Chapter Text
Jim Ellison leaned forward and pushed his partner's stocking feet from the coffee table. "You know, Chief, it's been two weeks." he said.
"Two weeks what, Jim?" Blair asked as he shifted around, trying to get comfortable again.
"Two weeks past the week you told me you'd pay what you owe on the rent." Jim answered leaning back, his eyes closed and a faint smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. Relaxing at home after a long day, he had his senses turned down and didn't hear the sudden increase in Blair's heart rate as the young man's movements froze.
"It is?" Blair managed to croak out.
Jim still didn't seem to notice his friend's discomfort and continued. "Yeah, so that means you're living here now on my goodwill. I think you owe me something for that."
Blair sat up straighter and edged to the end of the couch. "Look Jim, I know I'm behind on the rent, but the car needed more work done to it than I thought, then there was a book that I had to have from my book list, I've been borrowing Mark's for three months now but he's getting kind of antsy about it..."
"I think you should do the dishes every night," Jim interrupted. "I mean you eat my food, put your feet on my couch, bring your girlfriends home for the night." The detective sat up, grinning. "Is it a deal? Better yet, you could do all the housework in lieu of rent."
Blair had deflated visibly as he caught onto the joke but his chin came up angrily at Jim's last words. "Want me to keep your bed warm too, Ellison?"
Jim gaped in shock at his partner's words. "Jesus, Sandburg, where did that come from? I was just kidding around here."
Blair groaned and scrubbed his hands over his exhausted face. "I'm sorry, Jim. I know you were only joking. I don't know what's wrong with me." He grabbed at Jim's arm as the detective stood up from the couch. "You know me, man, I open my mouth before I put my brain into gear. I know it's no excuse, but I've got a lot on my mind at the moment. I've applied for a grant that I thought I was a shoe-in for, but the word on the grapevine is that it's already been allotted to someone else. I worked for weeks on the application only to find out that it was a foregone conclusion. Plus with the two stakeouts this week, I am so far behind on my marking." He indicated the tall pile of folders stacked precariously on the dining table.
"It's okay, Sandburg," Jim replied, deflecting the apology with a wave of his hand. "We've both been stretched a little thin these past couple of weeks. Anyway, it was a stupid thing for me to say."
Blair looked down at his hands, hiding a wicked smile behind his abundant curls and sighed dramatically. "I'll get to the dishes in a minute, Jim." The anthropologist looked up, puppy dog eyes in place. "I've got all night to finish the marking."
Jim shook his head and moved toward the kitchen, giving the back of Blair's head a whack on the way past. "Can the look, Sandburg. I'll do the dishes."
As he headed to the kitchen, the words came, softly. "I do NOT have a look."
0~0~0~0~0
Blair tossed the last marked assignment onto the table and rubbed his reddened eyes. He could see the first hints of dawn emerging on the horizon and decided that he'd only feel worse if he went to bed for an hour's sleep. "Caffeine." he mumbled. Stumbling to his feet and indulging in a luxurious stretch, he drained the dregs from his cup with a grimace and headed for the kitchen. Blair had managed to keep his guilty thoughts at bay while he finished his schoolwork, but now they hit again full force and he pressed both hands to his forehead, as though he could massage them away.
Blair felt badly that he seemed unable to keep up with his share of the rent. Jim had been kind enough to take him in after the warehouse he called home was destroyed in an explosion just over a year before. It seemed that the idea that Blair was in danger whenever he rode along with Jim was a myth. Blair had been living next door to a drug lab for several weeks before he met Jim and hadn't known it. The words 'trouble magnet' were becoming embarrassingly familiar. Blair laughed softly. It seemed that perhaps it was Jim who was at risk from working with him, not the other way round.
The anthropologist poured fresh coffee and walked out to the balcony. The morning air was crisp and refreshing, a welcome balm after the long night. He shivered a little as his body adjusted to the cooler temperature and sank into a chair, leaning back and closing his eyes in relief.
Here he was almost thirty years old and still in school. He had been for more than a dozen years and now he was living in someone else's home. It was past time for him to grow up and find his own place. Blair hated feeling dependent on Jim for a roof over his head and never being able to offer to pay for a pizza or beer.
He resolved to start looking for an apartment that afternoon. Of course, there was the small matter of rent, utilities, food but Blair wasn't concerned. He'd been pretty much supporting himself since he was fourteen, when his mother Naomi had stopped insisting that he accompany her on her trips of enlightenment around the globe. His nomadic lifestyle with Naomi was the reason now that he felt such a longing for permanence, a desire to feel as though he truly belonged. Since he'd been at Rainier, he had survived mostly on grants and the good will of friends, earlier on he'd supplemented that with odd jobs such as dishwashing and bar tending and even some truck driving.
Now he'd have to factor in his time working with Jim but Blair had been juggling timetables and deadlines for most of his adult life. He had never needed a lot of sleep and the hours he spent with Jim had become more than just research time. The Sentinel needed Blair to ground him as he extended his senses so that he didn't zone. If he did, Blair seemed to be the only one who could pull him back. He needed to do more study on that aspect of the partnership. He was unsure whether his abilities as Jim's guide stemmed merely from being the only Sentinel expert in town, or the world, for that matter, or if it was a preordained attribute, much the same as the hypersenses of the Sentinel.
The one thing that he was sure of was that his urge to spend as much time as possible with Jim had absolutely nothing to do with the way he felt a stirring in his loins every time the detective walked down the stairs clad only in his boxers.
Like now.
Blair found his gaze drawn unerringly down to Jim's groin, where the detective's impressive length strained against the cling of his boxers. "Morning, Jim." Blair said. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. "I'll have breakfast ready in ten minutes."
