Title: "Suffer the Little Children"

Author: Amethyst

Warnings: AU, DD/CP, This story contains a scene with graphic descriptions of molestation. Violence.Swearing.

Pairing: None

Summary: A man from Jim and Simon's past resurfaces, making Blair and Daryl his next targets for hisperverted pleasures. Contains scenes of molestation.

Archive: No

"Nice choice for a portable. Does it have enough memory in it for you?"

Blair bounced in place and grinned at the compliment.

"I'd like to expand it, but I have to wait. It's a little too expensive for me right now, but Jim says he'll get it for me at Christmas time if I still want it."

Mathes took in the exuberant body language and the obvious delight the detective's name brought to the young man, making him suddenly envious of Ellison. Grabbing the opportunity fate presented him Jeffery smiled his most endearing and harmless smile.

"You know, I think I just may have an expansion chip for this model in my van. Maybe if you come down to the parking garage, I can find it. It's just an extra part I pulled from a dropped laptop last week. Free of charge for a policeman's son."

Blair's smile slipped a little at the man's last statement. He warily stepped closer to Daryl, away from Mathes, and studied the small man in front of him.

"I didn't say I was a policeman's son."

Cursing his eagerness, Mathes kept his smile in place and opened his washed out blue eyes wide with false innocence.

"I just assumed it. I'm guessing that only police officers would leave their offspring unattended in a Captain's office to do their homework. Was I right?"

Both boys relaxed visibly at the simple and straightforward explanation. Blair let loose the breath he had been holding and nodded awkwardly in acceptance of the lie. Further conversation was cut off by Blair's cell phone ringing. Digging the insistent object out of the bottom of his pack, Blair flipped it open and acknowledged his caller.

"Hello? Hey, Jim."

Mathes backed off and moved to the open doorway, intimidated by the mere knowledge that the infamous detective of the year was a presence in the room, disembodied voice or not. He hand signaled the two curious boys that he would step out while they were on the phone, but he never made it much past the outside door frame, hidden from view but able to hear the conversation. He pretended to look through his tool kit to escape scrutiny from the many detectives scattered around the bullpen, his small stature, age and mild manner once again blending him into the woodwork.

"Yeah, man. Daryl and I could go for some lunch. Pretzels and soft drinks don't hold you for long. Okay, outside in the garage in twenty minutes, got it. We'll be there, Jim. Is Simon paying?"

Blair chuckled at the face Daryl made and then snickered into the phone at Jim's response.

"Okay, just thought I'd ask. Tell Simon to chill out or he'll pop a vessel. Bye. See you in twenty. We'll be on time, I promise."

Breaking the connection before the older man could respond to the threat of more promises, Blair slapped Daryl on the shoulder and grinned in triumph.

"Let's go talk them into that Mexican place that opened last week. I hear they have terrific food. I've really gotten a taste for Mexican cooking ever since we spent time down there for my birthday. Not the action, just the food."

"Hey, Blair, no more of that kind of action today, okay? Remember we have tickets for the Jags game on Friday."

"I remember. Let's get a move on and make sure we beat them to the garage. I don't want to hear it from them for the rest of the week if we're the ones late."

Both began shoving things into Blair's backpack and tidying up the table. When they breezed out of the office door, Mathes was nowhere in sight. Telling Rhonda where they were off to, they headed to the elevators and jumped into a waiting car. Moments later, it deposited them into the nearly deserted parking garage.

Lunch time was officially 30 minutes away for most staff and the garage was eerily quiet save for the running motor of the computer service van sitting several yards away in a secluded tow away zone, side door open near the wall. Multiple pieces of computer equipment were visible through the door.

Blair and Daryl started walking towards the front gate, hoping to catch their respective parental units as soon as Jim and Simon drove into the garage. Needing to pass the running van to reach the gate, neither could resist peering curiously into the open hatch.

Mathes came around from the front of the vehicle where he had been watching for their arrival and greeted the young men shyly. Stooping his posture slightly and lowering his voice to a soft level, he gestured at the open hatchway, but trained his eyes on the floor of the van glancing up occasionally to catch one or the other boy's gaze.

"Well, hello again. We keep running into one another it seems. Would you boys like to see some of the computers I have with me? Maybe I can find that chip for you, young man."

Not too eager, take it slow and mild, Jeffery silently cautioned himself over and over.

Blair studied the meek man before them and decided that Mathes was harmless, if strange. The small, slight, older man posed little threat in the middle of a building filled with police officers and detectives. Blair and Daryl looked at each other and traded shrugs. Daryl stepped forward to peer farther into the bowels of the service truck.

"We only have a few minutes before my dad shows up, but I guess it would be okay. Do you have any of those really small computers, you know, for games?"

"Try in the back there, on the work bench."

Mathes smiled at the Daryl's enthusiasm and pointed to the back of the van, stopping Blair short with his other arm as the grad student attempted to follow Daryl into the van. Mathes sighed wearily and turned a tired face to Blair, blocking the grad student's view of the inside.

"Blair, do you think you could grab the black tool case I set down at the back of the van? I'm getting forgetful in my old age."

Blair smiled sympathetically and turned away to retrieve the case, leaning his backpack against the wheel of the van.

"Sure thing, I'd be happy to grab it for you. Be back in a minute."

Mathes watched Blair until he was sure he was doing as asked then turned quickly and followed Daryl to the workbench. Without uttering a single sound, he instantly slammed a length of pipe down on the young man's head, striking him just behind his ear. Daryl crumpled to the floor unconscious, bouncing his injured head off a metal shelf as the tall youth went down. Blood rapidly filled the space under him. Seconds later, Mathes calmly
greeted a returning Blair at the door opening, subtly scanning the garage for unwanted arrivals, confident no sounds of the attack had escaped.

"Thank you, I'm getting so forgetful lately."

"No problem. It's the least I can do if you have that chip for my computer."

Blair handed off the small case to Mathes and jumped up into the truck, allowing Mathes to bring up the rear. Confused not to see his friend in the confined but darkened space, Blair called out.

"Hey, Daryl?"

Lights flashed as pain lanced through the right side of his skull. Blair stumbled as he went down, his last image that of Daryl, lying in a growing puddle of blood at his feet.

Mathes pulled the hatch closed and began to softly hum an old lullaby. Ignoring the still seeping blood, he expertly restrained the wrists of both boys with nylon wire ties and secured them to eye bolts drilled into the van floor. Grabbing a baby blue silk drawstring bag, he lovingly removed two gags and blindfolds and slipped them on each of his victims. Pleased with his handiwork, he took a moment to indulge his urges and run his fingers through Blair's disheveled curls, murmuring to himself.

"So soft, so clean and fresh. Silky like butter. It curls around my fingertips like it knows it belongs there. This-this is the best one yet."

A sigh of pleasure escaped Mathes. He reluctantly released the clinging strands and walked back to the hatch. Unlocking the sliding door, Mathes jumped to the cement floor and reached down to retrieve Blair's pack. Voices startled him into looking up. Two men stepped off of the elevators and walked his way.

"Come on, H. I say we try that Mexican place on Harbor. I'm tried of burgers and fries. We need a little variety here."

The man punched his companion in the shoulder and adjusted his perfectly knotted tie. Henri Brown grinned at his partner and opened his mouth to reply. Both men stopped short at the sound of something being dragged across the concrete caught their attention to their left.

Brown and Rafe watched as a small, white haired man picked up a brown leather pack and quickly stuffed it into the side door of a service van. The worker turned to wave at the two detectives and offered a meek little smile before rounding his van and getting into the driver's seat. The van slowly pulled away from the tow away zone and moved to the sign out gate at the far end of the garage.

Rafe turned to his partner, a confused frown on his face.

"Did you know that guy? Something about him was familiar, but I can't put my finger on it yet."

Brown frowned and nodded.

"There was a service guy expected today according to the Captain's email, but I never saw him. That must have been him. Done already and it's only lunch time, I want his job, babe."

Rafe continued to stare after the van.

"Yeah, maybe, but there was still something familiar about him."

Brown hooked an arm around Rafe's shoulders and tugged him toward the car.

"Well, think about it over lunch. I'm starved."

The two men settled themselves into the car and drove out of the building, Rafe only half hearing his partner's banter as he mulled over the puzzle of the meek little man.

*

"Where the hell are they? You told them 20 minutes, I heard you tell them 20 minutes. Damn kids."

Jim recognized the irritation in Simon's words for what it really was--concern with just a touch of worry. Jim nodded absent-mindedly and pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket, dialing Rhonda's desk in Major Crime from memory. Having already waited 10 minutes for Blair and Daryl to join them, both older men were becoming a little anxious over the whereabouts of their sons.

"Rhonda. Hi, this is Ellison. Are Blair and Daryl still up in Simon's office?.They did?. What time was that?. Twenty minutes ago. And you're sure they said they were going right down to meet us?.Okay, thanks. Simon and I will be right up. No it's okay. They probably got sidetracked talking to someone. We'll look for them on our way up. If they show up back there, tell them to stay put until we get there...Thanks, Rhonda."

Jim slapped the phone closed and glanced over at Simon.

"Rhonda said they told her 20 minutes ago they were on their way down to meet us for lunch. They left right away and she hasn't seen them since."

Simon frowned and stuffed an unlit cigar into his mouth.

"Then where the hell are they? It doesn't take 5 minutes to get from the bullpen to here."

"I don't know, Simon. Give me a minute."

Jim rubbed at his forehead and closed his eyes in concentration, methodically starting to sift through the hundreds of heartbeats in the building to try and find the one he knew best, the apex of his family life, the sound of his child's rhythm. After several minutes of fruitless searching, he shook his head to clear the jumble of unfamiliar sounds from his direct focus. Jim's expression turned grim with his failure.

"Blair's not here. I don't think Daryl is either, but I can't be a hundred percent sure about him."

"That doesn't make any sense. Where would they go?"

Popping open the car door, Jim's single-minded determination spurred Simon on to immediately join him.

"Let's find out."

*

Approaching his home at a sedate speed, Mathes drove the service van into his private garage. He waited until the automatic garage door was securely closed before exiting the driver's seat, confident the blacked out windows and insulated walls would conceal him from any prying eyes.

Anticipation made his nerve endings tingle. These two new lambs were the best he had come across in years, even if the younger one was damaged. The additional head injury was an accident. He hoped his employer saw it that way, too. Surely the beauty of the other boy would compensate. After all, the black youth was still a warm, young body, even if he didn't wake up to
participate in the games planned for him.

Suppressing a sigh of frustration, Mathes slipped out of the van to land on the pristine concrete of the garage floor. He had spent many hours scrubbing the rough flooring every week, removing any and all traces of his hobby that might have been accidentally left behind. It had become a ritual of sorts, a weekly project, whether he'd had 'playmates' or not. It helped him cleanse his twisted soul and relieve some of the gnawing hunger in his gut.

Mathes hurried around the back of the van, reaching for the sliding side door with a visibly shaking hand. He jumped back from the opening as the leather pack fell out to land at his feet, half under the van. Echoing eerily in the soundproofed room, the ringing of his cell phone made the paranoid man literally shove himself back from the dark opening, accidentally shoving the pack further under the vehicle.

Scrabbling frantically to silence the jarring sound, Mathes split his attention between the phone and a muffled moan of pain from deep inside the van. Mathes flipped open the phone and pressed the device to his ear, struggling to make his voice sound relaxed and normal.

"Yes?"

A familiar, but unwanted voice answered the tentative response.

"Have you acquired the items?"

Happy to be able to give an affirmative answer, Mathes climbed into the back of the van. Reaching down to stroke the disheveled curls on Blair's head before answering, he smiled serenely as the young man jerked his head away from the unfamiliar touch. Mathes' hand just followed.

"Y-yes, I just received them. I'll deliver them by nightfall, as you asked."

Displeased at the rough desire he detected in Mathes' voice, the man's retort was tense and commanding.

"No, now. I want them now. Meet me at the usual place."

Mathes gripped the hair in his hand and pulled until Blair moaned more sharply and renewed his struggle to free himself. Sweat broke out on Mathes' upper lip as the unappeased, nameless hunger twisted in his stomach. If he delivered the boys now, he wouldn't have any time to play himself.

"But it would be safer for you if we wait until nightfall."

"I want them now. One hour, be there."

Chilled by the icy tone, Mathes nodded to the disembodied command.

"Yes, sir. One hour, as usual."

The line immediately disconnected and Mathes was left staring into the lonely darkness of the van. He gradually allowed the length of hair in his tight grasp to slide loose, barely registering the feeble groan of relief the action caused.

Mathes gave one last caress to the shuddering body at his feet. Rising to his feet, he checked his watch and quickly exited the van to sprint around to the driver's seat. One hour left him just barely enough time to make it to the meeting spot. Concentrating on the rearview and side mirrors to back the large truck out, his attention remained focused on the driveway and street behind him.

The automatic garage door securely closed, blocking out the clear view of one battered leather backpack lying in the middle of the immaculately clean concrete pad, the faint muffled sound of a ringing cell phone lost to the perfect soundproofing of one devil's lair.

*

"What did you find out, Jim?"

Simon's voice had lost its edge of irritation and reflected only restrained worry and fear. Over the next 30 minutes, they had searched the building from top to bottom, enlisting the aid of all of Major Crime and several uniformed officers. Neither boy could be found. Their last hope, the security tapes from the sixth floor and the parking garage, were being pulled by Joel.

"Nothing. I know Blair isn't here. So it only stands to reason that Daryl isn't either. They wouldn't have split up willingly, you know that, Simon. Wherever they are, they're together."

Simon's gruff reply didn't hide his fears.

"If they had a choice. We'll just have to wait for the tapes."

Wordlessly, Jim walked over to the conference table and gently stroked the notebook and texts the two young men had been working on. Blair had taken his laptop with him, as he always did, but his multitude of reference materials remained behind in a familiar clutter of disorganized order that reminded the detective of home. Jerking out of his melancholy thoughts, Jim turned to the open office door as Rafe and Brown barreled through the doorway unannounced.

"Captain Banks, Jim. We just got back from lunch and heard. Daryl and Blair are missing? From a police station?"

Disbelief and outrage were clearly painted on both detectives' faces and in Brown's tone. Simon nodded in frustration and played with the cigar held tightly in his hands.

"Yes, Brown, it's true. They were to meet Jim and me for lunch and never showed. We can't find them anywhere in the building."

Jim furrowed his brow and stepped forward towards the other detectives.

"You two just got back? What time did you leave the building?"

Rafe glanced at his wristwatch and then at his partner.

"Maybe 50 minutes ago. We never ran into either of the kids, though. The only other person in the parking garage when we left was a guy driving a service van."

Brown bobbed his head in agreement.

"That's right, sir. I think he was the computer serviceman you e-mailed everyone about, but to be honest, I was in the bullpen most of the morning and I never saw him. If he was working on Major Crimes' system, the department got gypped."

Simon sat up straighter in his chair, interest peaked. Exchanging a quick glance with Jim, he narrowed his eyes and barked at the two younger men.

"When was this? Before you left for lunch or after? What did he look like? What was he doing when you saw him? Was he alone?"

Rafe and Brown cringed slightly at the volume of Simon's endless questions, but managed to stand their ground, understanding the reasons behind the attitude. One glance at Ellison's stiff posture and hard gaze was all the added motivation either of them needed to concentrate on the brief moment in the garage when they had seen the man in question. Rafe dragged in a calming
breath and tried to envision the scene again in detail.

"He was a meek kind of guy, short and slender with snow white hair, kind of longish for his age. Reminded me of the actor Henry Gibson. We only saw him less than a minute. He picked something up off the floor by his van and shoved it through the side door. That's what got our attention, the sound of the bag being dragged across the concrete."

Brown threw his partner a measured look and added the next part.

"Yeah, then he notices us, gives a little wave and this sickly little smile and rushes around to climb into the van and leave. It was less than 30 seconds really."

Rafe bit at his lower lip for a brief moment lost in thought.

"But you know, there was something familiar about him."

Joel chose that moment to enter the office, several security tapes in his arms, followed closely by Carolyn, concern and worry evident on both their faces. Carolyn immediately crossed to Jim and laid a comforting hand on her ex-husband's tense arm.

"Jim, Joel told me what's happening. I'm so sorry. If there is anything I can do, for either of you, Simon, just say the word. I want to help."

