Title: It's All In The Hips

Author/psuedonym: alyjude

Email: alyjude@webtv.net

Pairing: J/B

Rating: NC17

Category: First Time, humor

Status: New, complete

Series/sequel: No

Date: September 28, 1999

Archive: Whenever

Disclaimer: PetFly owns, but no longer operates, I think we all operate them just fine but receive no moola. Crocodile tears.

Warning: Nah.

Note: This is just an excuse for Jim to watch Blair's ass and hips while dancing. A minor plot bunny crept in, but it's just a device so *I* can see Blair's hips and ass while dancing. If you're reminded of the flick Dirty Dancing, it's on purpose. (J.C.) And thanks to the new crop of great dance music on the radio nowadays. If you have Bailamos, Mambo #5, or I Need to Know, put 'em on and join Blair and the ladies.

Summary: Wherein Blair and Jim go undercover at a resort and Blair ends up as the dance instructor.

by Alyjude

A cop. Three weeks now. Carry a gun. A badge. And three more weeks until payday. I *would* have to get hired in the middle of the month. Shit. Am I the only one in the universe still awake? It's after one. Money problems will do that to a person. Looked at the calendar just the other day and was mildly surprised to see just how long it had been since *any* payday. Mildly is a lie. I was shocked. Then I looked at my checkbook. $26.78. Woo-woo.

As a teaching fellow I received a stipend, but it kept the Volvo running. My published works kept me in food and clothes, and the odd date or two. Fertile brain, good with words, odd ideas and conclusions, works every time. Years ago, I published often, hell, years ago I *dated* often. So wha' happened? Sentinels happened. Jim Ellison happened. I should wake the ingrate up, make him share my misery. I could moan. That would get him up and down here in five flat. Nah, he needs his beauty sleep, he's got ten years on me. Sentinels, ride-alongs, and slowly the publishing dries up. And coincidently, so do the dates.

Playing pseudo-cop kinda interferes with academia and women. Keeping a Sentinel focused and unrepressed takes up the rest of the time. Jeesh, he's a handful. High Maintenance. Not that he sees it that way. Oh, no, to him, *I'm* the high maintenance one. Have I got him buffaloed or what.

So, the purpose of this midnight mind ramble?

I'm broke. Which returns me to my original thought: Three more weeks until payday and I'm wondering if I'll make it. Of course, there are some pluses to being a cop and living with Jim Ellison; 1) I ride to work with Ellison, hence no wear and tear on the Volvo, and 2) I *am* rent free, a phenomenon I'm still reeling over even after almost four years. Of course, for every plus, there are about twenty minuses.....like, oh, food. My turn to shop, and I have, oh, forget it.

God, I love these midnight mind rambles. They are so......fucking productive. NOT!

What I need is a small miracle.

No, what I really need is a large, 6'2 miracle. With blue eyes. Okay, *that's* not going to happen, he's made it clear, *so* not interested, understood, signals neatly deflected, can't blame the guy, no prize here.

How often does a guy need to eat anyway?

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Blair's midnight ramblings really cost him the next morning as he literally had to *crawl* out of bed. He contemplated crawling to the bathroom, but a soft query from his roommate, "SANDBURG, WHEN DO WE GET GROCERIES?" convinced him to "walk like a man".

As he passed the kitchen, he managed to mumble, "today, Kemosabe, today," which brought a satisfied grunt from somewhere near Mr. Coffee.

Once in the bathroom, he took a bleary-eyed perusal of the man in the mirror and wearily shook his head. No change. No sudden growth spurt. Funny, he'd always been perfectly happy with his height, but lately, well, lately, nothing about himself seemed to satisfy. He wasn't getting taller, just thinner. And older.

God, he was pathetic. Thirty years old and $26.78 to his name. He swiped a hand over a beard stubbled face and absently reached over and flicked on the shower. He turned away in disgust, slipped his sweats off and stepped in, letting the hot water - ACK! and remembered he'd neglected to remove his briefs. He slipped them down and tossed them angrily over the rod to a squishy "splat" as they landed on the tiled floor.

"Wet spot, wet spot, wet spot," he chanted happily, not carrying one whit.

He made fast work of his shower, spent ten minutes shaving and brushing teeth, took the dampness out of his hair before tying it back, slipped on his robe, and perversely left the wet, steamy mess.

He got half way to his room before his conscience spoke up. None of this was Jim's fault. Not his fault Blair wanted to be a cop, not his fault Blair got hired in the middle of the month, not his fault Blair was broke, not his fault he didn't want Blair.

He did an about face and cleaned up the bathroom. Which left him five minutes to get dressed.

Seven minutes later, he and Ellison were walking out the door with a grinning Jim saying, "Didn't think you'd make it this time, Chief."

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"Ellison, Sandburg? A moment of your time, please?"

Two heads swiveled to look at each other before Jim pushed himself up and lightly punched his partner's shoulder saying, "What fine mess have you gotten us into this time, Stan?"

"Aw, shucks, Ollie, I'm giving this one to you, I'm the rookie."

"No chance."

"I can't believe after all these years you don't recognize Simon's "do me a favor" voice."

"Chief, you are so wrong. That was definitely his, "Boom is about to fall on Sandburg's head" voice."

"Ten?"

"Hate to take your money, Chief. You're on."

They walked into Simon's office and took their usual seats, both wearing smirks.

"Sandburg, tell me you know how to dance."

"Simon, if this is your way of asking me out, I think you should rethink it, given your position and......"

"Sandburg, shut up."

"Yes, sir."

"Do - you - dance?"

"Yes, sir."

A snort from the left sent blazing brown eyes toward Jim.

"If you call those native contortions of his, dancing, then yes, sir, he dances."

"Jim, I'd stick out my tongue, but it would be *so* unprofessional."

"You children done?" Simon waited. When no answers or spitballs were forthcoming, he asked, "Sandburg, I mean *dance*, as in Mambo, Cha-Cha, Tango, you get my drift?"

"Mambo, Cha-Cha, Tango, drift. Yes, sir. I *dance*, sir."

"Good, I have a favor to ask. Have either of you heard of the Lake Chelan Resort?"

Jim sat forward, suddenly very interested, as he answered, "My father used to take Steven and I there for summers, from about 1965 to 1970. It's quite posh."

"Sandburg?"

"It's pretty famous."

"Then this should be easy for both of you. I'm sending you in undercover. Jim, you'll be their new Security Director and Sandburg, you'll be their substitute dance instructor."

Jim really tried to contain another snort, tried being the operative word.

"Dance instructor, Simon? *Dance* instructor?"

"Yes, Sandburg, *dance* instructor."

Jim interrupted another round of "dance instructor" queries, "Simon, what's up? The Chelan isn't exactly in our territory."

Banks sat back and eyed his best team as he answered, "There have been a series of....unusual accidents lately and Karen Phillips, a close friend of Joan's, came to me because she's gotten no help from the local authorities. She and her husband, Jeff, are part owners. Karen's maiden name was Chastain, as in the original owners. In 1986, her father Winston, sold half to a brit, named Stuart Styles. Now they're in trouble. I'm sending Rafe and Connor in with you. Rafe will be part of your security team, Jim and Connor is going in as a guest. Any questions?"