The detective mumbled something unintelligible and nodded, absently scratching his broad chest and disappeared into the bathroom. Blair finally remembered to breathe and turned toward the kitchen. 'Yep, definitely time to move out.'
0~0~0~0~0
In the end, it was ridiculously easy to find a place and a job and Blair began to have the uneasy feeling that he'd just boarded a runaway train. He had only been at the university for an hour when he ran into Greg Stevens, a fellow TA who mentioned that his brother Mark, was having problems finding someone willing to work a nine pm to one am bar shift. Blair had met Mark Stevens several times and found him to be an easygoing and likeable man.
"There's just one thing, Blair," Greg said as they headed out to meet his brother. "It's a gay bar."
"That's cool, man," Blair grinned easily.
Checking out the rent ads in the newspaper during lunch, the anthropologist found several apartments that were in his price range. By the time he had to leave to meet Jim at the precinct, Blair had a new home. It was more a room than an apartment and the décor left a lot to be desired, but at least it had its own kitchen and bathroom facilities. On his earnings, Blair couldn't afford to be fussy and he'd certainly lived in worse places.
Taking the elevator up to Major Crimes, Blair tried to calm his pounding heart. Now came the hard part, telling Jim. Then again, maybe it would be easy; perhaps Jim's comments from the night before had been a subtle hint to the anthropologist to get a life.
"You're moving out? Just like that." Jim roared as he paced the confines of the small conference room. Okay, maybe not.
"Jim, come on man. Look, it was really great for you to let me stay with you when my place got wrecked, but I'm always behind on the rent and I keep you awake when I'm studying. Besides if I get another assignment like Larry, it could mean the end of a beautiful friendship." Blair said.
"Is this because of what I said last night?" Jim asked, looking out of the large window. "I told you I was only kidding."
Blair shook his head and moved up to stand beside his partner, resting his hand on Jim's arm. "It's just time for me to get back to being independent. I've been on my own for a long time and I don't like being in debt to anyone. I'll still be here whenever you need me."
"I told you I don't mind, Blair," Jim said, finally turning to face the younger man. "I don't need the money, I've only taken it because you insisted. You don't need to move out."
Blair steeled his resolve and looked back at the detective unwaveringly. "Yes, I do, Jim. Trust me on this. I have to do this, for both of us."
0~0~0~0~0
Blair tried unsuccessfully to stifle another yawn and rubbed at his bloodshot eyes before squinting once more at the computer screen. It really was time for him to get a new prescription for his glasses but he was barely scraping together the money he needed for rent on his new place. The lines of words jumped and blurred again and he leaned back for a moment, stealing a surreptitious glance at the silent man beside him as he did so.
Moving out of the loft had been more difficult than the anthropologist envisaged and Blair had almost caved in at the last minute. Jim had not offered to help him move, remaining surly and withdrawn for the last couple of days of Blair's time at the loft. The detective was not at home when Blair moved the last of his gear out, simply leaving him a note on the table saying that he had to go into the precinct early and asking the anthropologist to leave his door key in the basket.
"Keeping you up, are we?"
The voice in his ear startled Blair awake and he almost fell off the chair. "Mmm? Oh man, sorry, Jim," Blair said around a yawn. "I don't know what's wrong with me."
"You still trying to burn the candle at both ends, Chief? What's her name? Sally? Oh no, wait, that was last week." Jim said sarcastically.
Blair sat upright and glared at the detective, then sighed and bent once more over the keyboard. "His name is Detective Ellison and he insisted I get here at six am to finalize a simple report that he could have done himself." Blair muttered, knowing the Sentinel would hear him easily.
Jim stood and picked up the folder from the desk, then leaned over into the smaller man's face. "A report which you promised to finish last week before you were in such a hurry to move out. You forgot to sign it," he said, shoving the papers into Blair's hand. He picked up the increase in Blair's heart rate and smiled. "What's the matter, Sandburg? Am I invading your personal space?"
"Fuck off, Ellison." Blair spat. He threw back his chair, jumping slightly as it overturned and clattered onto the floor. He bent to pick up his backpack, noticing for the first time the silence that pervaded.
"Ellison! Sandburg! My office." Simon Banks' voice echoed in the void and both men stood for a moment, glaring at each other. "It wasn't a suggestion, Detective," Simon said.
He waited until both men filed past him, then shut the door and turned to face them. "Could you two keep your domestic disputes out of my precinct?" the Captain bellowed. "Some of us are trying to work here." Getting no response from either man, he poured three cups of coffee then sat down behind his desk. "What the hell is going on with you two? Sandburg? You've come in for the past three days looking like death warmed over." He looked closely at the silent young man in front of him, noting the pale, angular features and shadowed eyes. "You eating, getting enough sleep?" Blair merely shrugged and stood to move over to the window, staring out absently. Simon turned his attention to the granite jawed detective. "Jim? You're not looking so hot yourself. Did you tell Sandburg about your hearing dropping out yesterday?"
Jim groaned as Blair tensed, then spun around to face him. "What? When did this happen?"
"It was nothing," Jim said. "It only lasted a minute or so."
"Try twenty," Simon interrupted.
"You didn't think it was important enough to tell me?" Blair was in Jim's face now, bouncing up on the balls of his feet. "After what happened with Danny?"
"I wasn't sure you'd be interested," Jim said harshly. "I figured you had all the information you needed for your thesis. You got what you wanted and then decided to move on. It's not your concern any more."
Blair fell back as if he'd been punched, his face paling to a ghastly shade of white. "You think that's all it was, research?" He moved toward the door, then remembered where he was. "If that's all, Simon, I've got to get to school." He ran from the room, pausing to pick up his backpack.
"That went well," Simon said tiredly. "Sit down, Jim. You're not going anywhere until you tell me exactly what's going on."