Jim patted her hand and spared a warm glance down into her brown eyes, sensing the sincerity in her words. There was still a large amount of affection between them, even after three years of divorce.

"Thanks, Caro. We appreciate it. We have to find a clue as to where they went before any of us can do anything just yet."

Simon seconded the sentiment. Joel pulled the tapes out and set up the VCR to watch the first of the tapes. Jim pulled everyone's attention back to the previously interrupted conversation.

"What do mean, the guy was familiar, Rafe? In what way? A pimp, someone you arrested once, what?"

Rafe's mouth twisted into a confused grimace as he tried to capture the elusive feeling of recognition again.

"No, I don't think so. It was more like I recognized something about him or on him. I didn't know him, exactly, but --."

Rafe froze as the familiar element finally popped into focus. A horrified gasp escaped before words could be formed to express himself. Turning wide eyes on the surrounding group of anxious people, Rafe swallowed hard. Simon jumped up from his chair as Ellison grasped Rafe's forearm in a firm grip. Banks' bellow shook the glass window beside him.

"Spit it out, detective."

"Christ, the-the bag. It was the bag he put in the van. It was worn brown leather. A backpack, heavy from the looks of how he picked it up."

Jim increased the pressure on the captive limb in his hand. He started when Brown laid one of his own gently over it after Rafe flinched in pain. Jim released his hold and stepped away from the other man.

"Blair's."

Jim's whispered word was a statement of fact. Rafe could only nod, too upset over not figuring it out at the time they saw the bag to answer. Guilt rested heavily in the younger detective's wide eyes.

Simon strode around the desk and grabbed at the tapes Joel had stacked on the table.

"Let's find that security tape of the garage for around 11:40. Maybe we can get lucky here, gentlemen."

Frantically searching though the pile, Joel handed a tape to Simon and stood back to watch as the captain activated the system.

"Here, Simon. This is the camera located by the elevators. We can at least see whether or not they made it that far."

Everyone in the room turned to stare as the fuzzy screen cleared and the elevators in the police-parking garage came into view. It was surprisingly unpopulated with only one officer entering an open car and disappearing from view. The next time a car opened Daryl and Blair, backpack in hand, stepped out onto the concrete.

As one collective unit, the people in the room leaned closer to the screen, eyes straining to catch a clearer glimpse of the youths' activities. Blair was talking a mile a minute with both his mouth and hands while Daryl appeared to insert an occasional laughing comment. Walking out of view of the stationary camera, Blair and Daryl disappeared. Jim turned to Rafe and Brown, desperation lurking behind each word.

"What part of the garage was the van parked in?"

Brown answered first, eager as everyone else to find another glimpse of the missing boys.

"To the left of the elevators, back against the far corner. It was a big black van."

Joel hurriedly sorted through the tapes and finally popped one into the VCR. After several minutes of watching and several changes of view, the tail end of a black van parked closely to a wall, deep in the shadows, came into view. Ellison suddenly stiffened and his face became unreadable as he stared at the darkened windows of the van.

A sudden blur of flying, long, brown hair appeared in the corner of the screen as Blair came partially around the van and picked up a small case from the floor. He was gone as quickly as he had appeared. A sharp intake of air was Jim's only reaction. A moment later the van started and vanished from view.

Instantly a large hand shot out to rewind the tape. Jim stepped closer and focused on the mud-covered plate, his face drawn in a stony grimace, giving evidence of his sight having witnessed more than just the concealed numbers.

"EN4TRE."

Simon pulled the mangled cigar from his mouth and cast a thoughtful glance at the man beside him, once more reminded of the sentinel housed within his friend. Arched eyebrows and amazed expressions were turned on the unseeing detective. Simon's call for action headed off any comments.

"Okay people. Brown put out an APB on that license number. Rafe, write down everything, and I mean everything you can remember about that man and start looking through some mug shots. H can join you when he's done. Joel, find out which firm does the department's computer servicing and what man was here today. Carolyn, I'd appreciate it if you would pull together a team of your forensics people to be ready to go the moment we find something."

Nods of agreement and acceptance of the assigned tasks sent Banks' people rushing out the door, relieved to have something positive to do with their time. Carolyn lingered behind to offer a moment of comfort to both men before heading off to her own department.

Alone, Simon walked over to Jim and laid a strong hand on his shoulder.

"What else did you see, Jim?"

Ellison trained angst filled eyes on his friend. Turning away to stare at the blank screen of the TV, Jim ran a hand over his forehead and closed his eyes.

"They were in the van. I saw both of them get hit in the head with some sort of club. Daryl, while Blair was away from the van and Blair as soon as he got into the back of the van. They didn't get up."

Simon paled at the description and visibly forced his breathing back under control before he began to see black spots in his vision from lack of oxygen.

"Why would they even get into the van? They both know better than to put their trust in strangers. Why?"

"I don't know. Rafe said he was a meek and mousy kind of guy. Old too. Maybe they thought he couldn't be a threat to them. We'll have to ask them when we get them home."

Simon tightened his grip on Jim's shoulder and tried to project more confidence than he felt into the tense silence, the nightmare vision of his own son's assault matching the one continuously replaying in Jim's mind.

*

Guiding his over-sized van into the narrow, dirt turnoff, Jeffrey Mathes scanned the surrounding area for signs of his employer. Relieved to find he had arrived first, he coasted to a stop next to a brush-covered field.

Slipping out of his seat and around the van, he cautiously opened the sliding door and entered the back work area, careful to close and lock the hatch behind him.

Standing between the two huddled forms on the floor, Mathes squatted down to examine the body to his left. He gently rolled Daryl from his side to rest as far as possible onto his back with the boy's arms still secured behind him. A quick glance at the congealed puddle of blood forced a distasteful grimace from the kidnapper.

Mathes pulled off the blindfold and peeled back the youth's eyelids, briefly shining a penlight in his eyes. He was even more displeased when neither pupil reacted to the stimulus. With a frustrated sigh, Mathes rolled Daryl to his side and pulled the blindfold back into in place. Tugging the edges of the heavy tarp beneath the two boys higher up around Daryl's body, he made sure no blood seeped out to mar his immaculate flooring. A casual hand to Daryl's chest reaffirmed that the boy was still breathing.

Unhappy, but resigned to the delivery of damaged goods, Mathes turned his attention to his second catch of the day. Turning Blair onto his back, Mathes wasn't surprised by the sudden tensing of the young man's body. Soft moans and pain-filled, muffled gasps had escaped the boy every few minutes during the long and bumpy drive to the secluded meeting spot.

Mathes reached down to stroke the exposed skin of Blair's cheek between blindfold and gag. Cooing softly to the frightened young man, Mathes never realized his eerie singsong tone heightened Blair's apprehension ten-fold. Mathes moved his touch to the tender skin beneath Blair's jaw and smiled at the shudder the action sent through the young body, misinterpreting disgust and horror for desire. Mathes' eyes lost their focus and his face took on a hard expression as his alter ego slipped to the forefront of his unbalanced mind.

"You like that, don't you, baby boy. You like Big Daddy's hands on you. I can feel your excitement already. I knew you'd be like this. You'll like all the things Big Daddy's going to teach you, I promise. Just as soon as you get back from a special party, Big Daddy is going to make you so happy. You'll see. I always keep my promises to my baby boys."

Leaning over he placed a light kiss on Blair's forehead. The touch of Mathes' cold, moist lips to Blair's skin forced the young grad student to buck his head wildly, striking Mathes in the mouth. Blood swelled from Mathes' split lower lip and dripped steadily onto Blair's shirt. Startled and slightly dazed from the blow, Mathes jerked upright and stood, searching through his pant's pockets for a handkerchief to stem the flow and tidy the mess.

"You naughty baby. Big Daddy will have to teach you some manners when you get back. Big Daddy knows how to make naughty boys behave. Yes, he does. You will be one sorry little boy, then. Big Daddy doesn't tolerate bad boys. You'll learn that soon enough."

With no regard for the amount of damage he might inflict, Mathes pulled back a foot and landed a brutal kick to the defenseless young man's abdomen, then turned his back and exited the van, wiping blood off of his face and hands as he continued to ramble to himself.

Blair choked on the tightly fastened gag and tried to force air back into his stunned lungs. Diaphragm caught in a spasm of pain, oxygen refused to enter his chest. Long minutes of paralyzing pain bled to a fierce but manageable burning in his gut while vertigo threatened to empty the contents of his stomach. Air returned to his starved lungs in small gasping breaths, hiccups seizing his diaphragm, further impeding his fight to remain conscious.

After several minutes and numerous sobbing gasps, the red haze behind Blair's blindfolded eyes retreated to be replaced by total blackness shot full of dazzling white streaks and floating pinpoints of light. Twisting his restrained hands to test his ability to move, Blair suddenly stilled his actions at the sound of an approaching vehicle. Not knowing whether it was a rescuer or an accomplice, Blair decided it would be safest to pretend to be unconscious. Only the sound of muffled voices carried through the walls of the van.

Mathes nodded to Marcus Keyes when he stepped out of his identical black van. All that was missing from the truck was the magnetic logo declaring the van a member of the Keyless Security Company, registered to Mathes' late partner of fifteen years. Keyes had backed the van up to Mathes' truck leaving only enough room for the back doors of both vehicles to swing open.

"You're right on time, Jeffrey. I've always liked that about you. What happened to your face?"

The unusual praise and Keyes' gentle tone brought a shy smile of real pleasure to Mathes' face.

"The older one woke up for a minute when I was checking their restraints. We bumped heads, but I took care of it."

Ducking his head to hide the pink flush that had risen to his cheeks, he turned his back and scrabbled to unlock the doors to his van. Excitement blazed through his groin at the thought of tasting one of these young men himself.

Keyes is in a good mood. Maybe he'll say yes when I ask him to give the angel-haired one to me when he's done with him. I've done my job. Even snatched the kiddies right out of the police station. No one else could have done that, no one else but Big Daddy. I deserve a reward. He'll see that. It won't hurt to remind him.

"I do my best for you, always, Marcus."

Keyes narrowed his eyes, taking in the little man's nervous gestures and jerky speech. Well aware of the man's habits and body language, Keyes prepared himself for the coming request as he watched Mathes pull open the doors of both vans. Glancing idly into Mathes' workspace, he paused at the sight of blood surrounding the black youth's head and upper torso. Turning his previously gentle voice into a tone that cut like a knife, he caught Mathes in his cold glaze and pinned the small man in place with one glance.

"What happened to him?"

"He-he fell and hit his head on the metal shelving. You know how head wounds are, they bleed a lot even when there's not much damage. I couldn't help it. The other one was coming back to the van and I couldn't take the time to catch him as he went down."

Mathes stuttered out an answer, keeping his eyes downcast and his posture meek, hoping for forgiveness. None was forth coming.

"He's damaged."

A contrite whisper answered him.

"Yes, sir."

"And the other one?"

"No. No, he's fine. Just the usual bump on the head. He's too beautiful to mar."

The last was whispered reverently. Mathes moistened his dry lips and risked a glance up at Keyes. A frown darkened the usually handsome businessman's face, making Mathes lower his eyes quickly. Keyes studied the man who had helped him obtain subjects for his 'hobby' for 13 years and made a businessman's decision.

"Help me get them into the van. Make sure you're gentle with them. I don't like damaged goods, Jeffrey."

Rushing to comply with the order, Mathes wordlessly jumped into the van and removed the nylon wire ties binding the boys' wrists to the floor, never releasing the ties holding their hands together. After aligning their pliant bodies next to each other, he jumped down and slowly pulled the tarp towards the other van's open hatch.

Keyes took one side while Mathes showed his hidden physical strength and helped the larger man transfer the tarp and its precious cargo. The rough movement caused Blair to gasp and stiffen, pain surging through his abused head and abdomen. Low moans of agony escaped the thick gag and Keyes smiled at the sound. Reaching down, he gentle brushed at the thick tangle of Blair's hair, revealing a bloodied ear. Increasing the pressure on the young man's head to hold it securely to the floor, he leaned over and blew warm air on Blair's cheek and into his ear, drawing an involuntary shudder from the boy. The shudder turned into a frantic squirm as Keyes slowly dragged his tongue across the same area, delighting in the resulting sobs of terror.

Slipping a gloved hand over Blair's nose, Keyes effectively cut of the young man's air supply. Struggling against the powerful hold on his head, Blair tried to gain leverage against the contents of the van with his feet, attempting to pull himself away from his tormentor. Seconds passed and
awareness fled as pain, fear and asphyxiation drug Blair into the temporary embrace of darkness. Satisfied the grad student was again unconscious, Keyes released his hold and patted the pale skin, closing and locking the hatch electronically.

Running a final look over the smaller man, Keyes walked Mathes back to his driver's seat and waited as he seated himself behind the wheel. Leaning into the open doorway to the cab, Keyes laid his gloved hand on the man's shoulder in a kindly gesture of forgiveness.

"You've been a great help to me, Jeffrey. You've helped me right an injustice today. Simon Banks and James Ellison will always remember this day. It's a damn shame they will never know why this happened. I'm half tempted to leave a clue and let them understand how Ellison's interference
while he was working vice ruined our little operation so many years ago. All those disappointed customers, all the lost money. But especially all the young, smooth flesh that slipped though our fingers when he busted the filming studio."

Mathes nodded as his eyes clouded over while he remembered the sweet setup Keyes and he had run filming and sampling the young adolescents of Cascade's streets.

"He ruined everything for so long."

Keyes murmured appreciatively.

"Yes, he did. And once Major Crimes and Banks got a hold of the case, Banks finished the job Ellison started. They're both to blame for the years of frustration and angst we suffered, having to wait until it was safe again."

Mathes' eyes turned crazed and bitter.

"It would never have happened if Mike hadn't stumbled on the setup. He's the one that tipped off Vice, I know he was."

Keyes rubbed soothingly over the distraught man's shoulder, calming and reassuring the unbalanced man.

"It's okay. Don't think about him. Retribution is finally ours. Ellison and Banks' sons are ours to play with, as we like. You took care of Mike's betrayal just the way you always do. One less business partner meant more profits for us and more privacy for our 'games'. He wasn't a real loss, Jeffrey."

Mathes smiled his little half-grin and looked up into Keyes' pleasant expression. Warmed and relaxed by the gentle look, he leaned slightly into the caressing touch at his shoulder. Keyes' other hand came up close and lingered near his arched neck, stroking over the sensitive flesh with a gloved finger.

"That's why I know you'll understand what I have to do next, Jeffrey."

A burning pain flashed across Mathes' exposed throat. Raising his hand to the pain, Mathes stared numbly at the rich red blood that flowed over his fingers and down his shirt, spurts of the life sustaining fluid decorating the windshield. Keyes continued to calmly speak to him, stepping back slightly from the splattering blood.

"One less partner, more profits and more privacy. You understand, Jeff. I mean, really, you took those kids right out of a police station. It'll only be a matter of time before Ellison and Banks track you down. I can't afford any witnesses with this one. But I know you'll understand."

Keyes remained watching for the several minutes that it took Mathes to bleed to death, a contented smile on his lips. After Mathes slumped forward over the steering wheel, Keyes deftly removed the dead man's wallet and cell phone.

Returning to his truck, Keyes calmly placed the stolen articles into a discarded fast food bag and tossed them on the front seat. What little evidence Mathes had tying him to Keyes would probably be contained in these two personal items. After a quick glance to reassure himself that his cargo was intact, Keyes pulled away from the other van, careful to keep his tires out of the soft dirt at the road's shoulder.

Half an hour later, Keyes drove over an old wooden bridge that spanned a deep gorge. Rolling down his window, he tossed the fast food bag out into the deep crevice below. Wordlessly, Marcus Keyes closed his window and began to tap out a lullaby on the steering wheel, content that all was right in his world.

*

Consciousness returning with a jolt, Blair couldn't suppress the groan of pain that welled up. He was roughly lifted and slung over a hard shoulder, the new position pressing on his bruised abdomen. Breathing became a struggle as nausea and dizziness battled for first place in his overworked pain receptors. Ultimately, both sensations won.

The constant swaying of his upper body, caused by the walking motion of his new assailant, magnified his throbbing headache. The surrounding air turned warmer and a subtle quieting signaled a change in location, a shed or building of some kind, Blair guessed.