"*Dance* instructor, Simon?"

"Get over it, Sandburg. You get two or three days, all expenses paid, at the classiest resort in the Northern Cascades. Stop whining."

The whining insult missed it's mark, the mark being too busy chortling over the words, "all expenses paid." Sandburg stood happily, "We're on it, Captain, sir. Have no fear, Sandburg and Ellison are on their way," he paused, then added, "And we're on our way, exactly when?"

Simon rolled his eyes dramatically before answering, "Jim and Rafe leave today by car, Connor leaves this afternoon, by train, and you leave tomorrow. Any comments, Jim?"

"Yes. It's *Ellison* and Sandburg. These rookie dance instructors can get so pushy."

"Outta my face, gentlemen."

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The next two hours were spent studying the "accidents", confering with Karen Phillips by conference call, and arranging all arrivals and meetings. Connor would arrive late that evening, her cover being a harried executive in need of rest. Jim and Rafe would leave around one-thirty, and Blair, the following morning, for a scheduled mid-day arrival and two o'clock dance class. Blair ignored the three smirks as he pondered the state of his empty gas tank. He did some quick calculations, like miles to the gallon, and the Volvo's miles to the gallon, which bore no resemblance to any decent vehicle, and figured he'd be about twenty bucks shy.

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'You got everything straight, Chief?"

"Yes. Now go, you're going to be late picking up Rafe."

Jim slung his garment bag over his shoulder and looked down at his partner. "Alright. See you tomorrow, two o'clock sharp, drive safe."

"Yes, dad, bye, dad."

"Very funny", but Jim continued to stand, continued to look.

"Jim?"

"I know we were kinda riding you about this dancing thing, but I just want to say.....I mean....."

"What?"

"Don't forget the pink tu-tu, Chief."

"Fuck you, Ellison."

They smiled at each other and Jim took his leave.

As Ellison walked to the truck, he chastised himself for being a chicken-shit and hoped Sandburg had understood what he'd really wanted to say, which was that he'd much prefer working security with him than with Rafe.

In the loft, Blair stared at the closed door and grinned, "Ellison, you're such a chicken-shit."

Downstairs, Jim smiled.

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"Okay, need money."

Blair walked to the phone, punched in a number and let it ring.

//Harris//

"Hey, Terry, how's it hanging?"

//Same as always, Sandburg, loose and heavy. What can I do for you?//

"Still looking for a good PC?"

//Man, am I ever. Why? You know where I can get one? Cheap?//

"Yep. Mine. It's all yours, today, $800."

//You're shitting me? $800?//

"$800 cash and it walks over and plops itself down on your desk."

//For only $800, I'll pick it up, do your windows, *and* bring you dinner. What about a printer?//

"Terry, it's $800 for the works."

A moment of silence, then, //What's wrong, Blair? You have over $2000 worth of equipment and you're selling it for $800?//

"Hey, it's not like I'll need it anymore and you do. Full time cop and partime law student."

//But I distinctly remember you saying that you were going back to school, something about that minor in psychology?//

"Not anytime in the future, buddy. The PC's all yours."

//Well, far be it from me to argue. I'll be there in twenty//

"It'll be here."

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With a satisfied smile, Sandburg dropped the envelopes into the mailbox and walked back to his bathed and fueled Volvo. He still had a bit over $300 left, bills partially paid, and the future looked bright. His smile faded a bit as he envisioned one happy Homocide cop carrying off his Mac, which meant telling his mother, no more emails. Talk about ironic.

And it's not like he really needed it anymore.

Really.

He pointed the car in the direction of the Northern Cascades.

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Jim had been busy most of the morning, checking out the sites of the four "accidents", getting as much information about the staff, the regular patrons, and witnesses, as well as doing "security" type business. And all morning, his eyes kept searching. For Blair. Not very "detective-like", but a fact, never the less.

Sandburg should have been here by now, it was as simple as that. And Jim's excuse for his worry at eight am? And nine? And ten? Well, no matter, it was after twelve, his class was in less than two hours, and he should have been here by now.

Ask and ye shall receive.

Looking hassled, tired, and dusty, Blair walked into the huge lobby, looked around and spotted Jim, who got the distinct impression that it was taking all of Sandburg's considerable will power *not* to wave happily. Jim smiled in spite of himself.

Rafe was just making his rounds of the lobby when Sandburg stomped in and the sight of the GQ detective in an ill-fitting red blazer, accompanied by a rusty brown "bow" tie nearly undid the younger man. Rafe, the ever alert cop, spotted the smirk and managed to surreptitiously flip him the bird. Sandburg's smirk grew and as he passed, he made his own gesture, pretending to tweak an imaginary 50's fashion statement at his own neck.

Fortunately Jim, as the Director, had been spared the "uniform" and wore one of his own suits and looked entirely too good for Blair's comfort level. He sighed and moved through the lobby to his planned meeting with Karen Phillips.

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His directions led him to a glass enclosed office across from the gift shop. She was on the phone, but as she caught sight of him, she gave a beckoning motion, so he slid open the glass door and stepped in.

"That is unacceptable. We placed this order over eight weeks ago. What do you mean it was *cancelled*? I did not cancel....So where does this leave us? The fucking BBQ is Saturday! Oh, great, thank you *so* much, for nothing!" The phone was slammed down with enough force to rattle the windows.

"Tell me you're Blair Sandburg? Please?" The young woman was clearly distraught, pushing bright, penny red curls off a freckled forehead.

Blair stuck out his hand and said, "Fred Astaire, at your service."

She lifted irish green eyes that a moment before blazed with anger, but now glittered with mirth as she took his hand and shook with a firm, friendly grip.

"Sorry about the welcome, but we now have no meat for the BBQ and no chance of getting any by Saturday. The jinx strikes again."

"You know, there's an Ostrich Farm not far from here. Only about twenty miles south and ostrich meat is good, healthy and I expect they can help you out."

Her eyes widened in surprise as she gasped out, "Ostrich Farm?"

"Yeah, it's called Stretch Farms, don't ask. You should give 'em a call. It couldn't hurt and your patrons will never know the difference. After the BBQ you can let them in on your healthy secret."

Karen looked at her watch and grinned up at him, "You've been here, what? Fifteen minutes? And already you've saved Saturday? Too bad you're a cop, you'd have liked the bonus."

They shared a laugh and then she took a good look at her new dance instructor. And winced. He was no Tony. Of course, under all that wool and flannel, she couldn't really assess his *attributes*, but....maybe the other one, the one called Rafe......

"So, where do I go for my two o'clock?"

Okay, he'd helped with the BBQ, maybe, just maybe....."Um, what kind of dancing clothes did you bring?"

"Dancing ~ clothes?"

"Yes."

Inwardly he groaned, outwardly he smiled his best as he answered, "Jeans and flannel?"

"Oh, dear. Um, Mr. Sandburg, I realize that you are a detective, and you're here to stop this....whatever it is, but you have to understand, Tony was a big draw. His classes were always full, with twenty or thirty women, many coming here *because* of him. He did more than sell lessons, he sold, well, *sex*." At Blair's shocked expression she hastened to add, "I don't mean he sold himself, I mean he *was* sex, do you see?"