0~0~0~0~0
Blair snagged his backpack from the floor and then bent to right his overturned chair, taking the opportunity to calm himself. The final comment from Jim had shocked him to the core. Blair had been shot at, held captive by terrorists, terrified to the point of peeing his pants and seen things that had made him lose his lunch. Despite every fiber of his common sense screaming at him to stay away and lose himself in the safety of academia, he'd returned for more. It had begun with the thrill of discovering a researcher's dream, a subject who fitted every aspect of his thesis and who was prepared, initially reluctantly, to be studied. Within days of meeting the gruff detective, Blair had felt a genuine friendship budding between them, a familiarity that warmed his heart and provided the security that to now, had been lacking in his life.
'Then you had to fall in love with him.'
The admission stunned him. The anthropologist was no stranger to the concept of homosexual relationships, though none had gone further than mutual hand-jobs given to relieve the strain on digs spent miles away from any willing females and a couple of short-lived relationships several years before. The feelings he had for Jim went way beyond a simple sexual urge, though Blair readily admitted the physical attraction. In the year or so that he had spent with the detective, there had developed a link, a bond between them. There were times when he thought that Jim could see into his soul. It was that very thought that had taken root and prompted his move from the loft. Unwilling, initially, to admit his growing love for the man, Blair had thought the only way he could keep close to Jim, so that he could continue to help him, was to leave before the detective discovered his feelings. Those misguided thoughts, it seemed had shattered the trust the Sentinel had in him and frayed the blossoming bond.
Blair closed his eyes, trying to shutter the thought. Shaking himself free of the image of Jim leaning into him shouting, his face twisted in anger, Blair bolted for the elevator. "Shit!"
He did an about-face as he spotted Joel Taggert lounging against the wall ahead and ducked quickly into the men's room. Joel had always been friendly to Blair. He was a big, fatherly man who had taken Blair under his wing, particularly since their harrowing time spent together as hostages of Garrett Kincaid and the Sunrise Patriots, a terrorist group who had taken over the precinct a year or so before. Today, however, Blair didn't trust himself to speak to anyone without either exploding in rage or bursting into tears, and neither were attractive options.
The anthropologist let the door swing slowly shut and moved over to the hand basin, bending his head to sluice cold water over his face, sighing as the chill refreshed him. He started at the hand on his back and groaned as his uplifted eyes met those of his worst tormentors. There were several officers in the Cascade precinct that disliked the police observer or resented his presence, although Blair could not really understand their feelings. These two, however, had turned harassment into an art form.
"Not today, I'm really not in the mood for this, guys." Blair shrugged off Tom Blake's hand and moved over to the towel dispenser, his tired brain belatedly registering a third man, ('Martins? Mortens?') standing with his back to the door, effectively blocking the only exit. Blair tore off a length of towel and dried his face. "What do you want, Blake?"
The tall officer shrugged, stepping closer. "Just wanted to put a proposition to you, Professor."
Blair noticed Scott Daniels sidle around beside him and backed away from both men, stopping as he felt the wall against his back. Blake cornered him, one arm coming around to loop casually about his shoulders and leant his face close into Blair's. Blair flinched at the strong garlic tainted breath and then bolted suddenly for the door, pulling up with a cry as a fist wrapped in his hair and yanked him back. His yell of pain was cut off abruptly by a hand clamped hard over his mouth and he fought to breathe through his nose as his panic began to overwhelm him.
"Not so fast, Professor," Blake whispered in his ear. "I thought maybe I could get a taste of what you're giving to Ellison."
Blair shook his head violently from side to side, his fear escalating as he tried futilely to dislodge the suffocating hand. His flailing hands were caught by Daniels and twisted up behind his back as he was pushed roughly to his knees. "No!" He struggled harder against the hands holding him, ignoring the pain that clawed at his wrists, as he saw Blake reach for his zipper.
0~0~0~0~0
Simon Banks thought he had seen and heard everything in his time as Captain of Major Crimes but the confession he'd just wrung from his best detective stole his breath. "You what? Jim, do you realize what you're saying?" Simon forced his gaping mouth shut with an audible snap and pulled a cigar from his pocket with a shaky hand. His aggressive, macho, covert ops trained, heretofore-heterosexual detective and friend had just said that he....
"I have feelings for Blair," Jim said, looking decidedly uncomfortable.
Simon licked dry lips. "How long?" he asked.
Jim shrugged. "Not long, forever, I don't know, Simon," he scrubbed at his close cropped hair and grimaced. "I just looked at him one day and I knew."
"Does Sandburg know?" Simon said around the clenched cigar.
"No, of course not." Jim looked horrified at the thought. "I was joking around the other night, saying how he was overdue with his rent. The following day he tells me he's moving out."
"Sounds like he didn't get the joke," Simon replied.
"He seemed fine with it at the time. He said he moved because he needs to be independent and he felt guilty about not being able to pay the rent on time." Jim answered.
"You don't believe that?" the Captain asked.
"Not really," Jim replied. "I mean, yes, I believe it, but I think there was more to it than that. I've got to know him pretty well over the past year or so and I get the feeling that he's hiding something from me."
"Any idea what it could be?"
Jim shrugged. "No, he's just been edgy lately, jumps if I get too close. I don't know about now but he wasn't sleeping worth shit before he left home.. the loft."
"Maybe it's time you told him how you're feeling, Jim. At least get it off your chest, try to get things back on an even keel between the two of you. Any more of the crap I witnessed today and I'm going to have to consider pulling his observer's pass."
"Come on, Simon. It wasn't his fault, I was needling the kid, I've been pissed with him for moving out before I could get up the courage to talk to him about.. us. I'm not ready to handle my senses on my own yet. I need him." Jim reasoned.