The swaying motion eventually turned into a painful bobbing of his head and body, telling Blair he was being taken down to a lower level of whatever building they had entered.

Stairs, he was being carried down a long set of stairs. The air was cold and damp, smelling musty and stale. Nausea promised to overcome the dizziness as the swaying motion returned. Panicked at the thought of vomiting with the gag in place, Blair began a feeble struggle against the strong arms holding him upside down. Petting caresses began over his backside, intimate and unwelcome, in a twisted attempt to soothe his fears.

As the stroking became more focused on the underside of his bottom, Blair increased his struggles in wordless refusal to tolerate the unwanted physical contact. Unfortunately, the petting became bolder as his pain-hampered struggles waned.

With nauseating speed, he was dropped face first onto a mattress. Before Blair could recover from the renewed pain, his wrists were released and drawn up over his head where they were bound to something bolted into the wall at the top of the bed. Seconds later, his ankles received the same treatment. A warm hand trailed lightly over his back and down his spine, resting briefly on his inner thigh. Blair stiffened and held his breath, waiting agonizingly long seconds for it to move. After a quick pat to his backside, the hand left and the sound of retreating footsteps allowed Blair to exhale a shaky breath.

Oh, God, where is Daryl? There was so much blood around his head. Please God, let him be alive, please. He's just a kid. I'll never be able to face Simon again if he's not okay. Oh, man, I'm so scared here, Jim. I need you, Big Guy. I don't even care if you're ready to kill me over getting into that guy's van, I just want you to find us. <Sob.> My head hurts so bad. I can't swallow anymore. This gag is making me choke on my own spit. I hope this guy kills me quickly, but I don't think that's what he has in mind right away. Please Jim, find us.

Suddenly aware he was no longer alone, Blair was jarred from his panicked thoughts. The sound of footsteps came closer, followed by a light thud and a whimper of pain.

That's got to be Daryl. At least he's alive. Whoever you are, mister, please help him. He's only 15. Please don't hurt him anymore. You need someone to hurt, pick me, man. Pick me.

Desperate to hear any sound that would give him a clue as to what was happening, Blair turned his head and strained against his bindings. Wrists reddened and raw from his previous attempts to free himself, he continued to work at the nylon ties until a hand griped both of his wrists. The pressure increased until his struggles ended. Clearly a silent warning had been issued. A caress down his extended arms that was meant to reward his compliance sent chills through his battered, bruised and now rapidly cooling body.

Marcus Keyes returned to Banks' son's bedside. He worked the gag off of the unconscious boy and checked his various injuries. Finding the long, jagged wound made by the metal shelving first, he worked his way around Daryl's head to finger the large swelling behind his other ear.

I should have made Jeffrey's death a little more painful. This one is useless. What enjoyment is there in an unresponsive body? If I can't feel their struggles, bask in their moans of pain or submerge myself in their whimpers of terror, what use are they? Wasted. All this delightful young flesh wasted. Damn him. Luckily, there are two of them. And the older one is a beauty. Yes, I'm going to take my time with him, give him the attention such an angel deserves. It's a shame I won't get the chance to see his eyes, his pictures were so very lovely. But I need both of them prepared. Then I can at least enjoy the sight of this one.

Realizing Daryl presented little danger of waking anytime soon, Keyes cut his bindings and quickly stripped the young man, taking every opportunity to stroke and caress. Soft moans of pain periodically fell from the boy's dry lips as well as an occasional garbled word. Securing Daryl's wrists and ankles to similar bolts by his bed, Keyes finished and turned his attention to his other captive. The one that would be his next several hours of entertainment.

Keyes grinned as Blair's respirations increased as he drew nearer to the bed. The young man sensed Keyes approach and began to hyperventilate. Using Blair's building terror as a stepping stone to heighten his own pleasure, Keyes began to hum softly, knowing from earlier victims the lack of verbal communication and drawn out waiting would become frightening all by themselves.

As if on cue, after several moments of terrified waiting and hearing only a deep, eerie tune from the man beside him, panic once again took control of Blair's reactions. Understanding it was useless to struggle at this point, suspecting that the resistance only provided enjoyment for this man, Blair froze in place, unable to think past the pain of his injuries and the overwhelming fear expanding in the pit of his stomach.

Keyes removed the suffocating gag and stroked his thumb over Blair's trembling lips. Moving slowly, reveling in every shudder coming from the body under him, Keyes crawled onto the bed. Keyes draped his body over Blair's, pinning him to mattress with his full weight. A choked sob of
distress worked its way out of the young man's mouth, taking with it Blair's resolve to deny the man any pleasure by staying silent.

"Get off me, man. Just get off me. I don't know who you are or what you want, but it doesn't have to be this. You don't really want to do this, man. We can talk about this. We--"

The boy's words were rough and low, his words stammered out in a wavering, dry voice. Keyes reared up and effortlessly flipped Blair on to his back. Settling his weight heavily back down, Keyes used enough force to push the air from Blair's lungs. Two fingers and a thumb gripped Blair's larynx, providing a crushing pressure to cut off his plea. The fingers disappeared just as quickly when Blair began to thrash his head in the effort to suck in more air through the constricted passageway. His voice was reduced to a frog's croak.

"Okay, I won't--"

Keyes reapplied pressure to Blair's throat.

Sobbing, Blair nodded his head in understanding. Cringing when a warm, wet object slithered over his bruised throat, Blair recognized it as a human tongue. The silent, intimate bath lasted several minutes, reducing the young man to gasps and whimpers as his only means of protest.

Tiring of just sampling the tender, warm flesh and happy with the lesson learned so quickly, Keyes finally moved on to his goal for the moment.

Rising up on his knees, he positioned them on either side of Blair's hips and reached down to pull the red Henley shirt from inside the waistband of Blair's jeans. Freeing the soft fabric, he placed his hands on either side of the exposed rib cage and worked the shirt up to Blair's arms and over his head, leaving it tangled at his bound wrists.

Barely skimming the surface, Keyes moved his open hands over every inch on the exposed flesh, starting at Blair's hands and working his way casually over the lean arms and chest, touching and playing as he traveled to the waistband of the jeans again. Unfazed by Blair's tears or hitched breathing, Keyes opened the fly of Blair's pants, popping a brass button to the floor.

The familiar sound of his zipper being raked down galvanized the stunned youth to rebel against the violation. Unable to move any part of his body that could help in releasing him from being further molested, Blair chose his usual weapon of defense, despite the earlier warning to be silent.

"NO. NO. Listen to me, man. It doesn't have to be like this. Just let me loose a minute. I could-could help out here. I won't try to get away, not without Daryl and I can't carry him. Don't do it like this man, please."

The desperate pleas brought a grimace to Keyes' face as he lowered his body slowly back down on the slender one between his thighs. Pulling Blair's chin into an immobilizing grasp with one hand, Keyes positioned his lips on Blair's ear and whispered into it with an unrecognizable, lust-filled growl.

"But I like it like this."

The tip of a stiffened tongue ran around the edge of Blair's ear. The firm muscle dove into his inner ear as pants of hot air assaulted his hearing. The tongue became broader, its' flattened surface traveling behind the ear, leaving an uncomfortably moist trail in its wake. Blair flinched as his earlobe was engulfed by Keyes' lips. Painful nibbling was then soothed with gentle suction. Lips again pressed against his ear with the last spoken words he would hear for a very long while.

"Remember that."

Pain exploded in Blair's abdomen and back as an iron fist buried itself in his side over his right kidney. Lights danced and dimmed behind the blindfold increasing the lingering nausea and sending his head reeling. The remainder of his clothing was removed with military precision, his agonized cries ignored.

Before Blair had a chance to coax his paralyzed muscles into functioning again, he was naked and moving through the air. Disoriented, Blair shivered and gasped as the rough mattress beneath him suddenly turned to cool, soft satin. Pillows where placed under his spinning head and his hands were fastened overhead once more. Surprisingly, Blair found he could move his feet, unaware of when the bindings had been removed.

The sound of a door closing and a lock thrown into place froze his movements. Tense moments of waiting frayed his tattered nerves to the breaking point. Positive he couldn't be more terrified, Blair quickly changed his mind at the sound of clothing being removed.

Blair drew his body towards the head of the bed. Wrapping his hands around what felt like ornate metal scrollwork, he pulled hard at the bindings, hoping his captor was occupied with undressing. Instantly his hips were brutally grabbed and yanked down the bed. Rough hands traveled down his legs to grab his ankles and once again he was immobilized.

A large, hot, naked body suddenly wrapped itself around him. Strong arms turned both of them until Keyes' chest was plastered against Blair's back, arms lacing around him to stroke his heaving chest, a thick erection pressed against the divide of Blair's backside.

Finding a new level of fear he had never thought possible before, Blair gagged as bile rose in his tortured throat. A sudden forward movement from behind and Blair found himself retching over the side of the bed, face forced into a container. Dizzy with pain and scared out of his mind, his
last coherent thought was that this must happen a lot if the vile man holding him was so prepared for it.

*

Pain rocketed through Daryl's head, intensifying the feeling of isolation in his black, silent world. Awareness bled into his thoughts in fractured bits and pieces. Flashes of scenes from the last few hours emerged from the shadows to tease him then retreated in a far corner of his mind, never
allowing him to get a firm grasp on any single picture.

Pain consumed him at every turn, each movement of his body bringing fresh jolts of agony to his head. Daryl licked at his dry, raw lips; unaware that he had been unable to do so for hours. His tongue felt swollen and strangely heavy, much like his uncooperative eyelids.

A sickening sensation crawled out of the corners of the young man's mind, curling around the fragmented images in his head. The odd sensation of pressure on his skin accompanied the rising discomfort. Unable to sort out what the feeling was or why he had it, Daryl allowed the thick, comforting mist that began to settle over his disjointed thoughts to soothe his restlessness. He slipped peacefully back into unconsciousness, somehow knowing that the dual sensations of pressure and unease would remain behind.

Keyes pushed himself off of the unconscious youth and stared at the unresponsive body under his hands. He hadn't been able to coax even a small whimper of distress or a flinch of pain with his rough fondling. Angry all over again at Mathes' slipshod methods, Keyes pulled the thin blanket off the boy's body and flung it into a corner of the room.

If you can't be of any use, there was no need to waste any comfort on you. You can die from hypothermia as easily as from a fractured skull. What a waste. You had a firm, lean frame, too, the kind I like. I suppose I need to turn my attention elsewhere again. Hopefully my other little angel has tired of the need to vomit every time I touch him. At least, he had better hope so.

Keyes gracefully stepped away from Daryl's bed and sauntered into the adjoining heated bedroom. A twisted expression of contentment settled on his face as he watched Blair's slender body shake with a combination of chills and tension.

Moving close enough that Blair could feel the heat from his nude body, Keyes reached out and gently stroked over Blair's left hip, lazily drawing little symbols on the goosefleshed skin with his fingertip. Each movement brought an involuntary flinch from Blair, along with irregular hitched gasps. Blair fought down nausea while he struggled to force air through his swollen voice box to his lungs.

Blair had long ago emptied the contents of his stomach, leaving only a fierce burning and painful dry heaves behind. Blair was determined to try and tolerate the man's attentions, fearing the silent creature's absence to mean that he was turning his perverted needs on the injured younger man in the next room. Willing his bruised and terrified limbs to still, he stiffened at the touch to his hip and concentrated on not throwing up.

After several long minutes, the swirling pressure became a brazen stroking, moving from his backside to delve closer and closer to his groin. Muscles taut with the effort to remain still, Blair almost fainted with relief when the questing hand vanished. His relief was short lived as the mattress dipped and he was deftly lifted by his hips and flipped onto his stomach, cruelly twisting his bleeding wrists and ankles. Suddenly Keyes' body was once more pressed tightly along his, the weight suffocating, the smell of the man's sweat overpowering.

Blair clenched his hands until the knuckles turned white and as quietly as possible gave into the sobs that the new assault of groping and fondling elicited. Choking back an agonized scream of denial, Blair took satisfaction in knowing that if this monster was with him, Daryl was safe, if only for the moment.

*

Hours had passed since they had reviewed the tapes and discovered how Blair and Daryl had left the building, but no one knew why yet. No ransom demands had been delivered, no exchange of hostages bargained for, no gloating criminal with a grudge to settle appeared out of the woodwork. Just hours of frustrating silence.

The tension in Simon's office was electric enough to stand the hair on Joel's arms on end. Joel had spent his time tracing the security firm and pulling clearances. Hours of work turned up only a few unhelpful facts. Yes, a firm named Keyless Security did have the contract to service the entire city's police computer systems, subcontracted out from a larger firm. Yes, each and every employee and subcontractor had an up to date security clearance. Yes, the administrative department would fax photo IDs of all the firm's employees to Major Crime as soon as possible. And finally, yes, maintenance of the police department's systems, specifically Major Crimes, had been scheduled for service work this morning. All of which was useless, unless the photos revealed something when they arrived. Which hadn't happened yet.

Rafe had sorted through dozens and dozens of mug shots, never coming close to finding the man from the parking garage. He currently sat rubbing his bleary eyes, scanning over yet another hundred police photos. Consumed by guilt at having witnessed the aftermath of the two young men's abduction without realizing it, he never considered stopping or so much as taking a break for food.

Halfway through Rafe's third book, Brown joined him in the monotonous search for a clue to the kidnapper's identity. Henri had overseen the issuing of the APB on the van's plates and periodically left the room to check on the patrol officers' progress.

Several times over the tense hours, Rhonda had entered the office to bring in fresh coffee and sandwiches, little of which had been touched. Still, Rhonda continued to check on the people under what she considered to be her care. Quitting time came and went, and Rhonda remained at her desk, phone pulled half a foot closer than normally.

Calls from a concerned Carolyn punctuated the time between the tapes and the end of the normal workday. Leaving a handpicked team on-call, Carolyn quietly joined the vigil being kept in Simon's office.

In between cups and cups of bitter coffee, Simon shoved his unlit cigar into his mouth so often that it was frayed and mangled as he scrutinized every crumb of information his people had come up with.

Images of his son intruded on his thoughts frequently enough to make the seasoned cop in him grimace. Not knowing why Daryl was taken hammered at him, understanding that the lack of demands or acknowledgement of the deed by its perpetrators left a list of sordid, more gruesome and perverse reasons to be considered for the boys' abduction.

Flashes of both youths, bruised and battered, tortured and maimed, nightmares from crime scene photos worked on over the years, battled with Simon's rational thoughts and threatened to weaken his self-control. Realizing that if he was having these horrifying visions playing in his head, his best friend must be going through raw hell having actually seen the attack on their children through the van's tinted windows on the security tapes. Scanning the room, Simon found his stoic detective staring blankly out his office window. Fearing a zone out, Simon rose from behind his desk and quietly moved up behind Jim to lay a hand on his rigid shoulder. Before Simon could speak, Jim softly reassured him, his voice raw and husky with emotion.

"I'm alright, Simon. Thanks. You know, I was just standing here, thinking about all the times I've worked on cases like this- disappearances, kidnappings, lost kids, and I realized I never had an ounce of understanding of what the parents or families were going through. Oh, yeah, sure I knew they were hurting, worried and emotional, but I never knew what they felt. This gut deep pain of loss and fear of what's happening to the people we care for more than life itself is overwhelming. The terror of not knowing if we'll find them alive or dead or, damn it Simon, even just wishing that they be given a merciful death instead of living through whatever horrors have been done to them. I never came close to understanding."

Simon could almost see the haunted images reflected back at him in the ice blue eyes. Just as clearly, he watched a coldness and determination settle over the same eyes, washing away the ghastly images the mind provided.

Jim drew in a deep breath and with that one action, altered his appearance. Seeming to grow bigger, harder, the angles of his body and face sharper and more defined, a predatory, hungry gaze settled on Jim's face as a disbelieving Simon watched the metamorphosis.

This was the face of man arriving at the edge of leaving civilized actions and thoughts in the dust, a primal man gathering the strength and power to recover the piece of his heart that had been taken from him.

Determined to slow down what Simon considered to be the inevitable, he tightened his hand on Jim's shoulder.

"We're in this together, Ellison. Remember that. Whoever the hell they are, they have my son too. Revenge, as much as I'd like to personally deliver it, is not an option. Let's concentrate our energy on finding the kids first, okay?"