"I get it."

"What he wore, it was as much a part of the lessons as what he taught and what he did. If you show up in jeans and flannel, we'll be defeated from the top and you guys might as well pack and go home because my summer will be ruined anyway."

"Would you mind going next door to Nirvana, our clothing shop, and getting a couple of outfits? I know it's a lot to ask, but at least if you're dressed the part, well, you see, this would have been his last weekend anyway, and ....", she didn't have to finish.

Blair jumped in, "First impressions. I understand completely. I'll just hop next door and see what I can do. Can you give me some idea of what, exactly I should purchase?"

"Oh, don't worry, Ben Webber, the owner, will help. I'll call him right now. He'll set you up. And thank you, Mr. Sandburg, thank you very much. And you can leave your luggage here, I'll have one of the boys take it to your cabin. You're in number 7, anyone can show you where to go. Nirvana is right around the corner and your class is held in the nightclub, The Lakeside Room. Your group lessons are every day from two to four thirty, with private lessons starting at five. Um, right now, you have no privates, but hopefully after your group lessons?"

Blair got the message. The privates had been cancelled when it had been discovered there was no Tony.

"I'm afraid you'll be expected to show up at the club each night, around nine. Tony would usually find one woman to showcase, dance with her, then spend the rest of the evening working the room. I'm sorry, but, well....."

"It's okay, isn't that what a detective does? Work a room?" He smiled winningly.

She grinned back, relaxing a bit at the way the smile transformed him. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all?

"You're being an awfully good sport about this, and I'm grateful. This is a mess, and if we can't salvage this summer, well, The Chelan may finally close it's doors. Jeff and I really do appreciate what you are all doing for us."

"No problem. I'll get over to Nirvana and see what this Ben can do."

They shook hands again and Blair headed over to the clothing store.

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Nirvana could just have easily been located on Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills, California. It was classy, and expensive. Sandburg could see Simon's face now, as he took a gander at his newest detective's first expense report.

"You had to do *what*?"

"Sell sex, sir."

Oh, yeah, that would go over like a lead balloon.

A man slightly older than Blair, sat at a french provincial desk and as Blair walked in, he got up, strode over and circled him, clucking in disdain the whole time.

"Dear me. All this *flannel*. It must go."

"I'll have you know, I'm considered the flannel king of Cascade."

"Well, dear, *here* flannel is out. And Cascade? Well, doesn't that just say it all?" As he spoke, critical eyes roamed up and down, tsk-tsking from Blair's hiking boots right up to his tied back hair.

"You're not tall. Too bad. Tony is very tall. Built like a brick house. But can he move."

Oh, goody. Tall.

The critical gaze tried to see past the bulky clothes, but it was virtually impossible. However, the eyes, and maybe with his hair down? And those lips, now that he'd gotten up to the face.....um.

"You do have great eyes, that's a plus. And you're surprisingly, actually, even more masculine than Tony. And don't tell him I said that, he'd be devastated. Such a macho prick. Yes, I do believe I have just the right look. Go into that dressing room, strip and I'll bring you the clothes. Go, hurry up. Shoo."

As Blair did as he was told, Ben walked over to a rack in the corner and began to pull out several silk shirts and a couple pairs of black chinos. When he was satisfied, he handed them over the dressing room door and asked, "Do you have anything besides hiking boots?"

"Uh, tennis shoes."

"Right. Shoes. With ~ heels."

Blair pulled off the tie around his hair and yanked off his clothes, wondering if he could feel any worse. Probably. In about one hour. Shit. Rafe should be doing this.

A couple of minutes later he walked out and stood in front of the mirror, tucking in the midnight blue silk shirt. M

Ben had a pair of shoes in his hand when he turned and got his first real look at his charge.

Apparently, jeans and flannel could hide a gold mine. The shoes dropped from suddenly nerveless fingers as Ben decided that this young man definitely did *not* need height. He didn't need a thing. Ben on the other hand, needed reflective sun glasses. On second thought, Blair *would* need something, moth repellent.

"Dear boy, take my advice. Dump the flannel. It does not do you justice."

Blair caught Ben's eyes in the mirror as they roamed appreciatively now, lingering on the "rear" of the snug chinos. Now if only Jim would look at him like that, he'd be a happy man.

Ben made a few adjustments, letting his hand smooth down the back of the silk shirt. "You'll still need something for the evenings. You stay right here while I shop." And Ben let his hand trail down to *smooth* the chinos.

"Bad Ben."

"Nonsense, it's my job. Must check the merchandise, make sure it's a tight fit."

"Too snug."

"Silly boy, it's a perfect fit. Perfect. Now stop fidgeting."

They were smiling, understanding each other perfectly and enjoying the by-play.

As Ben searched, Blair decided to sneak a bit of cop into the discussion.

"So, what exactly happened to Tony?"

"He broke his leg on Broadway."

"On Broadway? So he's a legitimate dancer?"

"Not *on* Broadway ~ *on* Broadway. He was called back to New York last weekend, and he was running to catch a bus at Fifth and Broadway. And Tony, legit? Don't make me laugh. You, you're legit. And you'd best be prepared for being eaten alive. By the women *and* the men."

"Men?"

"Chelan is very gay friendly. Tony would *allow* us in his class, but he ignored. We have a very strong gay clientele, I'm proud to say."

Ben found what he was looking for and took all the shirts, slacks and shoes to the cash register. A few minutes later he rattled off the total and Blair nearly gagged. $212.27! As shaking hands wrote out the check, he decided he'd better do well with the dance class, it might be his next job after Simon got a look at this receipt.

"I'll have everything taken to your room, you stay in what you're wearing, it's perfect for your first lesson. I'm going to throw away the jeans and flannel."

"Ben......", he warned.

"Oh, alright. But don't you dare put them back on. It's a crime, that's what it is, and do you mind if I drop by this afternoon? Give you a little moral support?"

Blair smiled thankfully at his own personal fairy god-mother, no pun intended. "I'd like that."

"Good. See you at two. And good luck."

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When Blair arrived at the night club, he found it empty, but set up for class. A roster of participants sat on the CD player and he noted twelve names written down, and as he scanned the list, he was shocked to see a very familiar signature; Kisha Monroe. Before he could figure out why a cop from Burglary was enrolled in a dance class, he was hailed by Rafe.

"Hey, Sandburg. You ready for a tough afternoon of *dance*?"

"Love the bow tie, Rafe. So you."

"Yeah, yeah. Laugh, hairboy, but while you're dancing up a storm, I'll be doing *real* detective work."

"Well, just don't go outside. There's a real wind and if it catches that tie? Bye-bye, Rafe."

"Fuck you, Sandburg."

"If you're looking for bad guys hiding in here, try under the sink in the men's room. And do you know why there's a Kisha Monroe scheduled to take this class at two?"

"Yeah, Connor had an emergency. Simon came instead, with Kisha. They're posing as newlyweds. Gee, Sandburg, didn't anyone tell you?"