"Then fix the problem, Jim," Simon paused as Jim cocked his head, listening. "What is it?"
Jim shook his head, then strode to the door. "It's Blair, he's arguing with someone. I'm not sure. I'll talk to him, Simon." The detective headed out of the office at a run.
Simon Banks sighed heavily as he sat down and reached for his lighter.
0~0~0~0~0
Blair finally managed to get his feet under him and pull his wrists free of Daniels' grasp. He backed away toward the cubicles, both hands fisted and raised. "Just keep the fuck away from me, all of you," he growled hoarsely.
"Or what? Gonna get lover boy to come and defend your honor, faggot. You really think I'd let a little pervert like you suck me off. You've probably got STD's anyway."
"I don't need Ellison to look after me, Blake. You or your boyfriends come near me again, and I'll make sure you pay."
"Blair!" The voice made him shudder and the world shimmered and grayed out for a moment, before he shook himself and straightened up, holding on to the cubicle door for support. He saw the door handle turn and then Jim pounded on the door. "Sandburg? Everything okay?"
Sparing another glance at Blake and Daniels, Blair walked shakily to the door and glared at the third man until he stepped aside. The anthropologist opened the door and stepped out, still panting heavily and wavering slightly on his feet.
"You okay, Sandburg?" Jim looked worriedly at his partner; Blair's pallor and rough appearance was obvious.
"I'm fine, I've got to get to class." Blair pushed Jim away with one hand, wincing at the pain in his wrist, and sidled past him but stopped as Blake called his name.
"Here you go, Professor, you forgot your schoolbag," the cop said, holding Blair's bag out by one strap. "Nice talking with you." Blake turned back to his friends grinning hugely. "Somebody should get that door fixed, a person could get stuck in here."
Jim watched Blair walk shakily into the elevator, then turned back to the three cops. He snaked out a strong arm and grabbed Blake by his throat, barreling him back until he was pressed against the far wall. "Let me give you some advice, Blake. You stay away from my partner or you're gonna wish you only had him to deal with. If you even look at him sideways, I'll take you apart with my bare hands. Do we understand each other?"
"Yeah, all right already, Ellison. We were just having a bit of fun with the kid." Blake pushed Jim's hands aside and straightened his shirt, breathing heavily. Taking a backward glance at Jim's angry face, he left with his friends.
Blair made it down to his car before he threw up. He knelt on the ground and held onto the bumper as his stomach tried to turn itself inside out, sour bile burning his throat as he retched. He staggered to his feet finally and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, taking slow deep breaths to steady his quaking nerves. Snagging a bottle of water from his bag, he washed away the meager evidence of his vomiting and was unlocking his car when he heard Jim calling him. He didn't turn as he heard the detective's footsteps pound up behind him.
"Shit, Blair, are you okay?" Jim's voice was tight, worried and Blair finally managed to get his breathing under control enough to face him.
"I told you up there, Jim, I'm fine. Just a couple of dickheads getting their laughs with the resident hippie fag. Nothing I can't handle." Blair said quickly.
Jim indicated the concrete. "You threw up."
"Your detective skills never fail to amaze me," Blair said sarcastically, then held up a hand. "Before you say anything, I'm sorry, that was uncalled for." He finally managed to raise his eyes to look at the man he loved. "Look, Jim, I'll be fine, really. I've had worse things done to me by people with a lot more brain cells than those three have together. I'm just tired and a little stressed out right now. I've got to go, I'll be late for class."
Jim reached out a hand to stop him as he moved away. "I wanted to say sorry for what I said upstairs. I was an asshole, I didn't mean it, Blair."
"Well, I won't fault your self description. Look, Jim, I don't really know why you're so pissed with me, right now. I told you that I'd still help you with your senses, if you need anything else you only have to call. I don't have a phone on at my apartment yet, but as soon as things ease up a little, I'll organize it. In the meantime, you have my cell number or you can reach me at the university." He smiled wryly. "I would appreciate it if you could keep the dawn summonses to a minimum." He started to turn only to find his arm still held captive by his partner. "What?" he asked exasperatedly.
"Blair, I, we need to talk. I mean, really talk, not yell and argue and hurl abuse at each other." Jim said softly.
"I told you, I don't have time right now." Blair answered.
"Tonight? Come by the loft for dinner. Please, Blair, I want to fix this. I want, need things to be right between us." Jim said.
Blair thought a moment. " Not tonight, tomorrow night, though. I can be there at seven." He hesitated and Jim picked up the increase in his heart rate as Blair looked away quickly. "I can't stay long though, I've got something else I have to do later in the evening." That said, he got into his car and drove out of the garage.
Jim stood watching until the vehicle disappeared from view. "Shit!" Turning, he kicked angrily at the metal ashtray resting against the wall, watching butts and clouds of gray ash spray out. "What the hell are you hiding, Chief?"
0~0~0~0~0
Blair was drained by the time he dragged himself wearily into the pub that night. He was greeted enthusiastically by several customers but shrugged off well meaning offers of drinks and conversation. He let himself in behind the bar and poured a cup of coffee. Finding a small dark corner to wait until his shift began, he sipped at the bitter scalding liquid.
"Man, you are the bravest person I know" Steve Davis, the barman said, shaking his head.
"How's that, Steve?" Blair asked.
Steve leant close, placing a fatherly hand on Blair's shoulder. "You are the only employee that drinks that stuff. I have it on good authority that Mark uses it as a cleaning solvent."
Blair snorted and grinned at the older man. "Trust me on this, man, I am a connoisseur of bad coffee." He sipped again from the cup and smacked his lips as though to prove his point.