Half closed eyelids pulled a curtain over Jim's true emotions, giving Simon only a shadow of understanding of whether or not he had reached his detective buried under the man he now faced. Simon suspected he had little impact, but further discussion was cut short as Rhonda flew through the open doorway, a scrawled message in her outstretched hand.

"Sir, they found the van."

"Where?"

Magnified by six voices, Rhonda jumped back at the volume of the single word that greeted her. Recovering, she extended the paper again and breathlessly filled them in on what she knew, her last two sentences dropping to a whisper.

"It was just called in. A group of kids on four wheelers came across it on a back road. It was called into homicide, Captain. I'm so sorry."

*

Hours later, Blair turned stiffly onto his side, wincing at the fresh pain the movement brought to his raw and bleeding wrists and ankles. He shifted his hips and tried not to remember the unwanted hands on his genitals as their jailer had held a container to his groin and demanded that he void while lying down. Besides humiliating and unnatural, the act had been painful, a searing burning sensation radiating from his battered left side to his abused genitals, guaranteeing some degree of damage from Keyes' earlier blows to his kidney.

Hearing a low moan from somewhere in the direction he thought Daryl was located, Blair stilled, straining to listen to the increasingly louder mumbling from his young friend. Encouraged, Blair croaked out words that were meant as reassuring but ended up sounding like pleading before he was done.

"Daryl? Daryl, hey man, are you awake? Daryl? It's me, Blair. Come on man, talk to me, let me know you're still with me. Okay? I'm kind of freaked a little here. Talk to me, Daryl."

A low groan that sounded faintly like Blair's name carried across the chilled air.

"-lai-?"

"Yeah, Daryl. It's Blair. Come on. Wake up for a minute. Just long enough to let me hear you talk, okay?"

More groans answered his desperate tone, but after a short pause filled with several reedy breaths, Daryl strung a few coherent words together.

"Head hurts-can't see."

"You got hit in the head. You have a blindfold on, we both do. It's made of leather, I think, that's the strap you feel under your chin. I can't get it off. Even if my hands were untied I don't think it would come off. Don't worry about it, I don't think we want to see anything here right now, anyway."

Blair's croaked voice had become a tense whisper, fear bleeding into his tone, alerting Daryl to the dangers at hand.

"Wha happenin-?"

Blair bit his lower lip, trying to decide how much to tell the younger man. Realizing Daryl was better protected knowing all the facts, Blair wheezed out the basics of their dilemma.

"We were kidnapped by that computer guy, I think. He hit us both in the head and delivered us to some guy, who is here, somewhere. Upstairs, I think."

Daryl's tone registered higher and his words held a note of panic in them.

"Wan' us -or?"

"He-he likes young boys, Daryl."

Blair's barely audible whisper hung in the air for several heartbeats before Daryl could respond.

"Want my da', 'air."

Blair collapsed back against the rough mattress and buried his face in his out stretched arms. Fighting to keep the tears from his words with little success, he echoed Daryl's wish.

"I know, man. I want my dad, too."

Daryl's voiced rang out stronger this time, even if it still qualified as a hoarse whisper by any standards.

"M' da an -im find nus. Just 'ave be pa'in- t."

Wiping his face on his quaking limbs, trying to block out the fear of how many more times the creature would come for him before Simon and Jim showed up, Blair nodded and drew in a shaky breath to calm himself for Daryl's sake.

"You're right, man. They will find us. Daryl, I want you to remember something for me, okay? Just remember to act like you're still out of it. This guy will leave you alone if he thinks you're not with the program. Daryl? Daryl?"

Silence filled the dank and musty room, disrupted by an occasional moan of pain from Daryl's side of the room. Blair let his hair fall forward slightly to cover what part of his face the blindfold didn't, warmed by a soft touch of his own making and not one of his captor's hideous caresses.

The conversation had lessened his fears about Daryl's medical condition but intensified his worry that the young man might unintentionally attract their molester's attention. The idea of facing either Jim or Simon again if something were to happen to Daryl caused his stomach to churn. Torn between relief and worry, Blair settled back into the darkness, a silent plea running circles in his pounding head.

This is all my fault. Please, God, please. Let them find us soon. Or if this guy has time to do what I think he wants to do--not at all. Daryl's right--I want my dad.

Heartwrenching but muffled sobs joined the fading moans of pain.

*
Jim jumped from his truck before he even had it in park. Racing around one of the uniformed officers guarding the crime scene area and slipping under the yellow tape barrier, he moved up to the huddle of detectives by the driver's side of the black van. Eyes focused on the open doorway; Jim barely acknowledged the subdued greeting of the homicide detectives.

Simon managed to reach Jim's side as the body propped up against the steering column came into his view. Weak in the knees with relief at not recognizing the body, Simon reached out to thump Jim on his back, whispering thanks to God almighty.

Jim reached out with a gloved hand and pushed the white haired man's head to one side to get a better look at his face. Even in death, Jeffrey Mathes looked meek and mousy, fragile in a grandfatherly way. Jim's own relief at the identity of the body was suddenly aborted as his sense of smell pulled his attention to the back of the service van.

Jim wordlessly left Simon's side while Simon scanned the growing number of detectives surrounding the crime scene for his own people. Gesturing over the top of homicide's people, Banks motioned for his men to come closer.

"Brown, Rafe, over here."

The two younger detectives cut short their conversation with a detective who had been on scene from the beginning and jogged over to their captain. Simon stepped back and allowed both men to get a closer look at the occupant of the van.

"Recognize him?"

Rafe and Brown stared at the colorless, blank face of the dead man, distaste marking their faces. Rafe swallowed hard and turned sad eyes to meet his captain.

"Yes, sir. That's him. He's the one we saw in the garage, the one with Blair's backpack."

Brown mirrored his partner's distress, new questions as to where Daryl and Blair might be now, pushed to the back of his mind for the present.

"Sorry, Captain. It's him, no doubt about it."

Simon heaved a deep sigh of fresh frustration and nodded to the crestfallen but relieved detectives. A deep growl from the back of the van found all three men running to the open hatchway at the end of the vehicle.

Carolyn cocked her head to one side and simply watched as the big detective studied a corner of a shelf in the work area. She laid a hand gently on the Captain's arm as he came around the corner of the van.

"We've already check it over once, Simon, but-- I remember Jim doing his black magic thing before with the duck down. Maybe he'll get lucky here, too."

Jim motioned Simon on board, ignoring the pitying expression on Carolyn's face. Jim pulled at something caught in the corner of a set of metal shelves using a pair of tweezers. Turning his back to the open hatch, Jim raised the item to his nose, sniffing at the small dark thread. Simon's eyes asked a silent question, watching a corner of Jim's mouth twist in recognition of the scent.

"I can't be a hundred percent sure, Simon, but I think its Daryl's. A piece of his hair. I've never smelled his blood before, so I can't tell if this is his, but Blair's scent is here, too. They were both here. This is where that bastard clubbed them. Right here."

Simon swallowed hard and jerked his head in shaky acceptance of Jim's discovery. He watched Jim drop the single strand of his child's hair into an evidence bag and jump down out of the van to hand it off to an awed Carolyn.

"Carolyn, you may want to run a DNA test against some samples Captain Banks can bring in from home. It might belong to Daryl."

The information was delivered in a level monotone, businesslike and impersonal, but Carolyn caught the brief touch Jim brushed over Simon's stiff back. She had learned over time that body language was Ellison's true manner of communicating. You had to watch the man, not just listen to him and sometimes you shouldn't even listen. Too bad she hadn't learned that until after the divorce. Shaking her head in disbelief, she took the bag and quickly retreated.

Brown broke the tense silence by disconnecting his cell phone and hastily scrawling a message in his notebook.

"Ryan from homicide said the guy's wallet is missing but the registration lists the owner as Keyless Securities. I just checked with Joel. The photos from the main office finally showed up. After I described the guy in the front seat to him, Joel says he answers the description of the owner, a Jeffrey Mathes."

Simon and Jim both took in Brown's attempt at a pleased grin. Extending the torn off page to the older men, Henri let concern and support show in his eyes.

"Joel also got his home address."

Galvanized into action, Simon tore the wrinkled page from Henri's hand on his way to his car, long coat flapping in the wake created by his rapid movement..

"Okay, people. Let's move it. 769 Marigold Lane. I'll clear it with Homicide and have a team waiting for us at the house. Ellison, you wait for me at the scene. We'll assume there is at least one possibly more suspects involved, but remember people we need answers to find the kidnap victims first."

As the Major Crime ensemble headed for their cars, a hesitant glance from Detective Ruggeri, the lead Homicide detective on the scene, forced a frustrated grimace from Banks.

"Don't say it, Ruggeri. I'm not working my own son's kidnapping. Captain Taggert is meeting us at the house. Trust me, neither Detective Ellison nor myself want this to go down wrong. Call ahead to your captain and update him before we get there. And wipe that grimace off your face, you're ugly enough already."

Ruggeri nodded, a resigned but relieved look on his face. Silently, all of the unneeded homicide members streamed to their cars to follow in the hunt led by their fellow detectives. Petty grudges and interdepartmental rivalry no longer existed when one of their own was involved. Not a man present didn't understand the pain Banks and Ellison were experiencing. The uncertainty of what had happened to their sons, the nightmare of envisioning all the possible unspeakable deeds that the young men might be subjected to, the continual worry that they would be too late to protect and save their children.

A stream of unmarked cars trailed doggedly after Ellison's truck, many of the drivers wondering idly when Ellison added jet fuel to his vehicle's fuel system.

*

Blair struggled to draw air past his swollen and bruised throat, pleading silently for the crushing grip on his larynx to let up. Finally, when consciousness was just a flicker of dimming light, air was allowed to trickle into his starving lungs. Shaking with the cold, fear and lack of food and water, he relaxed his rigid posture to fall back against the supporting form behind him, uncaring for the moment that the support was his tormentor's body. Blair wheezed with each new breath, fire racing down his raw windpipe to inflate his burning chest.

Keyes had begun cutting off the young man's air every so often without a reason, taking delight in the boy's struggle for life, enjoying the frantic squirming under his naked body.

Blair lay exhausted, limbs dangling and head rolled to one side. His recovery periods got longer and longer with each fresh attack, his throat swelling more and more with each deadly touch. Barely aware of the sensations on his discolored flesh, he remained pliant and still as the same routine of licking and biting began again, his captor's perverted version of soothing the hurt.

Unable to stop the tears streaming from his haunted eyes, Blair silently repeated the words that had become his anchor to reality over the last few hours.

Jim's coming. My dad will find me. Jim's coming. My dad will find me.

*

The prim little, white house stood on a small incline surrounded with brightly colored flower beds in full bloom. The grass was manicured and the lethal Russian olive hedge around the property along the 8-ft fencing was clipped and meticulous. Everything about the place screamed normal and respectable.

Everything, but the sealed, hidden room in the basement. The room that was hiding evil-looking cutting tools and ugly, disgusting implements for sex play and torture. The room that was filled with photos of young men and clippings of decades' old news write ups of victims found over the years in various states across the country, including two in Asia and one in South America. Victims of sexual assault and torture, young men who never lived long enough to have tasted more than the smallest sip from the cup of life. The FBI would be able to close a number of unsolved cases in the coming weeks.

Jim moved quickly through the offensive room, knowing immediately neither boy had been in it. Moving as if drugged, he shouldered his way past fellow detectives and focused on a familiar scent that hammered at his senses.

Keying in on Jim's behavior and body language, Simon and Joel followed. Jim pushed opened a side door and passed through into an unlit passage. Without need of a light, the sentinel strode into the windowless, pitch-black room and out of sight. Bringing up the rear, Simon and Joel fumbled in the darkness for the lights. Suddenly the room was flooded with brightness as Joel's fingers made contact with the switch. Stunned by the sudden change, both older men grimaced and blinked as their eyes adjusted. Sound caught up with sight and every one within hearing range shuddered at the soft, unearthly wail of pain that came out of the vanquished darkness.

Standing in the middle of a pristine, heavily insulated, empty garage, Jim Ellison griped a battered, brown leather pack in his hands. His eyes clenched to hold in the pain, Jim's senses reeled as the scent of his child's blood and fear filled his soul, threatening to block out awareness
and the passage of time.

A light touch jarred Jim back into focus. The concerned faces of Simon and Joel flanked him on both sides and Simon's large hand on his wrist brought warmth to his cooling skin. Averting his eyes, Jim nodded once and pulled back from the stabilizing touch of his friend.

"He's scared, Simon, bleeding and scared. I can smell it. It clings to the leather and hangs in the air in this hell hole."

"I know, Jim. They both are. At least we know they were together as far as this point, no need to think they split them up now."

"They're together, I know that."

Joel narrowed his eyes in confusion but remained silent, quietly dropping into the background but staying near enough to follow the conversation and provide emotional support.

Jim stared at Blair's cherished, old backpack and let his mind replay the hundreds of times that he had witnessed the young student stuff it to overflowing and sling it over his shoulder, perfectly content to face whatever life threw at him once he was fortified with his trusty backpack that he wore like a leather shield. The addition of his Blessed Protector at his side seemed to make Blair's world complete, much like the addition of Blair had made Jim's world whole. Jim slung the scruffy bag over his own shoulder and retreated to the outside hoping to find clean air.

*

Midnight found James Ellison hunched over his desk, eyes focused on the monitor in front of him. Rafe walked by and silently replaced the cold cup of coffee on Jim's desk with a fresh hot one, knowing it wouldn't be touched but needing to do something to offer comfort to the man. The gesture went unacknowledged, as the younger man knew it would, but Rafe felt better for having extended it. He had just returned to his seat when a whoop of triumph drew everyone's attention.

Joel pulled his considerable frame from behind his desk and anxiously waited for a page to come off his printer. Grabbing the paper and rushing towards Simon's office, Joel took a parade of detectives with him. Jim beat him to the door. Joel handed off the paper to Jim and grinned like a fool as Simon met them all at the door.

"We've got something to go on here, Simon. I remember this man."

Simon turned the paper in Jim's hand so he could read it at the same time. Quickly scanning the brief bio, he shook his head in denial, not understanding what the big captain was telling him.

"What man, what kind of something? Who is this?"

"The guy that sweet talked the mayor into making Major Crime look into his 'embezzling' case a few weeks ago. You remember, the businessman who owns KeyElements, that huge corporation with offices in the Hess Building."

Simon squinted with the effort to remember the man and slowly a vague face came into focus.

"That's right. You wasted a week tracking down loose ends only to find no trace of any criminal or even suspicious activity. Smug bastard, if I remember."

Joel continued to nod in frantic agreement.

"Yes. The one who took so much interest in Jim and Blair that day."

Ellison stepped closer to Joel and graced the gentle giant with a hard stare.

"What?"

Joel averted his eyes for a split second, then realizing he had no reason to feel guilty, he met Jim's gaze head on.

"He was asking questions about you and your 'son.' He said he knew your father well and had done business with him for years. He knew you'd been married to Carolyn and was surprised that he hadn't heard about a grandson from your father. He wanted to 'get reacquainted' with you and your family sometime soon."

Simon could see the tension rising by the way Jim held his body. The stiffening of his spine, the narrowing of the cold blue eyes, the rock-hard expression replacing the tired one were all obvious clues, but most telling was the fingers that went to the powerful wrist where, once again, a thin
leather tie surrounded Ellison's flesh.

Blair's hair tie had resurfaced. Jim had used it once before as a grounding force to help the sentinel concentrate on and focus his senses without losing contact with the real world in a zone out. The warmth of Jim's body released Blair's scent from the worn leather and helped steady the guideless sentinel. Ellison's voice was a harsh growl.

"Who is he?"

"His name is Marcus Keyes, owner of KeyElements and all of its subsidiaries, including Keyless Security Computer Systems."

Simon pulled his glasses off and rubbed at his blood-shot eyes.

"Oh, my God. Mathes' company."

"Right. Only problem is, we don't have a home address on him, just a corporate listing. He has lots of dummy corporations and blind addresses out there for security reasons. His company does a lot of government contracting. That's why it took so long to discover what little we have found."