"Bite me, Rafe. And don't you have some *real* detective work to do? I know I saw a very suspicious old lady skulking around the drinking fountain. A terrorist if I ever saw one, and just your speed. And try to come up with a gesture better than your earlier effort."

Rafe was stumped and he hated it when Sandburg did that. Damn, he was good. He shrugged and made as graceful an exit as a man in a bow tie can make. Blair's sniggering didn't help.

By two-fifteen, eleven of the scheduled pupils were gathered on the dance floor, looking expectantly at their new instructor. Seven single women, two men, and one set of newlyweds. Aged seventy and seventy-two respectively.

Showtime, folks.

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Simon made his way to the Security offices, looking every inch the irate patron. He didn't bother to knock, he just barged in and started yelling about poor security and how was his wife supposed to feel safe? He slammed the door behind him and smiled.

"So, have you got anything new?"

"I wish. So far, each "accident" looks to be exactly that. An accident. We have a set of wooden stairs that had a step break and tumbled a Mrs. Jackson down several dangerous feet before she caught herself. We have a case of eight partygoers who all came down with food poisoning, a smoke fire on the third floor, and finally, brakes that failed on the trolley car that takes the guests down to the lake."

"I've managed to talk with just about every witness that's still here, the broken wood was thrown out, so I was unable to check it, the food that the birthday party group ate, was from a nearby restaurant, brought in by Karen as a birthday gift, and the trolley car's brakes are gone."

"This doesn't sound good, Jim.

"You're telling me? We've got exactly nothing. Except too many coincidences. And I did look at the surrounding steps, and the wood is strong, healthy, no sign of wood rot or parasites. There should have been no breakage."

"You have any thoughts?"

"Karen went over the books with me, last night, and if they can't make it to the end of the summer, she's afraid Stuart Styles will sell his half."

"He's said that? And why would that be bad?"

"He hasn't said anything, and it would be bad, because he owns controlling interest. If he wants to sell, they sell."

"This place means everything to Karen. It would destroy her to lose it."

"I got that impression. Oddly enough, I haven't had the opportunity to talk with her husband, he works in town and isn't due until Saturday."

"So, let's hope Sandburg has better luck with his dance class."

A knock at the door forstalled any quip Jim was ready to use. Karen walked in, her face saying, "please have some good news for me."

"I was just heading over to The Lakeside Room, to check on Mr. Sandburg and thought I'd see if you have anything?"

Jim answered for them both, "Not yet, Karen, but we're working on it. Why don't I walk you over?"

She nodded, gamely hiding her disappointment.

"I'll go with you, after all, my *wife* is in that class."

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They saw the people first, about twenty or twenty-five, gathered around the doors to The Lakeside Room, bodies moving in time to the music blaring from within, laughing and chattering, some trying to see over the tops of heads.

Three sets of heads swiveled, eyebrows were raised in question and three people hurried their pace. Once at the doors, they found they didn't have a prayer of getting inside. The club was jammed and the twenty-five people *outside* constituted the overflow.

"Guys, follow me. It pays to own the joint."

Simon and Jim dutifully followed Karen's lead as she made her way around back, through the kitchen and entering the club from the waiters side entrance.

The sight that greeted them was extraordinary. Blair stood at the top of the dance floor, moving to the rhythm, hands clapping, shouting out encouragement and singing with the music. All around him were women, men, even three children, all with hips swaying, feet moving in the steps of the complicated Mambo, some were in pairs, but most were dancing solo, arms waving, laughing, twirling and dipping.

"Come on, ladies, get those hips moving, that's it, *feel* it, that sexy beat, imagine your husband's eyes, appreciating *every* move."

The song playing was Lou Bega's Mambo #5 and Blair's own steps were complicated, but sure, his hips moving seductively, and as the song got to the soul of the beat, Blair joined in, singing the words.

"A little bit of Mardi Gras in my life, a little bit of Erica by my side, a little bit of Rita is all I need........"

As he sang each woman's name, he moved about the dance floor, taking hands, dancing a few steps with each of one, encouraging, making each woman and man that he danced with, feel as though they were the only one on the floor with him.

Jim found his eyes glued to those hips, gliding from side to side, seducing him as he stood there, a silly grin plastered to his face, and then his eyes were drawn down, as Blair turned to face his next dance partner, and a round, tight, chino clad rear was displayed, and Jim groaned, which, fortunately, couldn't be heard over the music.

Karen could do nothing but stare.

Simon stared even harder.

The music came to an end, to much moaning, groaning and cries of, "Again, please?"

Blair shook his head, held up his hands and waited for quiet.

"That's it for today, but tomorrow, the Cha-Cha! And don't forget to come to the club tonight and practise! And if you haven't signed up for private lessons, the class sheet is hanging on the wall over by the fountain. See you all tomorrow!"

Everyone started clapping for their instructor, with a good many rushing over to the sign-up sheet.

The next few minutes involved answering questions, showing a few people a couple of the steps, and assuring everyone that yes, he'd be at the club that night.

By four-thirty, no one was left except Blair and Kisha. Simon, Jim and Karen made their way over to the two and Karen spoke first.

"Tony is in big trouble. And Simon? You just lost one detective."

They all began talking at once then, with Kisha explaining how the class had started out, how Blair had wowed them, how he had them eating out of his hand.

"Uh, guys? I have my first private in exactly fifteen minutes?"

Everyone made moves to leave, Kisha and Simon exiting the front, Karen, after clapping Blair on the back, going out the way she'd come in and Jim staying right where he was.

"Not bad, Chief, not bad at all. Did you manage to get any *detective* work done?"

"Well, now that you mention it ~ yes. It's amazing what you find out while you're giving dance lessons. It's kinda like a beauty salon. They talk and talk."

"And they said what?"

"Well, before we get into that, have you noticed anything that all the *accidents* had in common?"

"No, besides seemingly unrelated."

"They all happened on the weekday. The lowest volume days."

"Okay, weekdays. That is peculiar. But what is the significance?"

"Jeff."

Jim looked at Sandburg as if he'd lost his mind. "Jeff? Explain, Chief. Sometimes the Sandburg zone gets a little foggy."

"You know, there is *no* Sandburg zone. Just a Sentinel who gets lost alot."

"Lost in *your* ramblings. Now explain."

"Husband, not here. Pretty good alibi. They've been married less than one year, she met him while on vacation, they married two weeks later. No one really knows him very well, and while he professed to a desire to help her run the resort, *this* summer he's spent it in town, helping a friend run a nursery."

Jim gave a low whistle. "Not bad, Chief. How is it we didn't get that info from Simon?"

"I don't think he knows. Karen is Joan's friend, not his exactly."

"Have you found out any good gossip on the missing silent partner?"

"Yes, and he isn't missing. You might want to have a chat with him while I'm taking the privates. He's here in Chelan."

"Now wait a minute, Chief. Karen said he's in England. You telling me she doesn't know where her silent partner is?"

"She doesn't know. He's staying with Ben Webber, the owner of Nirvana, the clothing shop that Karen sent me to for "dancing clothes", and boy, is Simon gonna be pissed."