"You okay, Blair? You really don't look well." Steve asked, peering closely at the anthropologist over his rimless glasses. "I can do your shift for you tonight, if you want. Rob's gone away for the weekend on some business junket, so I'm in no hurry to go home."
Blair shook his head and, setting the coffee cup on the bar, donned his apron. "Thanks for the offer, Steve, I'm fine. Just a little personal problem I need to sort out, besides my rent's due. Gotta work to keep the wolf from the door."
"I hear that," Steve replied as he gathered a tray of glasses to take through to the kitchen. "Mind you, Rob's always telling me that I don't need to work, that he earns more than enough to keep both of us. As I said to him, true, though that it is, I still have my pride. I'm not going to be anybody's kept man."
"I am so down with that," Blair agreed. He stifled a yawn as he waved the older man out. "I'll see you tomorrow night, man. Take it easy."
Blair worked solidly through the remainder of his shift, grateful that the place was busy enough for him not to have time to think about Jim. He was prepared to talk to Jim and see if they could work out their differences but he was afraid that Jim might want to sever the partnership entirely, if he discovered Blair's true feelings for him. That thought terrified him more than any other.
"Can I get another scotch here?"
The voice filtered through his thoughts and Blair looked up from wiping down the bar. "I'm sorry, sir, my mind was wandering." He poured the drink and put the glass down in front of the customer.
"You polish that bar anymore and they'll be able to use it as a mirror." The smile came from a handsome lightly tanned face and brown eyes sparkled with amusement. Blair found it easy to smile back.
"Sorry," the anthropologist said again. He began to move away, but a hand on his arm stopped him.
"Looks like it's been a long night. Can I buy you a drink when you finish?"
"No, thanks," Blair replied. "I've got to get home. I have an early class in the morning."
"You're a student?"
"Yes, and a teaching assistant at the university. Thanks for the offer, though."
"Just one drink. I was supposed to meet someone here, a blind date." The man wrinkled his nose and looked embarrassed. "Seems as though he got cold feet."
"Look, I think you've got the wrong idea," Blair said, his face reddening. "I'm not.." He indicated the men scattered through the bar, then shook his head. "The boss doesn't like us drinking with the customers."
The man was insistent. "I'm only asking to buy you a drink, nothing more. It would make my trip worthwhile at least, save face for me. You should see the looks I've been getting. Poor schmuck's been stood up, what a loser. This way, I can leave with my head up."
Blair had to admit he'd had worse offers lately and he did find the man attractive. Despite the warning bells ringing loudly in his head, he nodded.
'You've been working with cops for too long, Sandburg' he thought wryly. "Okay, just one though. Let me take these glasses through to the back and I'll be with you."
"What are you drinking? I'm Ty Walker, by the way." The customer put a broad hand out.
"Blair Sandburg and I'll just have a beer," Blair said, pouring a brew from the tap, before shaking the man's hand.
" Blair, it's nice to meet you. Why don't I get us a table?" Ty said, picking up both drinks.
Blair nodded and picked up the tray. "I'll be right there."
Ty found a table for two in a corner of the bar and Blair sank gratefully into the chair he pulled out. "Thanks, man, I am beat," he said, taking an appreciative swallow of his beer.
"So, Blair, what do you teach?" Ty asked, steepling his fingers on the table and looking attentively at Blair.
"Anthropology," Blair answered.
"Really? I thought that was a subject for crusty, old academics who took delight in boring you to tears." Ty said.
Blair shrugged and sat back in his chair, toying with the frost on his glass. "I guess it depends on your point of view. I find it pretty exciting, actually. What about you?"
"I'm a final year medical student," Ty said. "Overworked, underpaid, you know the drill," Ty replied, grinning. His smile lit up his brown eyes and Blair felt a stirring in his groin that only increased his discomforting thoughts of Jim. The two men chatted easily for a time, Blair succumbing to a second beer but insisting that he had to go after that.
Finally, Blair drained his glass and pushed back his chair, unsuccessfully trying to stifle a yawn. "Oh man, I have got to go." He stood, wavering slightly and held a hand out to Ty. "It was nice talking with you. Oh boy," Blair felt a nauseous rush of dizziness begin to overwhelm him and he braced himself with both hands on the table.
Ty stood, quickly placing an arm around the anthropologist's shoulders. "Are you okay, Blair? You don't look too good."
Blair shook his head, then regretted it as his vision narrowed and he felt the beer he had drunk threaten to make a reappearance. "I'm okay, just tired. I've got to go." He pushed away from the table, grateful for Ty's strong support.
"Let me at least walk you to your car, though maybe you should let me drive you home," Ty said.
Blair pushed away from Ty, then reached for him again as his legs threatened to give way beneath him. "No, I'll be fine. Just give me a hand out to my car. I'll be okay in a few. Shouldn't have had those beers on an empty stomach."
"Is it out back?" Ty asked.
"Yeah, thanks." Blair mumbled.
Ty led the way through the still crowded bar and out to the back car park, keeping a supporting arm around Blair's shoulders as the anthropologist stumbled along, his head drooping lower with each step. His befuddled brain sensed the presence of another person who took his other arm and began to steer him toward a dark sedan.
"You picked a real pretty one this time, Paul," the stranger said, "You gonna come party with us, sweet thing?"
"Shut up, you moron," Ty hissed. "No names, remember, sometimes I wonder why I keep you around."
"Come on, it's not as though he's going to remember anything. He's pretty doped up. You didn't give him too much, did you? He's no good to the boss if he's comatose or dead." The stranger's voice echoed in Blair's pounding head and he struggled weakly to free himself from the vice-like grip.
"Wha... no," Blair succeeded finally in wrenching his arm out of Ty's grasp. He staggered three steps before he felt himself falling and his last conscious thought was of Jim.