Brown and Rafe exchanged shocked, bug eyed looks. Simon leaned against the frame of his door and stared past Joel, both men frantically thinking of little used private contacts that might get them an address. Jim pushed past both older men and made a beeline for his telephone. Dialing rapidly, Jim waited impatiently for the phone to be picked up on the other end. Finally, a groggy voice rasped in his ear.

"Ellison."

"Dad, it's me, Jim."

"Jimmy? What time is it? What's wrong? Are you alright, son?"

"It's late, after midnight. And no, I'm not all right. I need your help, Dad."

"What's wrong, Jimmy?"

"It's Blair. He and Simon Banks' son were kidnapped from the station today."

"Jesus, Jimmy, and you didn't think to call me?"

"Now's not the time, Dad."

"When is it ever the time for us to talk?"

"Please, Dad. I think you may know the man responsible for their abduction. He bragged about knowing you to Joel Taggart a few weeks ago. Businessman named Marcus Keyes."

"Keyes? Marcus Keyes kidnapped those young boys?"

The elder Ellison's voice rose an octave, tension clearly underlining his words.

"We think he had it done, then turned over to him, yes. Do you know where Keyes lives? I need an address. There isn't one available to us yet and we're running out of time. Blair and Daryl are running out of time."

An audible gulp was heard over the line.

"Cardinal Drive. It's a secure complex, about two miles off the road. It should take you about 20 minutes from the station."

Jim exhaled slowly and relaxed his grip on the phone handset, relief coursing through his body. His tone turned soft and affection could be heard in it.

"Thanks, Dad. I appreciate this more than you'll ever understand."

A note of hope crept into the voice on the other end.

"You may not believe it, Jimmy, but I do understand. Maybe more than you'll ever understand."

For the first time in ages, father and son found a piece of common ground in the form of a missing young anthropologist.

"God, Jimmy, you have to get them back as soon as possible, son. Sooner."

Jim could hear his father's uncharacteristic fear building causing the detective in him to crowd out the son for a moment.

"What?"

"God, Jimmy. It's just rumors and stories told after board meetings when the booze has been flowing too much. But Keyes has been known to have an appetite for-for, Christ, for children. A sexual appetite. They say he always goes out of the country for his perverted pleasures--Thailand, where it's legal, but I -I wouldn't trust him--I DON'T trust him with my- my family. Understand me, Jimmy?"

Sudden warmth touched Jim's heart, despite the circumstances, as the older man acknowledged Blair's place in Jim's life for the first time, and Blair's place in William Ellison's life by default.

"I understand, Dad, and - thanks. I'll call you soon."

"I'll see you soon. Be careful, son. Get that boy home, both of them."

The gentle tone and promising words exchanged brought a new sense of urgency to Jim's mission. Jim decided right then that his 'son' and his father, and maybe even Steven, would see the day when they all considered themselves 'family'.

Wasting no time on good-byes, Jim hung up the phone and pulled on his jacket. Catching the eye of every detective in the room, he spurred them on to action.

"We got it."

Major Crime's bullpen was empty in 20 seconds, save for a weary but suddenly re-energized Rhonda.

*

Keyes estate was tasteful, large, heavily guarded and totally devoid of its owner. After nearly 10 minutes wasted at the front gate while armed security men did their job and checked out the multiple occupants of the both unmarked and marked cars of Cascades PD, a house staff member met Simon and Jim at the front door. The man informed them Keyes was not at home and wasn't expected until tomorrow.

Five minutes later, Joel arrived with the proper search warrants based on probable cause and the beautiful but cold home of Marcus Keyes was searched from basement to rooftop. No trace of either boy or of any 'unusual' activities or 'hobbies' could be found. Marcus Keyes was a very cautious man.

Four hours later, a very depressed and exhausted group of police officers and detectives returned to the MC bullpen to regroup. Simon and Jim secluded themselves in the captain's office, determination still noticeable in both of their drawn faces.

*

Blair's first thought on awakening was that he must have fallen asleep in Jim's bed for some reason. The sheets were not his usual flannel ones and the pillows were too puffy and soft, encased in slippery fabric, and hard to hold on to. Moving to grab at one pillow that threatened to slip from under his head, he was abruptly bought back to reality as pain, raw and agonizing, shot through his upper body and arms.

Opening his eyes, swollen with too many tears and too little sleep, did nothing to orient him to his situation. A cautious tug on his hands reaffirmed the nightmare that came crashing back down on him as his total immobilization registered on his exhausted and increasingly confused mind.

He hastened to calm his escalating breathing pattern as equal parts of fear and panic swept over him. Forcing himself to listen very carefully to the surrounding noises, Blair was finally satisfied that he was truly alone on the bed and possibly the room. No weight tipped the mattress to one side, no warmth of human body reached his chilled, exposed skin, no heavy breathing rasped in his ear and no oily, lapping tongue dragged across his flesh.

The young man heaved an involuntary sigh of relief and then suddenly stilled, worried his assessment had been premature. When no groping hands touched him, and no cruel fingers caressed his throat in preparation to squeezing off his air, Blair finished releasing the breath along with a sob of thanks.

Keyes had played his games for hours throughout the night, never allowing Blair to sleep longer than a few minutes, no food or water had been provided, no rest from the continual abuse had been granted. Although Blair knew his tormentor had climaxed many times during the hours he spent molesting Blair, he had never penetrated the young man's body, at least, not yet.

The sound of foil being torn had become a familiar preamble to the heaving pants and hot puffs of moist air on his neck and in his hair. And each time after, the sound of wet plastic being discarded preceded the sound of new foil. Blair was sure Carolyn's people would not find a semen sample on these sheets, nor would pathology discover any in or on Blair's body. Keyes was meticulous in all things. Keyes' experience was very evident.

Somehow, even the thought of Carolyn, Jim's ex-wife, brought a small measure of comfort to the battered and isolated youth. He tried to comfort himself with the thought that, even if he and Daryl died in this place, Jim's family and friends would be the ones to find and care for his and Daryl's lifeless bodies, and he hoped that that would give some comfort to his Blessed Protector.

The vision of Jim Ellison in full BP mode rose up from Blair's memories and crushed any small measure of calm he had built. Terrified for himself and for Daryl, hungry and dehydrated, blinded and immobilized, freezing and defenseless, Blair couldn't stop the single tear of loneliness and longing that slid down his pale, bruised face. His stretched body ignored the screaming pains his actions brought as he slowly began to rock in place, nylon ties breaking through the next layer of abraded skin to bathe his arms and ankles in blood again.

I just found you Jim. I didn't want to lose you so quickly. I love you, man. I need you. You're the rock that holds me in place, the reason I have a home and a family, a real family for the first time, ever. You're everything to me, Jim. OH, GOD please, I want my DAD. Please, please, please. I want my dad. I want Jim.

Amazingly, the comfort of the swaying defeated the pain of the injuries and Blair soon found a quiet peace in the restless slumber of exhaustion.

*

"Captain. Captain Banks. I think we got something here."

The excitement in Rafe's joyful shouting brought both Simon and Jim out of Simon's office in flash. Intercepting the younger detective as he barreled into the room, Jim collided with the smaller man and had to reach out and steady Rafe before he hit the floor.

"We found something. Listen to this."

Simon held up a hand and watched as the panting man tried to calm his respirations. Gulping down large amounts of air, Rafe steadied his heaving chest and grinned up at the two emotionally tortured men.

"Slow down and speak in full sentences. I want to understand this the first time around, detective."

Rafe nodded and grinned at his partner as Brown arrived to stand behind him in the doorway.

"Yes, sir. It's Mathes."

Jim narrowed his eyes and grimaced in confusion.

"Mathes, what about him, Rafe? He was a dead end. No other property, no hidden bank accounts, no accomplices that we could find. Joel and I checked every scrap of his miserable life."

Rafe's smile widened.

"Yeah, but his dead partner isn't a dead end."

Simon shot out a hand to hold Rafe in place and stop the slight bouncing the man had started to do.

"Give it all to me, now, full sentences or not."

Clamping down on his own excitement at having found the first clue after hours of disappointing dead ends almost righted the guilt Rafe felt at having missed the evidence of Blair's backpack in the garage.

"Jeffrey Mathes' business partner, Michael Cambridge, owned property up in the foothills of Cascade Mountains. A cabin. He left it to Mathes, but Mathes never transferred the property over into his name. That's why it didn't show in the computer. Someone has been paying the taxes on it with cash, the property has never come into dispute, so no one ever made a fuss about the deed. It's paid for and has no public services so no one cared."

Brown took over the narrative to give his partner a chance to recover his breath.

"Yeah, Cambridge died several years ago, just after you took over Major Crime, Captain. His file says it was an accidental death, but notes from the investigating officer show he had a few suspicions about Mathes at the time. There's even a note about a possible tie in between his death and a Vice taking down a porn ring with Jim mentioned as the arresting officer. Nothing he could do anything about, but they were there all the same."

Jim waved a hand in the air in front of the two, physically trying to push away the unnecessary information from the air in the room with his gestures.

"Whoa. I remember that case, sick bastards. Never caught the top guys, though. Where the hell is this cabin?"

"Off Route 12, towards Hubble Peak, but in the foothills at the base."

Pushing and an arm through the crowd around the door, Joel thrust a map at Jim and Simon then proceeded to pass out copies to the waiting officers.

"I marked the route in red, gentlemen. We'd better double up in any SUV and trucks people have, it's a little rough up there on those back roads."

Nods and murmurs voices filled the halls and stairways as men immediately raced once again to their vehicles, still trailing far behind the swift and powerful strides of Jim Ellison and Simon Banks.

*

Marcus Keyes slapped his cell phone closed and struggled to fight down the hatred and anger that filled him. His staff at his home had paged him and informed him of the police visit in the early hours of the morning, turning his home upside down in the search for the two missing youths. Cursing himself for his overconfidence and for underestimating Banks and Ellison's determination and investigative abilities, Keyes wasted several minutes bemoaning the lack of time left open to him.

Keyes knew he would not be able to continue his playtime with Ellison's boy and still give himself enough time to clean up all traces of him being here. Forensics had gotten very good over the last few years. He momentarily weighed the pleasure of a few more moments of play against the possibility of capture.

Ellison's boy was so very, very sweet. His struggles awakened Keyes' physical responses in record time and his soft skin over lean, trim muscle enticed the older man to spend much more time than usual touching and stroking. The raw, whimpered croak that was now the youth's voice excited and aroused him as much as the act of dominance that crushing the boy's windpipe did.

Shaking off the hypnotic call of his own flesh's desires, Keyes calmly replaced his phone in his jacket and turned his attention to the practical matters at hand.

Choosing to remain as he had been since his arrival at the cabin, Keyes set about his work unclothed except for the full-face leather mask that protected his face from scratches. It also kept his hair from shedding a convicting strand on any surface in the area or on his victim's body.

First Keyes returned to the basement bedroom and deftly changed the satin sheets beneath his nearly catatonic victim. Exhausted and straining for every breath through a swollen and abused throat, Blair remained oblivious to Keyes' actions. The man had difficulty refusing his body's demand to continue his games as the young body before him re-ignited his perverse desires. Leaving Blair on a fresh sheet and clean pillows was not an act of kindness on Keyes part. The monster liked the way Blair's pale, bruised, and bloody body looked against the blood red satin. The perfect gift for Ellison to find.

Glancing into the second room as he headed up the steps with his load of soiled sheets, Keyes spared a brief look at Banks' son. Noting the ragged, shallow breaths and blue-tinged lips, he continued on with his mission.

Keyes dressed and gathered up all of the soiled items, as well a plastic bag that was filled with used condoms. Slipping out the back door, he walked to a small fire pit several yards from the cabin. The clothing he had worn when he killed Mathes and the bloody tarp from the back of the van were already in place within the pit. The sheets, as well as the boys' clothing were added and saturated with lighter fluid. Keyes stepped back and lit a piece of tinder and tossed it into the pit. Adding dry wood a piece at a time, Keyes brought the flames to an intense level.

Moving closer, Keyes stripped off his mask and placed it into the crackling flames, a smile twisting his face at the memories that replayed in his sick mind while he watched the leather mask smoke and burn. Lastly, he placed the bag of condoms on the pile, listening to the sizzle and pop as the moisture within heated and turned to steam, bursting the latex containers within as
they melted.

When everything was no longer recognizable, reduced to zipper teeth, buttons, and ash, Keyes poured water over the entire mess. Cooling it to a point where he could handle it, Keyes scooped out the bits of metals with a tree branch and gathered them up with a large leaf.

An odd-shaped, ash covered stone rolled out of the pile and came to rest against Keyes' foot. A close look reassured him it was just a stone, he kicked it back into the pit and walked several more yards into the woods. Keyes stuffed the leaf and its contents into a small squirrel hole several feet up a tree. Satisfied as the sound of the items falling deep into the tree reached his ears, the man turned back to the cabin.

With a practiced hand, Keyes ruffled his loose hair out of his eyes and grabbed for the hiking pack sitting on the ground by the back door of the cabin. Slinging the heavy pack onto his back, Marcus Keyes set off at a leisurely pace, adjusting the plastic bags over his boots to a comfortable tightness, checking the soft dirt for tread impressions along the way. Five miles from the cabin, the plastic was removed and shredded, bits and pieces set free to blow away with the wind.

Two hours later Keyes came across the campsite he had setup at one point yesterday, and began to break camp just as the dawn began to rise. Loading his equipment into his waiting Cherokee, he set out for home. Halfway out of the foothills, he made it a point to stop at the little country store where he was well known from his many trips to the area. There he grabbed a bite to eat and told stories about his last three days of fishing and hiking with the old men at the counter.

*

Jim's truck slid to stop half a mile from Cambridge's cabin. Both his and Simon's feet hit the ground before the dust from the tires had finished flying. They were joined by Taggart, Brown and Rafe from MC as well as multiple other detectives and officers, including several from homicide led by Ruggeri.

Ruggeri directed the men to fan out and approach the cabin as quietly as possible, weapons drawn and minds focused on the safety of the missing boys first and the apprehension of their abductor and Mathes' murderer second. Turning to Banks and Ellison, Ruggeri tried to make his tone understanding but firm.

"Captain Banks, I think you and Detective Ellison should stay here. At least until we know whether the suspect is here and if he has any help with him."

Banks pulled the cigar from his mouth and graced Ruggeri with a laser bright stare of refusal. Ellison had already walked away, quickly out distancing the retreating group of detectives. Ruggeri flinched under the gaze, grimacing at the raw sound of the captain's voice.

"I think that pretty well gives you an answer, Detective. We're professionals, don't underestimate us. I want this bust to go down according to the book more than you do. This monster isn't getting away nor is he escaping prosecution for his crimes, if at all possible. The fact that one of his victims is my son and the other a boy is someone I think of as my own nephew isn't up for discussion at the moment. Yes, I would like that monster gone from the face of this earth, but I'd like to see him suffer in a cage for the next 50 years even more."

Affronted, Simon stuffed his cigar into his pocket and followed after his best detective, throwing a barely audible comment back at Ruggeri.

"But I'm not speaking for everyone."

Jim approached the cabin in a low crouch, weapon drawn and senses aimed on the interior of the small, rustic building. Immediately, his hand went to rub over the thin leather tie wrapped firmly around the pulse point in his wrist. The slight rubbing action abraded the leather and released a small amount of Blair's skin oil imbedded in the material into the air. The scent of his guide calmed and focused the sentinel, allowing him to narrow his hearing and stretch his range without zoning.

Searching the exterior of the building first, Jim scanned the surrounding area and satisfied himself that there was no one setting up an assault on the team of approaching officers.

As Simon reached his side, he moved his senses into the first level of the cabin. Finding no evidence of life outside of the crickets and mice, Jim moved deeper into the building realizing there was a sublevel under it.

"Nobody in the woods or on the ground level of the cabin. I smell a recent fire, but I think it's out back. There's a cellar. I'll have to concentrate harder, the ground is muffling any sounds and making them echo."

Simon motioned the men behind to a halt and Ruggeri gave it the okay. Taggart came up to flank Jim on his other side and Ruggeri stepped back slightly to watch as both older men reached out and silently touched Ellison's back, a deep brown hand to each side. Ruggeri watched, fascinated
as the ex-ranger gave what appeared to be a low, verbal report, much of which the homicide detective missed.