"Wait, one thing at a time. Simon's gonna be pissed?"

"Love your priorities. Yes, pissed. Over two hundred dollars later, I have dance clothes. Or did you think this outfit was mine?"

"I figured you were holding out on me. And don't worry, you can expense it out." Then as if realizing what he'd said, he whistled again, "Oh, I get it. Yeah, he's gonna be pissed. Now tell me about Styles."

"He and Ben are a couple. Styles is being pressured to sell, he's fighting it. At least according to Ben, he's fighting it. Me thinks Karen and Stuart need to get a dialogue going."

"My, you have been a busy bee, and a dancing fool."

"So, go. Do your detecting. And by the way? The wood from the stairs? It wasn't thrown away. Styles has it."

"Shit, how did you.....never mind, no need to ask. What time do you finish your last lesson?"

"Seven."

"Alright, we're sharing a cabin, I'll meet you there and we'll compare notes."

"Bring dinner."

"Yes, dear."

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Blair's five o'clock lesson was late, so he took a few minutes in the men's room, splashing cold water on his face and trying to cool down. When he came back out, a tall, willowy blonde was tapping her elegant foot.

"You're late."

"Sorry. I'm Blair Sandburg. I didn't see you in the class earlier?"

"No, I missed it. But I'm here now. Can we get started? I'm here to learn the Tango. I brought my own CD. It's over there."

Her purse, cigarettes and matches lay on top of the CD. He moved them carefully, not noticing when the matches fell on the floor. He checked out the music and nodded. Pretty good choice. He put it in, but didn't start it right away. First, the basics. He moved back to her side.

"Have you had any lessons before?"

"No. So?"

"Well, then, we need to start out with the basics, so we'll hold off on the music for a bit."

"I need music. I can't dance without it."

Okay, this was going well.

"Can't you put it in, play it softly? Mood music?"

"Right. Mood music."

He walked over to the CD player and as he fiddled with the volume control, a shadow passed above him and he looked up in time to see the strobe light coming straight for him.

A blood curdling scream followed his leap for safety.

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Even out on the patio, the bloodcurdling scream and the sound of shattering glass and ripping metal nearly drove Jim Ellison to his knees. Which is what a Sentinel gets when he's focusing on two things at once, namely the area immediately surrounding him, and his partner. He shook off the pain, dialed down and a moment later he was running up, through the lobby, heedless of the strange stares, conscious only of his need to get to Blair.

He burst through the doors to the Lakeside Room and the first thing he saw was a woman, cowering in a corner, hands clamped over her mouth, eyes wide with shock. He followed the frightened gaze to the destruction on the floor.

Two overturned tables, shards of glass, hunks of metal, splintered wood, the crushed CD player, and Blair no where in evidence. Jim's ears were still ringing from the initial bombardment of sound and his mad dash through the hotel, and finding the one sound he desperately needed to find was impossible. It was such a small heartbeat, usually so easy to find, to get a fix on, and yet......But anyone could have heard the loud, "FUCK!" coming from somewhere behind the mess, but before Jim could move, a slightly dishevelled Blair hauled himself up, shaking his head, and brushing pieces of lighting from his clothes.

Several people came through the side entrance to the club from the kitchen and immediately swarmed around Sandburg, so with a quick Sentinel scan, to assure himself that Blair was okay, Jim then turned his attentions to the young woman.

"Miss? Are you hurt?"

Wide brown eyes blinked, focused, and Jim found his arms full of a hundred and fifteen pounds of shaking woman.

"Hey, it's okay, let's get you seated, check you out." As he guided the woman to one of the chairs, Rafe ran up and Jim happily turned the female over to the eager detective.

From across the room Blair was busy shaking off everyone's help, smiling but insisting he was alright and watching Jim with the blonde. He swallowed a twinge of jealous hurt and turned his attentions to the ceiling above, to the catwalks that crisscrossed the club. He was certain he'd seen a shadow just before all hell had broken loose......He moved away and over to the orchestra stage and behind.

Jim watched Sandburg disappear behind the stage and followed him, knowing exactly what he was doing and angry that he'd even consider it without backup.

Blair was climbing up the slender ladder when he heard the urgent, angry whisper coming from somewhere below.

"Sandburg, god dammit, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Jim hissed.

"I saw something just before the lighting fell. Get your ass up here." He hissed back. So there.

"So help me....".

"Oh, stop you're whining. You can't tell me to stay in the truck anymore, you know."

Jim hauled himself up to Blair's level and gave him one of his best "Killer Sentinel" looks, good for piercing the bad guys to the core, but woefully inadequate for quelling Guides who were now cops. Come to think of it, the damn look had *never* worked on Sandburg. But he followed the devastating look with equally harsh words, "I'm the senior partner here, and if I tell you to bend over and touch your toes, you'll damn well do it."

The words didn't work either. Blair just gazed back humorously, the way a person might look down on a beloved puppy who'd just pee'd on a roommates favorite shoe.

"You wanna stop flexing your alpha male muscles and put your senses to work?"

Steely blues narrowed as wide, innocent sapphire blues stared back. Jim surrendered. Like always.

"What do you *think* you saw?" He might have surrendered, but he didn't have to go gracefully.

"You might check for another heartbeat, Oh, Great Sentinel."

"I did, Oh, Great Shaman, we're alone." As he spoke, he was already anticipating the next suggestion by allowing his sight to scrutinize the cables that had held the lighting. He moved away from Sandburg, reached out, snagged the primary cable and pulled it toward him. He started to touch it, but the whiff of something reached him first.

"Jim? You got something?"

"A smell. Not sure, can't seem to isolate it, too much interference."

"Interference? Up here? Come on, Jim."

"Well, let's see.....there's the bolognese sauce coming from the kitchen, and the garlic bread, and we're having white chocolate macadamia nut cheescake for dessert, and then......"

"I get it, Jim."

".....there's Obsession, Channel, Joy, Tabu, White Diamonds, Polo, Old Spice....."

"Yo? Jim? I get it, okay?"

".......flowing off of your body, not to mention your own scent and sweat......"

"Earth to Jim? You know the drill.....and that was way more than I wanted to know...okay?"

Unfortunately, Ellison didn't have time to gloat, he'd dialed out all the other smells, as his guide suggested and found only one remaining, "Acid" he whispered.

"Deliberate then. So the only question is, when was it intended to fall? Tonight? With the club full?"

"It fell right when it was supposed to, Chief. I expect the substitute dance instructor was the intended victim."

"Which would be ~ me."

"Which would be you, yes."

"Jim, I don't buy that. The donuts and bad coffee haven't diluted my brain yet, and it's saying too many variables."

"Yeah, well this cop mind is still undiluted by anthropological speak and it says, "inside job", hurriedly put together, when it turned out Tony was being so thoroughly upstaged."

"oh."

"Beautiful comeback, Chief."

"Thank you. Oh, shit, it's almost six. Next lesson."

"Blair, I don't think you'll have a next lesson, not when word gets out about the near miss."

"You underestimate the power of the dance. You finish up here, I'll go down and see what I can find out, dancing seems to bring out the gossip in everyone."