0~0~0~0~0
Blair woke to cold and the sour stench of vomit and stale beer. He managed to force his leaden muscles to move and was able to pull himself up so that he was leaning against a dumpster. His head was pounding and he felt shaky and sick. Feeling something sharp dig into his feet, he looked down to see that he was barefoot and standing in a pile of refuse and broken glass. His bleary gaze traveled upward and he saw that his jeans were on but pulled up only as far as his hips, unbuttoned and filthy. He had no idea where his shirt was and he shivered in the night chill. Looking around, he saw his car parked in its usual spot about fifty feet away.
The bar was locked up for the morning and looked deserted. Deciding that he would never make it to his car, he stumbled toward a door on the opposite side of the alley. He leant against it, as nausea overwhelmed him and he began to vomit. As blackness threatened once more, he slid down the door and rolled to his side as the heaving became more forceful and he fought for breath. He heard the door open and a gasp of surprise then muttered foreign words were spoken.
"Please help me," Blair whispered, one hand reaching up to grasp at the leg on the periphery of his vision. His hand was slapped away and he moaned in misery and fear as he heard the door slammed shut.
Then blackness filled his vision and he felt his awareness trickling away. The observer squeezed his eyes shut, allowing the hot tears to trickle down his cheeks and mingle with the blood that dripped off his chin. He lay in a pool of dirty water, his vision slowly graying out and mercifully taking with it, his pain.
0~0~0~0~0
Jim slammed down the phone receiver and turned back to the kitchen to put the now cold lasagna in the refrigerator before it spoiled. "Damn you, Sandburg" he muttered angrily, tossing the unused cutlery into the drawer with a crash. "I thought you said we could talk. Well, fuck you. Guess this proves I was right. Got what you needed for your dissertation and a nice cozy roof over your head while you finished it, then you just leave without so much as a kiss my ass."
Even as he spoke them, Jim knew the words were untrue, but his stubborn mind refused to put into words what Blair's actions in the past few weeks had translated. His partner's nervousness whenever Jim got too close, the way he moved out of reach, if Jim tried to touch him. He was scared of Jim. "Why?" The ringing of the phone interrupted Jim's angry tirade. "Finally," he said as he strode to answer it. "Sandburg? Where the hell are you?"
"Sorry, Jim, it's me, Simon," his captain said.
Jim sighed and sat down on the edge of the coffee table. "What can I do for you, Captain?"
"I take it you haven't spoken to Sandburg today, Jim?" Simon asked.
"No sir, I haven't," Jim replied. "He was supposed to meet me here tonight for dinner, but he didn't show. He's not in his office and his cell phone is turned off."
"Actually, Jim, it's Sandburg that I need to talk to you about. Could you come down to the station?" Simon replied.
"Has something happened to him?" Jim's heart shot into his throat at the thought.
"Not as far as I know, Jim, just some information I've been given."
"What's going on, Simon?" Jim felt his heart accelerate with an inexplicable fear. "Can't you tell me over the phone, besides Blair might still show up." Jim protested.
"He has your cell number, Jim. Look, it's important, I'll see you here in twenty minutes." Abruptly the line went dead and Jim hung the receiver up.
"Shit, Sandburg, what the hell have you gotten into this time?" Jim fretted. He grabbed his jacket off the hook by the door and left, slamming the door behind him. He was halfway to his truck when the phone in the apartment rang again and he hesitated for a moment, then shook his head and continued on, knowing the answering machine would pick it up.
Jim walked into the bullpen just as Simon was ushering a tall, blond man into his office. He looked up as he saw Jim out the corner of his eye and motioned for him to join them.
"Hey, Jim, how are you doing, man?" Ronnie Russell held out his hand in greeting.
"Ronnie, good to see you," Jim answered, shaking the proffered hand. "You sick of the Violent Crimes Unit? Or are you looking to take over my job?"
"None of the above, Jim," Ronnie's blue eyes twinkled as he held up both hands in a gesture of denial. "I wanted to check out a couple of things with Simon, and he thought we should wait until you got here."
Jim looked at the police captain. "What's this got to do with Blair, Simon?"
"I'm hoping you could tell us, Jim," Simon said. "The V.C. unit has been running a surveillance op on gay bars downtown, trying to nail a date rape scam, that's been going for the last couple of months. Ronnie, you want to take it from here?"
The vice cop nodded and leaned forward in his seat. "We've had a couple of reports that guys are being picked up in gay bars, drugged with Roofies or GBH, then taken elsewhere and raped. The kicker is that photos and videos are being taken and released for sale to selected individuals for a substantial sum of money. The victims are usually released in the same area they were taken from, generally unharmed."
"Roofies, that's Rohypnol, isn't it?" Jim asked. "Doesn't that stuff cause amnesia?"
Ronnie nodded. "Usually at least blackouts, coupled with alcohol, it can cause total short term memory loss, not to mention, respiratory depression, death from aspiration of vomit."
"So, where did your information come from?" Jim asked. He stood and began to pace, not liking where this conversation was headed.
"Most guys, gay or not, don't report rapes, Jim. It's generally downplayed, the common assumption being that a man can't be raped, because they're too strong. For most guys, it's too embarrassing, anyway, so nothing gets done. One of my snitches gave me a lead on some videos that were being sold. We raided the place and got the manager on charges, but he's really scared, man. He's not talking. About two weeks ago, though, a guy was taken from a bar, then dropped back virtually at the front door early the next day. Seems they didn't realize he had a boyfriend, who he called to come get him. They'd had a fight and the guy had gone to the pub and gotten seriously drunk before he was picked up. Apparently, the guy was pretty sick and when they got to the hospital, the boyfriend said he'd seen people on Roofies before and asked them to test him for it. It came back positive. Seems the guy was pretty bad there for a while and the doctor and lover were concerned enough to call us."