"There's water dripping and mice. A faint, irregular pounding in the front of the cellar. I can't tell what, maybe a heartbeat, but it fades a lot. I--"

Suddenly Jim was up and moving at a dead run to the front door, a barely whispered message to Simon as he stood.

"Two heartbeats, Simon, only two, Blair's and someone else. It's got to be Daryl. They're both hurt, one seriously."

Forgetting about secrecy and chain of command and two dozen watching officers, the detectives of MC tore off after Simon, who lagged only slightly behind Jim. They left a frustrated and confused Ruggeri and his men in their dust.

Jim barreled into the cabin door shoulder first, splintering the wood and frame into kindling. Weapons drawn, he and Simon both scanned the simple room for a second doorway to the basement. Simon's distinctive bellow echoed in the confined space.

"Fan out. Look for a doorway or hatch to a cellar. It may be hidden. Let's move."

Ruggeri and his men wordlessly joined in the search. Ruggeri spent most of his time watching Ellison. Seconds later, the watching paid off when the legendary detective ran a hand lightly over a rough section of lumber and pulled at the edge of a beam. A section of the interior wall pulled back revealing a dark passageway. Ellison suddenly covered his nose, recoiling from the intensity of the smells that blasted at him from below.

"God, Simon, get that ambulance up here."

Hitting a light switch, Jim raced down the surprisingly sturdy staircase. Focusing on the most erratic of the heartbeats, Jim pushed aside the dizzying smells of the dank basement air mixed heavily with blood and sweat.

Arriving at an open doorway, Simon brushed past Jim and entered a cold, dirt-walled room. Taggart joined Simon as the captain knelt beside a rough wooden bed, furnished with a thin cot mattress and no linens or pillows. A matching bunk sat at an angle to this one, empty except for the broken nylon ties thrown on the thin foam.

Simon gently reached out a hand to smooth back the matted hair at Daryl's temple barely recognizing his son's features as he lay bloodied and beaten, naked and exposed in the dim light of a single bulb. A bluish tint colored Daryl's cold skin and Simon struggled to hold back a sob at the sight of Daryl's heaving chest and barely pulsing, irregular heartbeat visible at the young man's throat.

Cautiously cutting off the hideous blindfold, Simon continued to stroke the boy's face muttering words of comfort, as Joel released the bindings. The dark, sunken areas around Daryl's eyes made Simon own heart rate escalate.

Clamping down on his need to find his own lost one, Jim tempered his anxiety with the knowledge that Blair was close by and in better shape that Daryl. Jim rested a hand on the boy's head for a brief moment, fingers gently probing the crusted-over wounds. He offered what little comfort he had to share, as Simon settled his long coat over his son's body, desperate to hug the boy to his chest but aware that Daryl's condition wouldn't tolerate it.

"I think he has a fractured skull, here on the left side. He's weak but he should make it, Simon. I don't know about bleeding into his head though. Don't move him too much."

Taggart turned to the surrounding officers as they filtered into the room and rocked the tiny space with his command.

"That ambulance needs to be here NOW, gentlemen. Somebody see to it."

Three officers raced up the stairs to do his bidding.

Simon pulled his eyes away from the cot long enough to lock them onto Jim. Dragging a deep breath in to help push aside the pain and lingering terror, Simon's voice managed not to break when he spoke.

"Go, go, get the kid, go. We're good here, they're alive, we're good."

Focusing on Blair's heartbeat and scent, Jim barreled into the adjoining room, shattering yet another door, this one much thicker than the last one. Expecting to find much the same scene as Daryl was in, the sight that met him as he entered the room stunned every sense he had. Dialing them all down to next to nothing, the sentinel grimaced in disgust as he stepped into the room, waves of suffocating heat washing over him.

The room was decorated in baby blue, furnished with oversized nursery items and toddler's toys. A toy box overflowed with building blocks and toy cars next to a white wicker rocker and large rocking horse. A porcelain carousel sat on the bedside stand.

In complete contrast with the room, the huge bed, embellished with fancy iron scrollwork and thick mattresses, was covered in yards of deep red satin sheets and covers. Laid out like a tattered old rag doll, Blair formed the center attraction in the room. The heavily soundproof walls swallowed up Jim's horrified whisper as he raced to the bedside.

"Jesus, God, Blair."

Choking back tears of relief and horror, Jim scanned Blair's body for injuries. Blood had dried in blacked circles around Blair's wrists and ankles, his arms streaked in thin trails of the fluid, making them appear to be covered in an intricate lace pattern. His swollen hands had a dusky blue color to them, making them stand out from the darkness of the sheets, nylon ties almost hidden in the puffy flesh. A leather blindfold was strapped tightly over Blair's eyes.

Bruises, old and new, mottled across Blair's thin trunk, several extensive ones covering his left side, disappearing behind his back. Bruises that could only be pinch marks covered his buttocks and upper thighs. His genitals, reddened and bleeding in areas, revealed a few of the same painful
marks. His tautly stretched legs ended at puffy feet, mottled and crusted with dried blood.

Enraged at the damaged inflicted upon his child, Jim could barely contain himself at the sight of Blair's mottled throat. He gently brushed back the matted curls from Blair's unmarked face and fumbled to remove the grotesque mask. Multiple fingerprints were pressed into the soft flesh over Blair's voice box, surrounded by teeth marks and suction bruises. Not a centimeter of his neck was left untouched.

Swelling painfully constricted the young man's windpipe and as Jim turned up his senses, the sound of severely restricted airflow greeting him. Hastily positioning Blair more completely on his back, Jim shoved pillows out from under Blair's head to allow air to enter the young man's straining lungs more easily. Mumbling a continuous string of nonsense words that were meant to soothe and reassure, Jim unconsciously fell into a familiar litany of gentle phrases.

Nearly suffocating on the smell of terror, vomit and the unmistakable scent of semen, Jim choked, nearly gagging as he worked on freeing Blair. Warm, calm hands joined him in the effort and Jim glanced over to find Brown and Rafe working off the ties at either end, Rafe's smaller hands cradling Blair's arms as Jim cut through the thick nylon. Jim was barely able to slip the blade of his knife under the tie enfolded in the dusky flesh. He let out a growl of impatience and forced his way under the tender skin, knowing that the circulation-deprived flesh had been denied nourishment for too long. All too soon the hands would blacken as tissue died.

Gently drawing the freed arms down to Blair's sides, Jim turned his attention back to the young man's breathing while Brown's stadium jacket settled over Blair's exposed body. Flesh cold, and covered with a film of dried sweat, Blair never flinched as Jim wrapped him up in his own and
Brown's coat and lifted him off the bed.

Stilling for just a moment, Jim blinked at the ornate headboard and narrowed his eyes as a flash of memory came to him. During the search of his estate, Jim had seen this exact same bed grace the master bedroom in Marcus Keyes' home.

You son-of-a-bitching animal. You'll regret every moment you ever spent in this bed, I guarantee it, even if it takes everything I've got to do it.

A homicide detective absently picked up the carousel from the stand and the tinny notes of Brahm's Lullaby filled the room making the perverted setting all the more grotesque. The man quickly set the music box down, silencing the eerie tune.

Brown cleared the way while Jim carefully carried his bundle up the stairs and out of the hellhole in which Blair had been confined.

Two ambulances pulled up as Jim stepped out of the door. Refusing to relinquish his charge, Jim stepped into the back of one of the ambulances, pounding on the roof to signal the need to move quickly. He gently lowered his charge to a gurney and finally stepped back to allow the attendants to do their work. The distant sound of the gruff voice of his captain reciting soft words of love and reassurance to his son as Daryl was strapped onto a gurney, soothed a raw, needy part of the sentinel.

*

The steady rhythm of the cardiac monitor at the head of Daryl's bed had Simon hypnotized. His bloodshot eyes followed the fine blue tracing across the screen and back every 6 seconds as the waveform repeated itself, giving tangible physical evidence of Daryl's continued existence to the
shell-shocked father. The resilient, courageous and often times physically intimating captain had been reduced to a weary, old man in the short span of 36 hours. Unable to reach his ex-wife until tomorrow, Simon carried on the parental vigil alone for the moment.

Tearing his eyes away from Daryl's monitor for a brief glance across the room, Simon wondered when the statue seated at the side of Blair's bed would become a flesh and blood man again. He had no doubts that Jim Ellison would return to life to become the rock of stability and love that would be needed to get the young man at his side through this latest horror. He just wasn't certain how heavy a payment would need to be extracted from the guilty parties involved to make that transformation possible.

Privately, as Jim's friend, Simon felt the price would be astronomical. Personally, as a father of one of the victims, he knew deep inside that whatever the courts would dish out wasn't going to be anywhere near enough for him at a primal, protect-thy-loved ones level. Simon consoled himself with fantasies of castration and torture for the man responsible for his child's near fatal injuries.

Now, 6 hours later, Daryl was settled into a room, even more wires and tubes tangled around the bed, but stable and improving with each passing hour.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Upon arriving in the Emergency department, Daryl had been whisked away to a trauma room, where he had been examined, evaluated and assessed by no less than 6 members of Cascade General's medical staff. Ten minutes later, Daryl disappeared into a CAT scan machine, multiple IVs, cannulas and tubes snaking out of his seemingly fragile body. Directly from there, the teenager had traveled into the operating room, where a neurovascular surgeon had removed a moderate sized blood clot that was pressing on his brain.


Daryl had actually awakened for a few moments right after surgery. He had sleepily gripped his father's trembling hand and whispered in a slurred child's squeak that reminded Simon of the boy's toddler days.

"I knew you'd come, Daddy. I knew you'd come an get me."

Simon hadn't even tried to stem the flow of tears down his face as he looked at his son, suddenly seeing the bravest person he had ever known. Knowing Daryl might not regain consciousness again until hours or days from now, Simon stroked the smooth skin of the boy's heavily bandaged face in comfort as he chanced a try at obtaining a shred of information about his abductor.

"Daryl, son, do you remember anything about what happened?"

Daryl tried to pry his heavy eyelids open, then settled for raising his eyebrows as he groggily tried to focus on his father's request.

"Remember? Just feeling scared, Daddy. Really scared."

"Did you see the man who held you prisoner, son?"

"No, Daddy. Blair said to just be cool, man, just pretend to be out and it wouldn't come back. Blair made sure it wouldn't come back. He's a good friend, Daddy. Told him you would come."

Daryl faded off to sleep, a faint smile on his still dry and cracked lips. Simon dropped his chin to his chest and murmured every prayer he could remember, all directed at God with a special blessing for one over-talkative, irritating, impulsive, frustrating, infuriating, courageous and self-sacrificing anthropology grad student.

Looking up at the sound of the door opening, Simon locked gazes with the most anguished eyes he had ever had the misfortune to see. Jim had heard Daryl's praise of his young friend. Realizing that Blair had tried to sacrifice himself to their abductor's demands to keep the younger man from
being molested, the depth of pride and of pain in Jim's eyes was bottomless.

Simon stood up, but kept a grip on his son's hand, gently curled against his own large palm. Simon flushed, embarrassed with relief over his son having been spared all the horrors of the kidnapping and abuse. But his relief was combined with a raging guilt that it had been won at Jim's son's expense. Blair had endured their molester's full attention, suffering mental and
emotional abuse as well as physical during their captivity. Not knowing how to hide his feelings from his friend, Simon stumbled over his words.

"Jim, I don't know what to say."

Cutting Simon off with a small gesture of his hand, Jim looked down at the sleeping boy and nodded in approval of what his senses told him.

"He'll be all right, Simon. He's better every hour. They both are."

Simon swallowed hard and tried again.

"Blair--I'm so sorry--. What he tried to do for Daryl--I can't even--."

Jim turned back to look Simon in the eye. A corner of his mouth turned up in a small attempt at a smile.

"They're bringing Blair back from the laryngoscopy in a minute. The doctor said his larynx is bruised and swollen, but nothing was crushed or ruptured. He should be breathing easier in just a few hours. The swelling is down a little. The drugs seem to be working and they didn't need to intubate him after all. The doctor said he didn't want to traumatize Blair's vocal cords any more than he had to, so they're just going to keep monitoring his breathing closely for now. After all those hours in the ED and on that bipap while Daryl was in surgery, he'll be happy to wake up without a machine helping him to breathe."

"Jim."

Jim's voiced dropped lower and he averted his gaze for privacy, keeping Simon from his inner thoughts that might be reflected in his eyes.

"Give me some time, Simon. We haven't even found Keyes yet. I'll talk after that bastard is in a jail cell. The deepest, darkest one we can find."

"Amen to that. Joel will let us know the minute something turns up."

Jim gave a slight grunt, then stepped back from the door. A moment later, a stretcher, Blair, three nurses and two doctors entered the room. Efficiently, with minimum movement and jarring, a sedated Blair was settled comfortably into his bed. After the staff retreated, Jim spent several
minutes fluffing up pillows, adding blankets and generally rearranging Blair the way Jim knew the young man was the most comfortable. When he was satisfied with the results and the last nurse had finished checking Blair and okayed Jim's handy work, Jim pulled a brown paper bag out of the duffel bag that had a fresh change of Jim's clothes in it. With no trace of embarrassment evident, the big man tenderly tucked the furry bear that Simon had recently gotten Blair under the young man's arm, covering it up with the blankets, too.

The bear had been meant as a joke, but Blair had latched onto the stuffed animal like it had been a treasured ancient artifact. With the toy as a bridge to his childhood memories and demons, Blair had confided his extreme loneliness to Jim, revealing the heartbreaking fact that he now knew even his own mother hadn't really loved him while growing up.

Jim patted the last of the cover's wrinkles into submission, then sat down into the chair he had drawn up closely to the bedside. Settling his long form into a relaxed sprawl, Jim gently tugged the chair closer until he could reach up under the edge of the many blankets and slip his hand over one of Blair's chilled ones.

Leaning back, Jim dialed all of his senses down a few notches and focused them first on Blair and then extended them to include the other two members of his 'family' in the room. Satisfied all conditions were acceptable and they were safe, the sentinel went on sentry duty. Unmoving to the point of a seemingly lifelessness state of being, Jim's thoughts turned to Marcus Keyes and the overwhelming need to protect his own.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Hours later, Jim turned his head to find Simon staring at him.

"I'm fine, Simon. Just thinking."

"About?"

"House rules, stuffed bears, closet monsters, you know, things that go bump in the night. The usual detective crap."

Simon snorted involuntarily at the sudden shift to humor from his usually stoic friend. Jim had a good sense of humor, he just didn't display it often, especially in times of crisis.

"Christ, Ellison, you need some sleep."

Humor drained from Jim's tone and a brittle iciness covered his words.

"I'll sleep after we find Keyes."

"That could be --"

Simon halted, watching as Jim tensed slightly.

Leaning forward in the chair, a smile tugged at the corners of the sentinel's mouth, cracking the hard, cold mask he had been wearing. Edging even closer, Jim brought Blair's hand out from under the covers to lay at his side then shifted onto the mattress, his other hand automatically
raising to stroke gently at Blair's forehead. Understanding that the young man's face was the only unmarked, thus probably the only untouched, part of his body throughout his ordeal, Jim felt he could chance the contact.

Within seconds, long brown eyelashes fluttered against the dark circles of flesh they rested on, fighting to lift themselves up. Jim resumed his feather-light touch to Blair's face and softly encouraged the battle.

"That's it, Chief. Wake up for me. Let me see you open those eyes, so I know you're paying attention to me, kiddo. It's getting lonely here, with no one around except Simon. You know how boring that can be. Come on, buddy, and wake up for me. For just a little while, Blair. Please."

Blair rolled his head to one side, capturing Jim's hand under his cheek. The warm tones of Jim's skin contrasted sharply with the paleness of Blair's complexion. Turning his head had brought Blair's face into contact with Jim's wrist. Unconsciously familiar with the feel of Jim's hands and Jim's touch after hours of comfort being given in the past, the semi-awake youth snuggled into the familiar hold of his 'father'. A soft sigh of what appeared to be relief escaped Blair's open mouth and he relaxed further into the soothing hand.

Pleased at the trusting gesture, Jim reinforced the sense of safety Blair was obviously seeking by gripping his fingers more firmly around the smaller one captured on top of the covers. Dropping his tone to the low, soothing levels that he used when comforting and reassuring Blair whenever he was extremely upset, Jim continued the litany of calming words that marked the closeness of their father/son relationship. Simon sat quietly by, mesmerized by the gentle changes in his ex-ranger friend.