Blair started down, knowing Jim would remain, but also knowing he was getting one of *those* looks again, and he smiled wickedly.

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It was after seven-thirty, Blair was exhausted, sore and had discovered more in the last hour and a half than he'd wanted to know.

When he'd come out from behind the stage, he'd found only Karen, Rafe, Simon and Kisha waiting for him. He quickly explained about the cable and that Jim was still above them. He enquired about his last student and Rafe told him she'd been escorted to her room, and was being looked over by the hotel physician.

Karen had been clearly upset, her concern evident in her first question, "Should I cancel your last lesson? Miss Wooden is waiting just outside."

"Hey, if she's game, I am."

"Are you sure? I mean, if this was meant for you?"

Simon had spoken up then, his voice reassuring, "Karen, don't worry about Sandburg, he's got nine lives and four guardians. You go take care of business and we'll take care of this. Maybe you should check in on the young woman?"

"Yes, yes, that's what I'll do, although, she already said she was checking out, and she only arrived a couple of hours ago."

After that, everyone had gone their seperate ways, leaving Blair with one fifty-four year old dancing fool. Her name was Miriam Wyatt and she was a font of information and loved to dance and crush men's feet.

Now Blair stood in the empty club, ruminating over all the information Mrs. Wyatt had provided. Miriam was a frequent guest of the hotel, especially during the summers and was very fond of Karen, which was why she hadn't cancelled her lessons when Tony hadn't returned from his trip to New York. But the information Blair had managed to pry out of her, only confirmed his own suspicions about Karen's husband.

It seemed the *friend* with the nursery was very female and tongues were quietly wagging and certain that Jeff Phillips was an unfaithful husband. The strange thing was that no one had seen the new owner of the Nursery, so Blair had been unable to get a description of the "other woman". Which of itself was strange. New to the area, buys a nursery, and yet is so far, unseen by the populace.

Blair gathered up the CD's, and was plucking up the towel he used to wipe off the sweat, when he noticed the small packet of matches. In the clean up effort, the crew must have missed them, so Blair bent and scooped them up. And froze.

The cover advertised, "O'Dell's Nursery".

O'Dell's Nursery. The same nursery that Jeff had been spending all of his time, and the matches had belonged to the tall, willowy, Jim-stealing blonde.

He needed to find his partner.

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Stuart Styles was nothing like Jim had pictured.

Styles sat on the couch of Ben's small house, located about three miles from the resort. The house was beautifully decorated, with accents and furniture in keeping with the magnificent vistas that greeted you from every angle of the glassed in house. Large, comfortable chairs and sofas, in wheat and tan, colorful accent pillows, handcrafted oak tables, and wonderful photos of the area all combined to create a woodsy, private and serene atmosphere.

Stuart Styles was about thirty-five, short and lean, with cropped black hair and a pencil thin sliver of a moustache. His voice was low and soft, his accent barely discernible. Ben Webber, slightly younger, sat next to Styles, in an almost protective posture.

"You can't believe Stuart is behind this, you can't be serious?"

"Mr. Webber, I'm the head of security, and it's my job to suspect everyone. I know you have a great deal invested in the resort, which should make us allies, not enemies."

Webber gave a little snort of derision before saying, "Security? Don't make me laugh. You're a cop. Plain and simple. I'm no fool. And yes, I have a great deal at stake here, but so does Stuart."

Styles reached out a hand and took Webber's in his own and Jim watched, fascinated, as the two men looked at each other and Webber drew calm in the face of his partner. The love these two men shared was patently obvious and for a moment, Jim Ellison was jealous. He wanted what these two had, wanted it badly.

He shook himself out of his reverie and returned to the business at hand.

"Mr. Styles, why did you keep the pieces of stair, from the first accident?"

Stuart wasn't surprised to find out that Jim knew about the wood, and he answered easily, "I had it analyzed. I received the results earlier today. Interested? And is Ben correct? You're a cop?"

Jim saw no point in hiding now. Every instinct he had said these men were not involved.

"Yes. I'm a detective with the Cascade Police Department. Major Crimes. Karen is a friend of my Captain's, so we're here to help. Now, about the results?"

Both men were supremely satisfied at Jim's revelations and nodding, Styles answered, "A chemical agent was used to destroy the wood and any significant weight would collapse the step."

Jim had known what the results would be, so he looked to Webber and Styles to provide the why's.

"Who's pressuring you to sell?"

"The Meridian Conglomorate. They want to build a huge entertainment resort, like Disneyworld. But they'll destroy the area. And without Chelan, they're stumped. They'll have to destroy someplace else."

"What kind of money are we talking? And why would only your selling give the resort to this conglomorate?"

"Millions. And if I give in, Karen will be forced to sell as well. She can't possibly keep the resort going without my partnership. And selling is the last thing any of us want. But if we lose anymore business, neither of us will have a choice."

Webber jumped in with, "But, Stuart, you haven't seen the new dance instructor. I think the exodus is over. We might just save the summer yet. And Karen told me the BBQ is a go."

Styles turned surprised eyes on his lover, "What do you mean? The last I heard, the meat order had been suspiciously cancelled?"

"Our erstwhile instructor is more than a pretty face, ass and clever dance steps, he's got a brain too. He told her about an ostrich farm not twenty miles from here. She called them and "BAM", we have meat for tomorrow."

Jim suddenly felt as though he were in a surreal melodrama as Styles' eyes narrowed and he pulled slightly away from his lover.

"Ass? Pretty ass?"

"Shit, Stuart. You're not seriously jealous? I had to dress the dear boy. And you haven't seen him yet. He's so het, it's almost painful."

Jim flinched at those words, so accurate were they and so much the reason for his jealousy at watching Webber and Styles. What he was witnessing with them, he very much wanted with Sandburg, and after the press conference, he'd actually thought that maybe, just maybe, Blair felt the same for him. He could have sworn he'd seen such love blazing in his eyes at the hospital, but then he'd gotten involved in an undercover assignment while Blair had been at the Academy, and he'd been hooked up with his old partner from Vice, Sean Conklin. The case had taken an ugly turn when Sean had turned out to be the "bad" cop they were looking for, and once again, Jim had been badly burned. He'd closed himself off for awhile, with the result being that anything he'd thought he'd been seeing in Blair, had disappeared. Without a trace. They were only now, returning to their old comraderie.

He felt the overwhelming desire to see Sandburg. And to get the hell away from these men, from their love.

"Look, gentlemen, enough about the dance instructor, what else can you tell me?"

Styles tore his gaze from Ben, blinked as if coming back from a great distance and answered, almost automatically, "Jeff. He's seeing someone. And I *never* trusted him."

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As Blair exited the club, a young woman of about twenty-five assailed him.

"Mr. Sandburg? We need to talk. You owe me a lesson."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm Eugenia Wooden and I gave up my lesson to that blonde vampire. I was supposed to be your five o'clock, but then this blonde bitch comes up and says she just has to have a lesson with you. She pleaded and begged, saying how you two were lovers and had been fighting and she wanted to surprise you. Then I find out she doesn't even know you. I mean, really!"

This piece of information seemed to cement his thoughts about the matches, but he needed to see Jim.

