash in her cheek.

"Freeze, Ervin," Jim snarled, bringing his gun to bear. "Hands where I can see them. You know the drill."

What Jim hadn't seen was Richie, who was being held by his father in a brutal grip. As Jim spoke, Ervin initially froze, then abruptly turned and hurled the little boy at Jim, twisting aside as he did so. Jim grabbed for Richie, trying to shove him back to safety, and Ervin used that opportunity to strike out at Jim, sending his gun flying.

Blair came around the last shelf to see a nightmare; Tina lying on the floor, Richie crouched next to her, both crying, and Jim locked in a struggle with Ervin. As he watched, Ervin managed to shove Jim back into one of the shelves, which collapsed on top of the big man, throwing him to the floor where he lay stunned. Taking an involuntary step forward, Blair's foot hit something on the floor... Jim's gun. Crouching, he picked it up and pointed it at Ervin, holding it steady on his target.

"Forget about it, you bastard," he growled. "Just drop to the floor and put your hands behind your neck or I'll blow your head off."

Breathing heavily and sweating, Ervin studied the young man crouched before him. "No, you won't," he said, reaching down to snap open his holster. "I remember you. You're one of those damn pacifists. You couldn't shoot me."

"Don't tempt me, Ervin," Blair replied, his voice holding as steady as his aim. "Look over there; see what you've done? I'll gladly shoot scum like you to protect them. And don't think I won't."

Ervin hesitated at the cold tone of Blair's words, his hand still on his holstered gun. Behind him, Jim began to pull himself up, shaking his head to clear it. Blair kept talking, delaying until Jim could take over.

"He's your son, she's your wife, for God's sake, Ervin! How could you?"

"You don't understand!" Ervin shouted. "It's not my fault! She makes me... she, she..." In the process of pulling himself up, Jim's hand slipped in something that had spilled when the shelves came down, and he hit the floor again with a grunt.

Several things happened at once. Ervin whipped around, drawing his gun. Tina yelled and Richie screamed, and Blair fired. The uniformed man went down, a surprised look on his face, and Simon came barreling into the room, followed closely by Joel and several other policemen.

Blair was frozen in place, his face white, his hands, still holding the gun tightly, trembling. Simon knelt next to him and gently covered his hands, prying his fingers from Jim's gun. Joel went to Jim to help him up, checking to see if he was all right. Jim was still stunned, and looked from Ervin, lying on the floor and being checked over by other officers, to Blair, who looked ready to pass out. "Chief?" he whispered.

"Tell me he's not dead," Blair gasped. "Please, Jim, Simon, tell me..."

Paramedics swarmed into the room just then, alerted by radio. Several of them converged on the bleeding officer, while another helped Tina and Richie. Simon helped Blair, and Joel supported Jim out of the room, giving the medics space to move. The two were pressed into chairs pulled over from the dining area; Jim scooted his chair over to Blair's, and wrapped one arm firmly around his partner's shoulders. No one said a word.

It wasn't long before Tina and Richie emerged, escorted by paramedics, who confirmed they were headed for the hospital and a complete check-up. Blair looked up at Tina Ervin, his eyes filled with guilt and shame. "I'm... I'm sorry..." he choked out.

Tina took his hand. "It's all right, Blair," she said softly. "You did the right thing. It's all right." Next to her, Richie climbed up into Jim's lap and wrapped his arms around the big man's neck, hugging tightly. Jim closed his eyes and hugged back. Then the paramedics urged them forward, and out to the ambulance.

"We'll call the Osters, Chief," Jim said. "Let them know what happened."

Blair nodded mutely, and the other three men exchanged worried glances over his head. A few minutes later, the other paramedic team emerged with a stretcher carrying Officer Ervin. Jim heard the sudden increase in Blair's heart rate, and wrapped his arm back around the younger man's shoulders, hugging him tightly.

"How's he doing?" Simon asked the lead EMT brusquely.

"Hanging in there," was the reply. "We've got to get him to the hospital, he'll need surgery and needs to get some blood, but I think he'll be okay."

Upon hearing those words, Blair collapsed into Jim's side, panting for air. Jim looked up at Simon, his expression anguished. "Take him home, Jim," Simon murmured. "We'll need to see you tomorrow, but take him home now. You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm all right," Jim answered, helping Blair to his feet. "We're both gonna be okay."

The Ellison-Sandburg household was unusually subdued that night. Jim had called the Osters, who offered to pick up Tina and Richie at the hospital, to either take them back to their apartment or back to the Osters' house, whichever Tina wanted, and Jim had gladly accepted. Simon called, checking up on both of them,and letting them know that the IA hearing would be set for Monday afternoon. Considering Blair was a consultant, and had been shooting in self-defense, Simon didn't think it would be a difficult hearing. But he recommended both of them come into the station Sunday to get the paperwork cleared up beforehand. He also told Jim that Ervin came through surgery fine and was going to be all right.

Joel had also called. He had seen Blair's face, and had been worried about the young man, concerned over what he had had to do. Jim reassured Joel, said he was taking care of it, then hung up and took Blair into the bathroom.

They bathed together, scrunched into the tub, and Jim lovingly washed every inch of his Guide in an almost ritual cleansing. Bundling him into towels and robe, Jim sat him on the sofa and prepared a light dinner, which they ate to candlelight and soft music. Then the two of them snuggled before the TV and watched a game.

Blair barely spoke once.

By the time the Titans fumbled the game away to the Dolphins (a rotten end to a rotten season), Jim was becoming frightened. He turned off the TV and pulled Blair up, twisting the younger man so he could look at him fully. "Chief, I think we need to talk," he said softly.