"It's okay, honey. I'm here. I'm right here. You don't have to worry anymore. I'm right here and you're safe. I promise. You're safe. Everything is going to be all right. I promise, Blair. You know how I feel about promises."

Pausing for a breath, Jim's smile broke into a grin when a croaked little whisper graced his sensitive hearing. Turning up the dial, Jim caught the faint, slurred words that made his chest suddenly ache and his eyes burn.

"Only thing I wanted was my dad and here you are. Holding me, so I must be safe now. Bad dream over. Thought it was never going to end, man."

With Blair's eyes still closed, Jim allowed himself the luxury of clenching his own eyes tightly to fight back the tears for a moment. Swallowing hard as he flashed them open, he pasted on another smile and moved his hand from Blair's face to the back of his neck, fingers searching for places where the heat radiating from the skin was less, marking a bruise free zone.

"I'm right here, Chief, right here. But the doctor said you'll need to rest your voice, no talking for a couple of days at least, so pipe down, Junior."

Blair managed to move his head slightly and open his eyes to bare slits at the same time. Running his tongue over oily lips, he grimaced at the taste of glycerin the staff had bathed his cracked lips with and grunted out a sound that Jim guessed was meant to be interpreted as a negative response.

"How's Daryl? If Simon's here, Daryl's here."

Jim dipped his head lower to make eye contact with his charge and helped tilt Blair's head back and to one side, bringing both Simon and the patient in the next bed into view.

"They're both right there, son. Daryl's going to be fine. The doctors say he wasn't touched."

Blair pulled his gaze back to Jim and silently held it for a moment.

"What do you say?"

Knowing Blair was referring to his senses and his ability to examine things more thoroughly than any mere physical exam, Jim marveled at the young man's faith and rewarded it with a single firm nod.

"He never did more than touch Daryl's face and chest. His scent wasn't anywhere else on him."

Never breaking eye contact with Blair, Jim forced himself to ignore Simon's startled reaction in favor of witnessing Blair's. Dark blue eyes cleared slightly as a long held chunk of terror-filled uncertainty fell away from Blair's heart. His relief was obvious as a dam of guilt-ridden words broke loose.

"I tried to keep awake all the time, but he kept squeezing my throat and making me blackout. I tried but I couldn't do it. I couldn't. Daryl just wanted his dad and-and so-so did I. W-we just wanted you to come find us. Wake me up. Oh God, I wanted my dad, too. I wanted you, Jim."

The raw croaked whisper tapered off to a squeak unable to be deciphered by normal hearing.

Simon was openly crying, head bent down towards his knees, eyes covered with one hand with Daryl's limp hand cradled tightly in his other. Jim willed back his tears long enough to slip both arms under and around his son, pulling him gently to his chest. Burying his face in the curls on his shoulder, Jim cradled the battered head and body and allowed the one sense few people gave him credit for having, take over. Jim's heightened sense of love and compassion flowed out of his heart and wrapped his child in its shield of protection, christening Blair with his tears of relief and regret.

*

Resigned outrage was clearly evident on Simon's face and in his body language. The tall man's forceful strides ate up the distance between the walls in the small observation room. Glancing back, Simon took in Jim's hard, unyielding expression, ramrod stiff posture and ice cold eyes.

Both men had taken the news that Homicide had released Marcus Keyes, after 3 hours of non-stop questioning, hard and very differently. While Simon recognized the fact that they didn't have a single shred of actual evidence to charge Keyes with made it impossible to keep him in custody, he was still furious over Keyes' lawyer's ability to secure an end to the interrogation so quickly. The smirk on the bastard's face as detectives questioned him had been the most infuriating display Simon had ever seen.

Watching every minute of the interrogation from behind a glass wall, Simon and Jim listened to every lie and alibi with growing unease. The man was going to walk. Unless some piece of hard evidence was found, Marcus Keyes was going to get away with kidnapping, murder, molestation and grievous bodily harm. And the man knew it. Simon could see it in his eyes, read it in his every expression and turn of phrase. Keyes had been down this road before and knew how to play the game.

During the entire interrogation, Jim had stood frozen to one spot, eyes never moving from Keyes' face, rarely blinking and never talking, even when someone had been clueless enough to approach him. Simon was satisfied with the occasional muscle twitch in Jim's jaw to signal him that it wasn't a zone out.

The sentinel was listening. Listening to Keyes' heartbeat and breathing, to the inflection in the monster's words, watching the pattern of Keyes' pupils dilating and constricting, evaluating the weight of the man's words. At the close of the interview, Jim's knuckles were white from hold they had on each other, as the man stood at parade rest in front of the glass, unmoving for 3
hours.

Jim purposely waited a moment until Keyes had been removed from the room to follow. Stepping into the empty interrogation room Jim inhaled deeply. The audible growl that rumbled out of Jim's throat and chest caused Simon to step closer to the unusually and uncharacteristically calm man.

"What is it, Jim?"

Jim ground out an answer through clenched teeth and a locked jaw.

"His scent. It's all over the room."

"Well, of course it is. He was just in here."

"No, Simon. I mean his SCENT. It was all over Blair. He got off on this little scene here today, literally. He probably has a condom on under his pants or they'd be stained right now. His rancid smell is everywhere in here."

Disgust twisted Simon's handsome face into an ugly grimace.

"Jesus, Jim. I'm glad I don't have your senses, that's for damn sure. I want to kill him myself right now. You do realize we haven't got a thing on him. It's been six days, and forensics and investigators haven't come up with a single clue. Keyes is going to escape justice on this one."

The ice in Jim's eyes paled to an even lighter shade of blue as the detective softly answered his friend.

"I know. As far as the law is concerned."

Simon chose not to continue the line of conversation, unhappy at his own thoughts of illegal activity and actions of private revenge. He didn't need to even think about opportunities an ex-ranger would be hoping for.

Jim pulled back from his private musings and joined Simon on the trip up to Major Crime.

"We need to check-in with Brown and Rafe at the hospital. I want to know if Blair is still asleep. I'm hoping he stays that way the whole time we're here."

"Let's call from my office. I want one of us back there before Keyes hits the streets again."

Jim nodded and opened the doors to the bullpen. All activity in the bullpen came to a grinding halt as Jim Ellison and Simon Banks walked through the doors. Several people ducked their heads and backed away to their desks at the raw emotions that radiated off the men. One man stood up from beside a desk and advanced on the men, his stride hesitant but determined. Jim's
eyebrows shot up in confusion at the sight.

"Dad."

William Ellison closed the gap between himself and his oldest son. Pulling the man into an awkward, brief hug, William retained a hand on Jim's upper arm.

"Jimmy. I thought that maybe I could go to the hospital with you today to see the boy."

Transferring his gaze from his son to his son's captain, William extended his hand to Simon.

"Captain Banks. I was sorry to hear about your son's ordeal. I've been told he's doing well. I'm happy to hear that."

Jim watched in surprised confusion as Simon accepted the usually brusque man's gentle well wishes and shook his offered hand.

"Thank you, Mr. Ellison. I'm pleased about that myself. Jim and I were just going into my office to call and check on both Daryl and Blair before heading back to the hospital. Would you like to join us?"

William patted Jim's arm in a manner mean to comfort and nodded.

"I'd like --"

The elder Ellison pulled back his hand as his son suddenly spun around and faced the open bullpen door staring at the elevators with a glare of barely surpressed rage. Seconds later, Marcus Keyes and his lawyer stepped out of the elevators and breezed into Major Crimes.

"That BASTARD."

Simon immediately moved to step in front of Jim, but a smaller body beat him to it. While stepping forward, William Ellison threw his son a meaningful look and then spared the same restraining glance for Simon. A surprisingly daunting force for a man of his age, Simon re-evaluated his opinion of the business world that had created William Ellison.

Jim responded to his father's unspoken command, but remained tense and restless with the stress of holding himself in check. It appeared even ex-rangers had control limits when faced with their own child's molester.

The tension in the room rose as the level of noise and chatter fell. Keyes' cast an appraising look around the room and then allowed his arrogant gaze to settle on the familiar man before him. A self-satisfied smile graced Keyes' lips as a sweet low voice of contentment oozed out of his mouth.

"Well, Bill. I didn't expect to see you here. Come to visit the family have you? How is your grandson, by the way?"

William raised an arm behind him to still the sudden forward motion of both men behind him, expecting and getting a reluctant compliance. The low growl, however, persisted.

Allowing his own eyes to reflect all the disgust and loathing it was possible for him to project, William Ellison decided to skip the small talk in deference to his son's eroding control and played his personal trump card.

"Far better than you are, Keyes."

Keyes' smile widened in disbelief at the old familiar game of one-ups-manship of the business world.

"And what does that cryptic little message mean?"

William allowed a small, thin smile to touch his face.

"It means, that as of 9 am this morning, while you were being interrogated by the police, my company pulled out of the Mansfield Project. Lock, stock and money."

Keyes grin slipped slightly as the impact of the William's words registered. A nervous laugh slowed Keyes' response to the information.

"You wouldn't."

"I did. As a matter of fact, I think if you contact a member of your staff once you leave here you'll be surprised at just how many other investors have pulled out as of this morning's meeting."

Keyes paled realizing the bulk of his empire was tied up in this one deal. It had been a sure thing, a guaranteed win. There was no way he would recover from this financially. A frantic look at his lawyer confirmed his financial position. Keyes licked at his lips nervously and gave a relieved
laugh. William Ellison would never throw away money. Glancing at the angry men before him and surrounding him, Keyes laughed again, a thin hollow sound.

"You're bluffing. William Ellison never walked away from a profit. You'll lose half a million dollars on that deal if you pull out now."

A murmured gasp from the surrounding officer greeted the accusation. Conceit and a little fear edged Keyes' voice as he watched the other man's eyes turn as hard as marble.

"But I'll sleep tonight. Better than I have in a long time, I imagine."

With that final pronouncement, Ellison turned his back on the stuttering man and literally herded Jim and Simon into the captain's office. Closing the door solidly behind them, the elder man turned a pleased face on the stunned men and refocused the discussion.

"I believe you were going to make a phone call, Captain."

Simon stammered a moment and then nodded, walking around his desk to snatch the phone off the hook. While Simon dialed, Jim tracked Keyes exit from the bullpen, silently monitoring the man's frantic attempts to contact his business people. Reluctantly releasing his prey, Jim pulled his attention back to his father, amazement and surprise written on his face.

"Did you really do that, Dad?"

"Of course I did. I'm ashamed to admit that I did business with him this long, Jimmy."

Hugely pleased by the admission, Jim smiled at his father in a manner that he hadn't used in many years, one that reflected pride in the man before him. The elder Ellison literally basked in the warmth of his son's smile.

"Dad, half a million dollars?"

Taking a moment to savor the warmth in Jim's voice and the openness of his son's expression, William found himself swallowing back the burning sensation of tears.

"I think you'd agree that my grandson is worth at least that, don't you, Jimmy?"

*

The nurse quietly slipped into the dimly lit room. She moved softly from bedside to bedside, checking IV drips and both young patients' breathing patterns. She skillfully maneuvered around the sleeping fathers, calling on years of experience with protective parents. Satisfied everyone in the room was deeply asleep and resting comfortably, she slid back out of the partially open door and made her way down the hall to finish her rounds.

Jim cracked open his eyes and turned his senses from tracking the retreating nurse to monitoring the other occupants of the room. Both Daryl and Blair slept heavily, medication and exhaustion pulling them into a near comatose state. Simon lay sprawled in an ungainly heap in a twin to Jim's too-short recliner, his at the foot of Daryl's bed. Reassuring himself that his captain and friend was out for an extended period of time, Jim silently rose from his chair.

Slipping out of the room with the grace and cunning of a jungle cat stalking his prey, Jim left the empty hospital corridor and made his way to the outside, unseen and unheard by another living soul.

Less than two hours later, Jim dropped back down onto the surface of the blue recliner. He studied the man across from him as he drew the thin hospital blanket over his chilled body. Simon snorted and coughed in his sleep, then continued a litany of soft snores. His heart rate and
respirations remained slow and steady, sleep still claiming his mind and body. Jim closed his eyes and joined him, content in the knowledge that his family would sleep unmolested this and every other night.

*

"In local news, businessman Marcus Keyes, was found dead in his home at the age of 62. Keyes, CEO and owner of 'KeyElements, Incorporated', was discovered this morning by his longtime housekeeper, on the floor of his bedroom. He had apparently been dead for several days."

"Unconfirmed sources report he suffered a crushed larynx, possibly due to a fall. Cascade Medical Examiner, Dr. Daniel White has ruled a preliminary finding of accidental death due to suffocation from laryngeal edema secondary to accidental trauma. No evidence of a break-in or foul play has been uncovered."

Jim hit the power button on the remote control and stared at the blank television screen. Subconsciously, Jim tracked Blair's movements as the young man rifled through his dresser and closet, pulling together items for their up coming camping trip. Jim was jarred from his dark thoughts by the ringing of the phone. Knowing whom to expect on the other end, he reluctantly answered it.

"Hello, Simon."

A surprised pause lasted a long five seconds.

"Jim. I just saw.the TV.I wanted to say.I ."

Jim listened to the shuddering breath Simon drew in to calm himself and steady his voice. Jim's voice was soft and low and strangely comforting to the other man.

"It's all right, Simon."

"Is it, Jim? Are you-are you going to be all right?"

Jim gave a slightly ironic half-smile at the tentative sound of the usually self-confident man's words.

"I'm fine. More than fine."

"I.Daryl is .just.. God, I don't know what to say."

Jim detected a trembling in Simon's final words. Unspoken words, heavy with gratitude, but tainted with the horror of understanding, hung in the air.

"It's all right, Simon."

".Jim."

"Accidents happen. Night, Simon."

A sharp hiss of air punctuated the frustrated silence.

"Night. Jim."

Jim disconnected the phone and placed it on the side table. He passed both hands over his face, then quickly dropped them to his sides as the activity level in the downstairs bedroom changed. Blair opened his door and popped out into the living room.

"Hey, Jim? Do you want to pack the truck tonight or in the morning? I'm all set with my stuff."

The young man's excitement seemed to crackle in the air, teasing Jim's senses. A smile touched Jim's face at the sight of Blair's familiar, but scarcely seen of late, bounce.

"No, Chief. Let's pack in the morning. What do you say we go out for dinner tonight? I'm in the mood for something Italian."

Blair's gaze fell to the floor, hiding the sudden panic the thought of being around a group of strangers sparked in him. He tugged self-consciously at the collar of the turtleneck he wore, hiding the faint bruising still present even after two weeks of recuperation.

What if someone accidentally touched him? Would he cringe in fear, cry out in terror, embarrass himself and Jim in one of their favorite eating-places?

Jim registered the sudden increase in heart rate and immediately moved closer to pull Blair around to face him. Jim tipped his charge's pale face up so that their eyes met.

"You're safe, Chief. I promise you. Marcus Keyes will NEVER hurt you again. You have my solemn vow."

Jim's voice was calm and steady, heavily laced with the solid conviction of a man who knew exactly what he was talking about without a glimmer of doubt. Jim stared down into the wide dark pools in Blair's anxious face. He watched as the fear faded from the blue eyes to be replaced with unconditional trust and love. A soft, scratchy voice filled with awe answered him.

"Okay, Jim."

Jim lightly tapped Blair's cheek and allowed his hand to slide through the curls under his palm. Finding his fingers resting against Blair's neck, he gently massaged the skin and bent forward to place a chaste kiss on the young man's temple. Rolling his head to one side, Jim pressed his cheek into the soft hair and whispered into the brown mantle.

"I'll always be here for you, Blair. As much as I'd like to, I can't protect you from everything, but I'm going to keep trying. I can guarantee you that if someone does hurt you, they'll never get the chance to do it twice. I promise."

A small shudder ran through the slender body as Blair reached out and wrapped his arms around Jim's waist. Burying his face into Jim's shoulder, Blair drew in a deep, shaky breath and tightened his grip. Jim's long arms encircled Blair automatically and pressed him firmly against his side. Both remained silent, drawing strength and comfort from the protective embrace. After many minutes, a voice murmured softly, even for sentinel ears.