"Miss Wooden, would a special lesson tonight at the club, be acceptable? And another one tomorrow, before my group lesson?"

"I'd prefer *now*, if you don't mind?"

"I'm so sorry, but they're getting the club ready to open. And I have a previous appointment. But again, tonight?"

She seemed to consider, then she smiled brightly and nodded, "Yes, tonight. Promise?"

He nodded and she added, "A dance, just for me?" He smiled back and nodded again, which seemed to satisfy her.

He hurried off, hoping to find Jim at the security offices, but feeling a little sniggling feeling in the back of his mind.

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Jim drove the hotel shuttle van up the dark road leading to the resort, his mind full of information, suppositions and wistful fantasies about his partner, the Mambo, and wondering how easily it could be done in bed.....which was not the cop thing to be thinking, not with a crazed man on the loose.

He swung into the drive, noting the many cars lined up, disgorging their occupants, all dressed in nightclub finery, eager to get into the Lakeside Room, which opened it's doors at eight-thirty tonight, due to the "accident". Word of the incident hadn't seemed to hamper anyones desire to club, he noticed. Business was booming. And he'd missed his dinner with Sandburg. Great.

As he entered the hotel, Rafe waved him over to the security office.

Inside, Blair was restless and Simon was tapping a anxious foot, with Kisha looking expectantly from one man to the other.

"Come on, you guys. Relax. This is coming together pretty well, don't you think? I mean, we just have to find the husband, right?"

On that note, Jim and Rafe walked in. Blair looked up, relief flooding his features. "Oh, man, am I glad you're here. The blonde? From my lesson? I think she might be the owner of the nursery, and I think Jeff is here, somewhere, in the hotel."

"Jim, before we all drown in the Sandburg zone, let me assist you with what he just said. It appears she left a matchbook advertising O'Dell's Nursery, which is the nursery belonging to the friend Phillips has been helping out. Her name, by the way, is Willa Bolt, and she is planning on checking out in about an hour. Having a matchbook from a nursery is hardly out of line, and....."

"But, she *took* Miss Wooden's lesson, telling her we were lovers, Simon. You can't ignore that." Blair insisted, his voice getting that twinge to it, when Simon was being particularly condescending.

"Now, wait a minute. We looked up this Willa Bolt and she doesn't own a nursery, she's the daughter of Everett Bolt, wealthy and hardly in need of a nursery, Sandburg. I agree with Simon, a matchbook does not make a case." Rafe couldn't help the smug look he directed Blair's way.

Kisha's head kept going, back and forth, back and forth, the tennis match just getting interesting when it was rudely interrupted by Jim Ellison.

"Are you all through? Can I get a word in? Uh, sorry, Simon."

But Blair had started to pace, his hands getting that *way*, moving, gesturing, and his mouth started moving in conjunction with his hands, always a bad sign.

"I can't believe you guys, she could register as anyone she wants. And I did a little checking as well, and she paid in cash and didn't leave a credit card. And it would be so easy for Phillips to hide in one of the empty rooms or cabins. He knows this hotel inside and out." He punctuated that tidbit with a firm jerk of his head that so clearly said, "So there."

When you need to get a word in, use diplomacy. Always a good creed, Jim thought.

"Captain Banks?" Jim asked, his voice low and respectful.

"What is it, Ellison?" came the exasperated reply.

"I suggest Rafe make himself charming, go up to Miss Bolt's room and invite her to the club. I'll check with Karen, find out what rooms are empty, and check them out. Just to make sure, you understand."

"Jim, *you* should go to Miss Bolt's room, you're the one she threw her arms around and hungered after. Captain Banks and I can check the rooms while Kisha and Sandburg go to the club." Rafe and his smug looks were wearing thin and Blair wondered if the fist his left hand had become would lash out on it's own or if he could control it?

"Jim, Rafe is right. You work your magic on Miss Bolt, Rafe and I will check the rooms, and Blair, you and Kisha get to work at the club. We can all meet there in, say, an hour?"

Blair's mouth was moving, but no sound was coming out. He clamped it shut and marched out, leaving Kisha to follow.

He would have liked to slam the door behind him, but a) that would have been childish, and b) Kisha actually shut the door. Damn.

"Blair?" Kisha pleaded.

He stopped and looked down at the Burglary detective, "What?"

"For what it's worth, I think you're right. So does Jim, I could see it. And I think Simon is almost there. Just be patient, okay?"

He shook his head, suddenly angry at himself and his stupid thoughts. "Thanks, Kish, thanks a lot. But I'm not even so sure. Something is there, but I can't get my mind around it. I guess, maybe I'm trying too hard?"

She smile up at him, "Maybe, just a bit. Why don't we both go change and get to the club?"

"You're on. Let's go."

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Jim used his sense of hearing to determine if the suspect was alone, and assuring himself that she was, he knocked.

"Who is it?"

"Miss Bolt? It's James Ellison, Director of Security? We met earlier, after the little mishap at the club?"

The door opened a crack and the same brown eyes peered out, clearly uncertain. But there was also the glimmer of recognition.

"Yes, of course. Please, come in." The door swung open and he stepped in.

"Thank you, Miss Bolt. I was worried about you, thought I'd stop in, check for myself that you are indeed feeling better."

She was dressed casually, in jeans and a red sweater, and Jim spotted the luggage, two pieces, packed and waiting by the closet.

"Oh, you're leaving? I hope the little incident hasn't put you off? I was actually hoping you might join me tonight, at the Lakeside Room?"

"Well," she seemed to waver, her eyes taking in the man in front of her, "Maybe, I could stay. I did want to attend the BBQ tomorrow, and, well, yes, I'd like to go with you tonight. And it's very kind of you to ask."

"My pleasure. I'll go change and pick you back up in, say, thirty minutes?"

"That would be fine. I look forward to it."

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Simon and Rafe's search turned up one supposedly unoccupied room, one very obviously being used. It was one of the luxury cabins behind the resort, and they went through it with a fine tooth comb. And found a bottle of a acid in the bathroom.

They looked at each other.

Rafe spoke first, "The club, sir?"

"That's where I'd make my next move, if I were Phillips."

Both men hurried out.

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The dance floor was crowded, the band playing a Samba. Blair stood against the bar, Ben Webber standing on one side, Kisha on the other. Kisha word a slinky, black slip dress, her short black curls, slicked back.

"You should be dancing," Ben stated.

"I know."

"Hey, Ben, aren't you going to introduce me?" Stuart Styles walked up, putting his arm around Ben.

"Blair, this is Stuart Styles, Stuart, this is Blair, the new dance instructor."

The two men shook, as Blair said, "I guess this means I work for you?" Stuart was about to speak when another voice piped up, "Hey, what about me? I'd like an official introduction to our newest employee." The low, sexy voice came from behind the bar. Ben turned and smiled, "Kyle, he's straight."

The bartender smiled sadly and shook his head, and in a parody of women around the world he quipped, "Yeah, figures, aren't all the good ones always straight? Such a waste." He leaned on the bar, mooning over the new "dance instructor".