"Do we?" Blair asked, his voice devoid of inflection.

"Blair!" Jim gave him a little shake, then tipped his head up. "Look at me. Tell me what's going on in that head of yours. Please?"

Slowly, Blair's eyes lifted until they met those of his lover and best friend. Jim's heart wrenched to see the pain displayed in the blue depths. But when he spoke, the words were not what Jim had been expecting.

"Jim?"

"Yeah, babe?"

"How many people have you shot?"

Jim took a deep breath. "I don't know, Chief. Dozens. Maybe hundreds, if you count the Army."

"How... how many of them died?"

His shoulders slumping, Jim shook his head. "I don't have any idea."

"How do you stand it?"

Blair's voice was so anguished; Jim's face contorted in reflected pain for his friend. "Blair, I can tell you how I handle it, but... but that won't help you. You're not me," thank God, Jim added mentally, "and you'll have to learn how to deal with it in your own way."

After a moment, Blair clambered out of Jim's embrace to his feet, pacing slowly to the balcony windows. Jim let him go, recognizing Blair's need to think, and realizing that the gates had been opened now. Sure enough, after a few minutes, Blair began speaking again, softly.

"All this time," he said, "working with you, being your back-up... I was afraid that someday this would happen. That I'd have to actually fire a gun, hurt someone with it, to protect you or someone else." He shook his head sadly. "My fists, a bat or a ball, even a vending machine... that's all one thing, but a gun... I tried not to think about it, but I knew the possibility was there."

Turning, Blair surprised Jim by the fierce expression on his face. "I'd do it again, you know," he stated flatly. "That bastard was going to hurt you, had already hurt Tina and Richie. I don't regret the fact that I shot him."

Jim stood and joined Blair at the windows, enfolding the smaller man in his arms. "I don't either," he murmured. "You did the right thing. Never doubt that. I just wish..."

Blair nodded, his head pressed into Jim's chest. "Yeah. Me too." After a minute, he added, "And you hugging me, man, right in front of everybody... I appreciated it, but..."

"No buts, Chief," Jim murmured, fingers carding through soft curls. "I'm finding it harder and harder to maintain this, this... fiction. But if you need me..."

Taking a shaky breath, Blair squeezed harder. "Yeah, you could say I needed you then."

The two men stood in the darkened loft, locked together, sharing pain and love. After several quiet minutes, Blair sniffled and pulled back enough to look at Jim. "Let's go to bed. Will you... I mean, would you..."

"What, Blair?"

"Make love to me," Blair murmured finally. "I need to feel you, need to be reminded that you're okay."

Dipping his head, Jim kissed Blair sweetly. "Anything you want, babe."

Jim did his best to make the night magical, to erase the specter of the gun from Blair's mind. Gently, carefully, Jim prepared and entered his lover, treating the smaller man as if he were made of spun glass. It was Blair who finally demanded breathlessly that Jim just fuck him; Blair who escalated their lovemaking to a pounding, rhythmic joining.

Jim slid a pillow under Blair's back, groaning with the pressure of holding back his orgasm, then lifted Blair's legs up to his shoulders. "God... God, Blair..."

"That's it, Jim," Blair said, panting. "Please, give it to me... please..."

Unable to stop now had he wanted to, Jim closed his eyes and let his body take over. Blair's cries became louder as he gripped the bedspread in his fists, his eyes tightly closed and body bowed under the pressure. Feeling the edge upon him, Jim reached a trembling hand to Blair's erection, pumping it in time to his thrusts. Blair cried out, and Jim came, stars blooming behind his closed eyes.

When he came back to himself, Jim looked down to see Blair had not come yet. "Help me, Jim, oh God..." Blair panted, arching his back, his face contorted. Desperately hoping his sheathed penis would remain hard enough, Jim lunged, aiming as best he could for Blair's prostate, as his hand fisted again around his partner's erection.

"Come on, baby," Jim gasped, caressing Blair's leg with one hand while the other firmly pumped. With a wail, Blair arched harder and came, the salty come striping his belly, his tears leaking from behind his eyelids.

Gradually, the aftershocks left him and he relaxed, his sobs coming harder now. Jim gently pulled out, tossing the condom into the trash, and stretched out beside the younger man, holding him tightly. "Let it go, babe, let it go," he crooned, brushing Blair's hair back and rocking him soothingly. "It's going to be all right. I promise," Jim added, almost fiercely. "I promise."

After a while, Blair's sobs subsided, and Jim tenderly wiped his face and belly with tissue before tucking them both into bed, pulling a loose-limbed, exhausted Blair back into his arms. "Meant to ask you," Blair mumbled after a while, his eyes closed. "What did Ho yell before he hit the tank?"

Jim grinned in the darkness of the loft. "He yelled 'I don't know how to stop this damn thing!'"

Blair chuckled, and Jim smoothed his hair back, kissing his brow. "Sleep now. The guy's gonna be all right, and now he'll get the help he needs. Tina and Richie are fine, and so am I, thanks to you. We'll get through this, Blair. This isn't going to be our biggest stumbling block."

"I know," Blair replied, his voice soft. Shortly, Jim's steady breathing next to him made him think the older man had fallen asleep. But Blair stayed awake for a long time, wondering what would have happened had Ervin died at his hands.

Jim was also awake, only his personal demons were living at the station and taunting him and Blair over their relationship. He was still debating with himself whether to tell Simon before his Captain just found out, when sleep finally overtook him.