"What's all this got to do with Blair?" Jim asked nervously.
"We've been watching a couple of bars, the word is that one of the guys we're looking for goes by the name of Paul Ferretti, but the guy's not known here. He's new to town and we can't get a handle on him. I was down at The Nest on surveillance the other night, Jim. Sandburg was there, working behind the bar." Ronnie said, uncomfortably.
"That's bullshit!" Jim fumed. "Sandburg's got his work cut out for him just doing his stuff at the University and coming in here." Jim stopped suddenly, as his mind's eye began to put together a picture. Blair, exhausted and bad tempered, asking him to keep the early morning calls to a minimum, telling him that he had something to do late tonight. Jim had been wondering how he was finding rent money; it was obvious that Blair was barely scraping enough together to pay Jim.
"Jim, I know Sandburg, it was him. The problem is, he knows me, too. I want him out of there, Jim. I want to catch this guy and if Blair tips him off as to who I am..." Ronnie didn't need to finish the statement. He stood up and walked to the door. "I'm not saying he'd do it deliberately, Jim. But he doesn't know about this operation, I thought that Major Crimes was running a surveillance of their own and came down to ask Simon to call it off. I gotta go. Talk to him, Jim and get him the hell out of there. If something goes down, I don't want him caught in the middle."
Jim nodded and ran a hand through his cropped hair. "I appreciate your concern, Ronnie. I'll talk to him."
The vice cop nodded and left and Jim turned to Simon. "I'm sorry, sir, I had no idea. I don't know what the hell is going on."
"Have you spoken to him yet, about ..., about what you told me?"
Jim shook his head. "Like I said, he was supposed to come to the loft for dinner. He didn't show and I can't get hold of him."
"Have you been around to his apartment?" Simon asked.
Jim shook his head again. "He's been avoiding giving me the address."
"And?" Simon quizzed.
Jim sighed and had the grace to look uncomfortable. "The way I was feeling about him moving out and about him and me, I probably gave him the impression I didn't give a shit."
"Find him, Jim, talk to him about this stuff from Russell. He may have something to offer on that anyway. Then get this other thing sorted out one way or the other. Don't bring him back to the precinct until you do."
"Yes, sir." Jim turned to leave then stopped as his cell phone rang. Pulling it from his pocket he answered. "Ellison."
"Detective Ellison, my name is Steve Davis. I work at a bar called The Nest on the south side of town."
Jim felt a shiver of fear snake down his spine and his throat tightened so that he had to force the words out. "I've heard of it. What can I do for you, Mr. Davis and how did you get my cell phone number?"
"I've got Blair here, Detective. We work together at The Nest. Look," Steve lowered his voice, "Blair doesn't know I'm calling you. I found him out back of the bar around five o'clock when I came to open up. He'd been beaten up. He didn't want me to tell anybody about this, but I'm worried about him. Whoever did this roughed him up pretty badly. He's sleeping right now. I went through his wallet and found your card. I remember him telling me he did some kind of work with the police."
"I'm on my way," Jim interrupted. "Whatever happens, keep him there, please."
"Don't worry, Detective, I seriously doubt Blair's capable of going anywhere under his own steam for some time. Thanks."
"Jim?"
The detective waved away Simon's inquiring look and headed for the door. "I'll explain later, Simon. I've got to go."
He arrived at the bar a short time later, having flouted most of the road rules to get there in record time. He parked out back next to Blair's car and found Steve waiting for him at the back door to the bar.
"Thanks for coming," Steve said. "Though I doubt Blair will thank me. When he's made any sense at all, it's been 'Don't tell Jim.' He's back here." Steve led the way down a darkened narrow corridor. Rooms led off each side, doors partly opened, Jim could see that they were used for storage.
"Oh Jesus," Jim whispered his mouth suddenly dry and his eyes tearing with sudden moisture. Blair stood with his back to the door, wavering slightly on his feet. Jim could already see the bruising peppering the younger man's back and sides, snaking down to disappear under the waistband of his soiled jeans. Blair turned at Jim's whispered exclamation and lost his balance, his knees buckling under him. Jim was at his side in two quick paces; placing a strong arm around his partner's waist and easing him down to sit on the edge of the bed.
"Easy, buddy. I've got you," he croaked, his voice rough with emotion.
"Hey Jim, I'm okay," Blair said, pushing away the detective's hands as they ghosted over his body, checking for injuries.
"This is okay?" Jim asked, his hands still brushing gently over Blair's body. His partner's face seemed to have taken the worst of the beating. Both eyes were blackened and one was almost swollen shut and cuts and abrasions traveled the length of one bruised cheek. Blair's bottom lip was gashed and swollen, still oozing blood. Turning his attention to Blair's torso, Jim dialed down his sense of smell to escape the nauseating mix of vomit, blood and stale sex. Steve had cleaned the dirt from Blair's body but the odors remained. Both of the younger man's hands were scraped and several fingernails were torn.
"What happened, Chief?" Jim asked, his hand lingering on Blair's shoulder, the fingers unconsciously stroking a soothing pattern along the bruised flesh.
Blair closed his eyes at the sensation; almost surrendering to the exhaustion that was tugging at his body and soul. "Mmm, nothing happened. There was a fight, I tried to break it up, I got caught in the middle." He opened his eyes and made an effort to stand up, using Jim's arm as support. "Can we do this later, Jim? I'm tired, I just want to go home and crash."
Jim sighed then turned to look at Steve. "Can we have a minute alone, please?"
"Sure," Steve replied, "I've got to get back to the bar. I'll talk to you later, Blair. Your shift's covered, don't come back until you're feeling better. We'll figure out something to pay your rent, okay?"