"I love you. And I'm amazed that you love me so much. I-I have to remind myself that I have you in my life forever. But I still wonder why, sometimes."

Jim pulled Blair tighter to his side and whispered back.

"Because you're Blair. No one else could ever be you or replace you. You are a part of my life that completes me. I love you. You're my partner, my best friend, my guide and my son. Everything a man or a sentinel needs."

A loud swish and grumble of active stomach fluids intruded into the tender conversation. Blair snickered and Jim reached between them to rub at the offending abdomen.

"Okay, maybe not everything a man and sentinel needs. I think this man's body is demanding food, Junior."

Blair released his hold and stepped away. He smiled at the loud grumbling that continued to emanate from his companion and broke out into actual laughter as his own stomach joined into the demand for nourishment.

"I guess man, sentinel or guide, does not live by love alone. We need FOOD, Chief."

"You got it, Big Guy. Let's find that Italian restaurant before we can't hear ourselves over the noise. It doesn't make for the most interesting of dinner conversations."

Jim tossed Blair his coat. He slipped into his own jacket and unlocked the loft door, holding it open for Blair to exit first. The two of them headed for the elevator.

"I don't know. Weren't you planning on telling me about that tribe down in Chile that pickles their enemy's liver to save so they can eat them on holy days?"

"Do you really want to hear that one? It is so fascinating--"

"NO, I don't really want to hear about it. I was afraid you were going to talk about it. I'd rather listen to your stomach, Chief. Actually, I rather listen to both our stomachs."

They left the apartment building and approached Jim's truck.

"But, Jim--"

Grumble, gurgle.

"No way, buddy."

"Jim! It's---"

Gurgle, roar.

"Let's hear that tummy grumble some more. Think lasagna and ricotta."

Grumble, grumble, gurgle, roar.

"That's not fair, man."

GRUMBLE, grumble, gurgle roar.

"Garlic bread and manicotti."

GRUMBLE, GRUMBLE, gurgle, roar.

"This is so not fair, man."

"Get in the truck, Chief."

"Come on, man. I'm just trying to open your eyes to the diversity in the world."

GRUMBLE, GRUMBLE, GURGLE, roar.

Backing out of the parking place with practiced ease, Jim pulled into the evening traffic.

"My world is strange and diverse enough with you in it, Chief. I don't need any more."

"I never said anything about strange."

"You just forgot because you're hungry. Now pipe down and listen to your stomach. Better yet, listen to mine. It's saying 'food, no talk'."

GRUMBLE, GRUMBLE, GURGLE, ROAR.

"Okay, okay, okay. I can't believe I'm giving up an intellectual discussion to listen to a bodily function."

"Don't take it so hard, Einstein. Think of it as letting the 'primal man' in you rule for a little while. Back to nature, a part of our heritage."

GRUMBLE, GRUMBLE, GURGLE, ROAR.

Blair grabbed his protesting middle and laughed.

"ALL right, you win. I give up. No Chilean liver pickling stories and lots of food. I got it. Primal man's needs defeat modern man's desires."

Jim's gaze became soft, his eyes filled with love and adoration for the young man who was the center of his world. The son he had come so close to losing. His gentle words held a double meaning known only to the protective, primal part of his heart.

"Believe me, Chief. Primal man has the incentive and all the advantages."

GRUMBLE, GURGLE, GRUMBLE, GURGLE, ROAR.

"And, Chief?"

"Yeah, Jim?"

"Later, we have some discussing to do about The List rules, kiddo."

"Ah, DAD!"

ROAR

*

Settled comfortable back at the loft after a blessedly uneventful dinner out, Jim steeled himself for the coming discussion.

"I still can't believe you and Daryl got into that van. I kept telling myself it was a mistake. You would never do that. You'd learned that lesson by now."

Jim looked over at his hyperactive young charge pacing the length of the living room and sighed inwardly.

'Two steps forward, three steps back, Chief.'

Blair's pacing increased in speed, hands flying in time to his rushed and indignant explanation of his irresponsible actions of two weeks ago, anxiety making his voice rise.

"Jim, man, come on. We were in the PD parking garage. Daryl and I had met him in Simon's office. How were we supposed to know he'd parked so the cameras couldn't see anything well? That he was some sick pervert. He looked like an old man, a nice old man."

Jim shook his head in wonder at the innocent attitude that still guided his child. Jim let his exasperation show just a little bit.

"That's the point, Chief, you couldn't. You can't know what other people are thinking. You can't tell by looking at them that they're evil or perverse or criminal. You have to assume you don't know everything about them and follow the rules that are in place to keep you safe. That's what the rules are for."

Blair slowed his frantic pace marginally at the hard edge that had crept into his 'father's' words. He had known punishment for his foolhardy, and ultimately dangerous, actions had been quietly waiting for him since awakening in the hospital. Jim had comforted and cared for him almost every minute of each day since his rescue, never leaving him alone for longer than it took to go to the bathroom or to make a phone call, unless he had made arrangements with another detective to stay in the room.

Every man in Major Crime, and a few from Homicide, had taken a turn at sitting in the hospital room with both he and Daryl whenever Jim or Simon couldn't be there. Blair remembered that each time he had pried open his sleep bleared eyes a new, yet familiar face, would be in the chair at the end of their beds.

Detective Ruggeri, from Homicide had been especially nice, bringing music CDs to listen to and milkshakes that soothed his raw and swollen throat. Of course, he was only allowed to drink them after Jim had subtly sniffed the contents and approved their consumption before leaving them in Ruggeri's care for a brief period of time.

Jim had held him and soothed him as he woke crying from nightmares, screaming his tortured throat raw again, night after night for the first week, in the hospital and at home. Jim never once mentioned his foolish behavior that was partially responsible for Daryl and his being in the situation that they had been in.

If he had obeyed their rules, he would never have jeopardized his or Daryl's life. Blair knew he deserved to be punished for his behavior, he just wasn't sure if he could stand to talk about it yet. But the longer it festered the more guilty he felt.

Raising confused blue eyes to meet Jim's stern ones, Blair flinched when the older man sat down in the middle of the couch and motioned him to come closer with one hand. Choking back a sob and shaking his head no, Blair contradicted his wordless reply by hesitantly walking over to stand at Jim's side. Jim's voice was full of understanding, but the grim set of his mouth declared there would be no arguments over this.

"What rules did you break, Chief?"

Blair bit at his lower lip before releasing a tense groan that sounded as if it came all the way from his toes.

"Jim, man, please. I don't want--. I didn't mean--"

Jim took Blair's chin in his hand and turned the trembling jaw until Blair was staring wide-eyed into his face, his mouth continuing to work but no words coming out.

"Didn't mean what? Are you ready to talk about this now?"

A firm, if jerky, shake of Blair's head dashed Jim's hopes of a serious conversation taking place. Blair's walls of guilt wouldn't let that happen just yet.

"Okay, then, let's get this show on the road. You know what to do."

Jim gave his charge an affectionate pat on his hip before reaching up to help Blair undo his jeans, warm hands closing over the smaller, shaking ones in reassurance. Quickly sliding Blair's jeans down to his knees, Jim gently reached up and lowered Blair over his thighs, tucking the quivering body close to his own.

"It's going to be okay, Chief. It'll all be done and over with in a minute."

Jim rubbed a few wide circles on the thin back under his arm and frowned as he mapped the too lean flesh on Blair's frame. Reminded again of how far they had to go in restoring the young man's health, Jim hardened his resolve to get past this ordeal with Keyes and Mathes and get on with healing their lives.

A faint, croaked plea drew Jim back to the task before him.

"I don't want to do this."

"Neither do I, Chief."

Jim pulled Blair's boxers down to just under his buttocks and wasted no time landing the first stinging blow.

SMACK.

"Why are we here doing this when neither one of us wants to be here, Blair?"

A sharp intake of air tensed the lean body in response to the sudden pain. "Because I broke the list rules we have to keep me safe."

SMACK. SMACK.

"What rules exactly?"

SMACK SMACK.

Blair blurred out every rule he had broken as quickly as he could, barely gasping for air in between sentences.

"N-never trust strangers. Don't endanger my health."

SMACK SMACK.

"What was that first one again?"

SMACK. SMACK.

"NEVER TRUST STRANGERS, NEVER."

SMACK. SMACK.

"Thought that 's what you said. You say it and I hear you, but I'm not sure you hear you. Say it again, Junior."

SMACK. SMACK.

"N-never tr-trust strang-strangers. I promise. I won't, I won't, I won't, not ever again."

SMACK. SMACK. SMACK.

Jim rained the last three swats down hard and fast, leaving the flesh beneath his hand bright pink and burning. The spanking had been a token one compared to previous punishments for less severe instances of disregard of the list rules, but Jim knew Blair wouldn't think so. The pain in Blair's backside was magnified by the pain and remorse in his heart, making the light punishment seem torturous and harsh to the young man.

Pulling up Blair's boxers, Jim decided to forgo his usual time spent cuddling his chastened charge in deference to Blair's increasing inability to breath easily while he lying down. Setting Blair back on to his feet, Jim expertly pulled jeans back into place and fastened them, moderately
disturbed by Blair uncharacteristically quiet response.

Blair's actions further upset Jim as the young man stepped hurriedly away, pacing, and struggling with both his shirttail and his raging emotions. Blair turned back to face Jim, rubbing his hands over his flushed and blotchy face, as the older man stood up. Glancing up at the imposing figure
that stood comfortingly near, Blair came to a standstill in front of Jim, but several feet away. Blair choked on the sob that caught in his throat as desperate words tumbled out of his mouth.

"I didn't mean to make it easy for Mathes. I didn't know. He had a security clearance, and the PD hired him and he was old and small and nice and I didn't know. I DIDN"T KNOW. I would never have endangered Daryl. I wouldn't have. I wouldn't, I wouldn't have."

Jim just opened his arms and Blair literally ran to bury himself in the forgiving embrace. Pulling the smaller body closer to his, Jim tucked Blair's head under his chin and began a slow side to side rocking motion, trying desperately to ease the massive emotional explosion Blair was headed for. The two of them remained locked together until Blair's breathing began to suffer again from the intensity of his sobbing and the never-ending flood of incoherent words. Jim murmured back words of reassurance and comfort.

"I know, honey, I know."

Jim hitched Blair up into his arms and carried the hysterical young man into his room. He stopped once to regain his hold when Blair panicked at the change of position and frantically wrapped his arms around Jim's neck in a hold that threatened to cut off the older man's blood flow to his brain. Sitting down on the bed, back against the headboard and pillows, Jim repositioned the huddled boy in his arms more comfortably and settled Blair down next to him to wait out the storm of pent up emotions.

Rubbing small circles over the shuddering back under his palm, Jim continued the gentle rocking motion, hoping that the tide would turn soon and Blair would begin to calm down. Long minutes passed while Blair sobbed and choked on half-formed words of regret and remorse, forcing his still healing voice to turn reedy and thin.

Jim closed his eyes to block out his sense of sight. Concentrating on the near fever-pitch warmth wrapped around his neck and torso, his skin registered the heavy flow of salty tears streaming down from under his ear to pool in the hollow of his neck. From there the moisture poured down his chest to be blotted away by his denim shirt. Blair's tears left hot tracks in his skin, burning their pain all the way through to his heart.

When the muffle words of "so sorry.so stupid .so wrong.wouldn't have, wouldn't have, wouldn't have." changed into "forgive me.forgive me, please forgive me", Jim pulled Blair back far enough that Blair could see into his face. Cupping the young man's red, swollen cheeks in both his hands, Jim tilted Blair's head back to gain eye contact, overcoming the weak resistance caused by Blair's shame.

"Hey, come on now. Ssh, it's okay. Daryl's okay, you're okay and Simon and I are both here to make sure it stays that way. No one blames you or Daryl for what happened, Chief, no one. That honor goes to the two perverted bastards who thought they could keep on molesting kids and get away with it. They're responsible for this, not you, not Daryl. Granted, I wish you hadn't been so
trusting, but none of this was your fault. If Mathes couldn't have picked you up that day, he'd have found another way to do it, maybe one where more people could have gotten hurt. Either way, it wasn't your fault. Period."

Gradually the muffled croaking tapered off to gasping shudders as irregular hiccups took over. Blair finally raised his eyes to meet Jim's. Overwhelmed by the sight of loving affection in Jim's face and his actions, Blair pressed his face against Jim's chest and struggled to control his erratic
breathing, arms still locked tightly around the solid form of his Blessed Protector.

Jim silently waited until Blair regained some control, gently petting the riotous curls tickling his chin into submission. Feeling one final shudder run through Blair's exhausted body, Jim scooted down the bed until he was lying flat, pulling Blair along with him.

Extending his long arm down the side of the bed, Jim pulled the throw off the edge of the mattress and haphazardly covered the majority of the shaking body pressed on and against his side with the polar fleece blanket. A weary sigh rewarded his efforts and Blair relaxed further into the embrace, finding comfort and protection there. Several minutes later, as hiccups faded and breathing eased to a near normal level, Blair mumbled into Jim's chest.

"A part of me was so worried that all you would find would be our bodies. I was scared what that would do to you and Simon."

"We found you. I'll always find you, whenever you get lost, believe me, Chief."

"I didn't want you to hate me for being so stupid and for leaving you a-alone again. I was scared, just scared. Not about dying, but scared for you."

Jim swallowed past the lump growing in his throat and hugged Blair closer, pulling him up higher onto his shoulder with one arm. Combing his fingers through Blair's hair, he placed a soft kiss against Blair's forehead, allowing the moment to last several seconds.

"I was scared for you, too. Scared I wouldn't find you in time, scared you were hurt, and scared you were wondering why I wasn't there to protect you yet. That I had disappointed you and you might hate me for not finding you sooner."

Blair tried to push up off of his resting-place on Jim's side but was held down by a set of wonderfully warm bands of steel. Panic was evident in the younger man's body language and tone.

"I could NEVER hate you. Never be disappoin--"

"Ssh, ssh, honey. It's okay, we're okay. I guess we both had some wild thoughts going on there. I could never hate you. No matter how bad the situation or how many rules you break, I could never hate you, son. Ever. I love you. I don't want to hear you say that ever again. Are we clear on this, Junior?"

Confined by the strong hold and position of his upper body to tiny movements, Blair burrowed his face deeper into the shirt folds under his cheek and nodded his head in short, rapid little bobs. The grip around him lessened slightly with his acknowledgement of Jim's demands.

Pleasure rushed through Blair at the sternly spoken but lovingly intended words. Jim's body language overruled the gruff tone, and Blair was experienced enough at reading it to immediately know that the affection and devotion expressed was akin to a declaration of a lifetime commitment. A commitment to their shared devotion as father and son. Tilting his face to one side to allow his lips to move freely, Blair whispered back to Jim.

"A stronger part of me that wasn't scared knew you'd come for me. I love you too, Dad."

Blair tightened his hold on Jim's body as his breath was momentarily taken away by a massive squeeze. Relaxing back into his comfortable spot as Jim released the hug slightly, Blair smiled for what seemed like the first time in weeks, aware that Jim could feel the smile against the skin of his neck. A matching smile settled over Jim's face.

"I'm glad you're feeling better, because someone wants to come over for dinner next week."

Blair blinked back the urge to close his eyes. His stifled yawn partially obscured his reply.

"Oh, cool. Who man, Simon?"

"Nope."

"Ah, Joel and the guys? Is it our turn for poker night already?"

"Nope."

"Give me a clue here, man. No one else would invite themselves over like that unless they were like family and I just don't see your old man here for dinner."

Jim's silence forced Blair to push up on one elbow to look at the older man. The amused smirk on Jim face made Blair's eyes open wide in shocked disbelief.

"No way, man."

"I think you'd better find something else besides 'old man' to call him. He can be pretty strict when it comes to manners."

"No WAY."

"I think he'd like 'grandfather' instead. Maybe 'granddad' but definitely not 'gramps'."

"NO WAY."

"And I think you better start making that 'no way, sir'. Just to be on the safe side of things."

"This is SO not right."

A tight hug pulled Blair back down next to Jim and the younger man automatically snuggled in. Jim rubbed a hand lazily over the thin shoulder and gripped it once reassuringly.

"I think, Chief, some things just might be on the road to actually being right for a change."



The end