Blair reddened but nodded then looked around the room. "Where's my shirt, man?"
"You didn't have it on when I found you," Steve answered. "There's a set of sweats there, take those."
"Thanks man," Blair said. He turned back to Jim and spoke softly. "Would you mind, Jim? I'd like to get dressed."
"I'll wait outside, buddy. Just call if you need help. Then I'll take you to the hospital to get checked out."
"No!" The word was out almost before Jim finished his sentence.
"What do you mean no, Sandburg? You've had the shit beaten out of you, and God only knows what else. If you think I'm buying the bar room brawl routine, you've got another thing coming. You're going to the hospital even if I have to knock you out and drag you there and then we're going to talk." Jim paused and reached out a hand to stroke Blair's stubbled cheek. "I mean really talk, Blair, there's some stuff I need to tell you. I'm scared telling you will drive you even further away from me, but I can't have this wall between us anymore. And I can't forgive myself for the way I've been treating you."
Blair turned his cheek into Jim's caress, closing his eyes and smiling softly. "You're in love with me," he said, his voice sure. He reached up one hand, cupping Jim's palm in his and brought it to his lips, laying a soft chaste kiss on the rough calluses. "Then it's okay."
"What's okay, the way I've been pushing you around?" Jim asked, not attempting to pull his hand away from the electric feeling of Blair's lips.
Blair shook his head and opening his eyes, stepped closer to his partner, laying both hands on the broad chest. "It's okay for me to love you. I've been in love with you forever."
Jim bent his head down to Blair, tangling his hands in the matted curls, pushing Blair's face up to meet his. Their lips met softly, innocently at first and Jim moaned at the moist heat. He felt Blair's mouth open beneath his and he allowed his tongue to slide into Blair's mouth, exploring and tangling with the younger man's. Jim groaned as Blair sucked on his tongue, his hands moving over the detective's chest at the same time in a slow, sensual caress.
"Ouch!" Blair abruptly broke the kiss with a grimace and Jim could see the blood beginning to well where the cut in his lip had reopened.
"Shit, Chief, I am so sorry. I should never have kissed you." Jim stepped back, fishing in his pocket for his handkerchief and holding it gently against the injury.
Blair shook his head and reached for Jim's hand once more, his smile showing in his swollen eyes. "Trust me, man, I am not sorry you kissed me." He pulled the cloth away from his mouth and examined it before dabbing softly once more. "I really don't want to be alone tonight, Jim. Could I sleep at the loft?"
Jim shook his head and reached over to pull the sweat pants and sweater from the dresser. "Forever, Blair, We'll pick your things up later. Let me take you to the hospital to get patched up and then I'm going to take you home and look after you the way I should have always done." Quickly, he helped the anthropologist get changed, then placed an arm around his shoulders to help him out to the truck. Blair could not stifle the groan of pain as he struggled to pull himself up into the cab. He finally managed to crawl inside with Jim's assistance, then moaned as he sat on the seat, the action sending sharp claws of agony knifing through his lower body.
"Jesus, Blair, what is it?" Jim hurried around to the driver's side and climbed in, reaching to examine his partner more closely. Blair sat, listing to the side, his breath coming once more in harsh grunts, his pale features coated in sweat.
"Damn, that hurts, man," Blair moaned softly. "I'd forgotten..." He broke off suddenly and turned his face to the door, wrapping his arms protectively about his bruised body.
Jim caught him by one shoulder and turned him gently to face him. "What did you forget, Blair?"
Blair sighed then and hunched further into the seat, leaning to lie against Jim's chest. Jim wrapped a strong arm about the shaking shoulders and pulled him closer. "It's time we started being honest with each other, Chief. Otherwise, we're just going to end up back where we started. What really happened, Blair? Who did this to you?"
Blair did not speak for long moments, content to soak up the warmth and safety of his lover's embrace, letting himself drift to the soothing cadence of Jim's heartbeat.
"Blair? Are you still with me?" Jim's voice sounded worried and Blair roused himself with difficulty. It would be so much easier to let it all go away, he thought. 'No, it wouldn't. If I'm not honest with him now, I could lose him forever. You almost lost him before because you couldn't be honest about your feelings. Face it, Sandburg' he thought hopelessly, 'Damned if you do, damned if you don't'
Blair sighed again and then pushed himself out of Jim's arms, biting his lip as the movement sent fresh pain through his lower body. "I don't remember what happened. All I do recall is waking up in the alley. Steve was shaking me, asking who'd hurt me. I don't remember a lot of it. Was I drunk? I must have been. Steve said I was. I think I remember having a drink before I went home. I was so tired, I'd worked that night till 1, then come in to do the report and then went straight to Rainier. What then? Oh right, um, then I did some research," Here, he paused, turning to stroke Jim clenched jaw, smiling at the memory. "I wanted to see if maybe there was a genetic disposition to my feelings for you. Something in the Sentinel/Guide dynamic. I thought perhaps I could keep you close to me if I could convince myself that I was doing it all from a purely scientific point of view." He shrugged and continued to massage the tension from Jim's jaw. "I didn't find anything, not entirely surprising. Then I went to The Nest, after that it all gets pretty blurry. You know me, Jim, one beer's enough to put me on my face, if I haven't slept much. I hurt down there, like someone forced something into me," Blair whispered, beginning to shake; his hands signing ineffectually as his chest tightened and he struggled to draw in air.
Jim sat him upright and began to stroke his back in soothing circles. "Easy, Chief, I've got you, keep breathing, you're going to be fine."
After long moments, Blair's breathing became easier and he drifted off to sleep, lying once more curled up against Jim's chest, clutching the detective's shirt like a lifeline.