"Blair, this is Kyle Lawson, Kyle, Blair Sandburg. And Blair, don't worry, he's a pussycat."

They all laughed at that vision, considering that Kyle Lawson was about 6'1, 190 pounds, and built like a linebacker. But he had a gentle face and a warm smile.

"If you guys are all done bemoaning the fact that Blair is straight, *I'd* like to take advantage of the fact and get him on the dance floor, okay?"

The band was doing a great rendition of Marc Anthony's "Need to Know" as Blair led Kisha out onto the floor. The people dancing immediately moved to the sides of the floor, in anticipation of the dazzling footwork they hoped they were about to see.

They weren't disappointed. Kisha was a perfect partner for Blair, and they complimented each other, especially doing a Tango. Her dark chocolate skin and dancing brown eyes, with the black, slinky dress, and Blair, hair tied back, wearing tight, black slacks, white silk shirt, open at the collar, sleeves rolled up, revealing strong arms, and a black vest, unbuttoned and just hugging his hips.

They were just getting started when Jim and Willa Bolt walked in. Jim froze at the sight of Blair, moving to the music, his body swaying with an almost sexual abandon to the intricate steps of the Tango. He turned and twisted, moving Kisha about the floor easily, his hand on the small of her back, their arms locked in the language of love, that was demanded by this most intimate of dances.

The crowd watched, mesmerized, no longer dancing themselves, each caught up in their own fantasy, the music invading them, the couple on the floor representing every sexual urge, desire and dream.

Blair's feet negotiated the Tango as if born to it, his hips sending out the message, his body following, and with his hair pulled back, revealing every plane of his face, the broad forehead, the high, sculpted cheekbones, and the sensual lips, he was the epitome of controlled amimal energy, the male form, doing a dance that was both difficult and yet, highly erotic and very, very masculine.

Jim could only watch once again, his heart in his throat, the world disappearing, seeing only the man, the body, and the ache grew, became a pressure, almost unbearable in it's intensity.

The music ended.

The crowd came back to themselves, groaning at the loss as Blair started to move Kisha off the floor and back to the bar. He'd spotted Jim and the blonde while dancing, and the jealousy that struck was pitiful. And told him something else. She wasn't involved. The way she looked up at Jim, not unlike the way Blair sometimes looked, worshiping, almost adoringly, told him she couldn't be acting. And the way she clung to his arm.....

"I believe you owe me a dance?"

Blair was startled back to the real world by Miss Wooden. She stood in front of them, smiling, her dark, blue eyes flashing. She was taller than Blair, but just. She was dressed in a red, almost not there, almost transparent dress and she was already moving lightly to the beat of the song now being played.

Blair turned to Kisha, "Mrs. Banks, it was a pleasure. Maybe another dance later?"

"Please."

He turned to Eugenia Wooden and held out his hand, but she shook her head indicated the patio.

"I want my dance in *private*, I'm not very good yet, so do you mind?" She asked, her voice dropping down to husky whisper.

"Not at all." He took her hand and they moved out to the patio.

As they stepped outside, Kyle, Ben and Stuart whistled low, and then laughed as Kisha made a face.

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Jim and Willa strolled over to the bar, where Kyle immediately served her a glass of wine, and for Jim, a club soda.

"Hey, Willa, how are you? And how's Brian?"

"Fine, Kyle. You should have never let him go, though. He's miserable and so are you."

Jim was stunned. The bartender *knew* Willa.

"Brian?"

"Oh, my brother. Kyle and he were, involved. But Bri is a bit, well, he doesn't *do* the settle down thing, and he's in Paris right now."

"Willa, he doesn't *do* the poor bartender thing very well, either. He wants a jetsetter, like himself. And I'm no kept man."

Jim had that feeling again, the surreal one. He glanced at Kisha, both their faces reflecting their surprise. She shrugged hopelessly. Jim began to try to come up with a graceful way out of this......

"Willa? May I have this dance?" The voice came from a tall, dark, handsome young man who was clearly smitten with the woman.

"I'm with someone, Elliot."

"Willa, I'm sure he won't mind? Do you?"

Jim shook his head, but put out a restraining hand before the woman could waltz away, "Willa, could you tell me one thing? You had some matches? From O'Dell's Nursery?"

The blonde frowned, trying to remember.....

"Oh, yes. My lighter failed and this woman who let me take her lesson, loaned them to me. It was very strange, really. I mean, I could have waited, but she insisted I take the five o"clock with the new instructor."

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Blair guided the woman through the patio doors and onto the deck that overlooked the lake below. The night was warm, with a slight breeze. There was a full moon, and with the outline of the dark trees, the silver playing on the water below, and the scents of night blooming flora filling the air, a sensual laziness seemed to swirl around anyone who stepped out into this paradise.

Except Blair. He was starting to feel that twinge again, that little tingling sensation on the back of his neck. The orchestra had started up, this time with a soulful Samba. Eugenia smiled at him and with a slight movement of her hips, invited him closer. He stepped in, slid his arm around her waist and with a few whispered instructions, he began to move with her.

They danced slowly, carefully, her body moving closer still, and Blair would have to keep pulling away, just a bit, but it was clear that this woman needed no lessons. She knew the steps just fine. Which set off the alarms.

The music came to an end, and they seperated, but she held onto his hand and moved them to the rail.

"Thank you, you're a wonderful teacher. Do you mind if we stay out here a moment? Cool down?"

"Not at all, and thank *you*."

"It's truly beautiful here. So peaceful." She murmured, moving closer to him, allowing her shoulder to brush his.

Blair was getting a picture in his mind, one he couldn't seem to shake. Willa, truly frightened, and the way she looked at Jim, and this woman, so confident, not the type to give anything away to anyone......and who clearly knew how to dance......

"The scent in the air....I can't seem to identify it?" He asked, an idea suddenly springing forth in his mind.

"It's Calypso Orchid. Beautiful, isn't it?"

"I don't think I've ever seen Calypso Orchids before, could you point it out?"

She leaned across him, her hair brushing his face, and gestured to a grouping of plants just below them, on the restaurant deck. "There, see? Night blooming."

"Thank you. And on the bush, next to it? The small flowers?"

"That's a Huckleberry bush. You'll find them all around the lake, they're irresistible to the bears, and we humans kind of like of them too."

"You should work in a nursery," he said, feigning innocence.

"Should I? Maybe I do."

"O'Dell's, by any chance?"

She froze. The game of cat and mouse apparently over. "Maybe we should go back inside now, it's a bit chilly all of a sudden."

"Is murder part of the scheme?"

She whirled around, eyes blazing, "What do you mean?"

"If I hadn't moved quickly enough, I'd be dead now. *That* would be murder."

Even in the darkness, Blair could see her face pale, her mouth forming a perfect *O*. But she bounced back quickly, "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm going inside."

"O'Dell's, you, Jeff Phillips, the accidents. *That's* what I'm talking about. It won't take much investigation to find out that you *gave* the spot to Willa Bolt, *and* loaned her the matches? That I found? O'Dell's Nursery?"

All air seemed to whoosh out of her lungs, her whole body sagging. "Who are you?"

"A dance instructor who hates nearly being crushed under strobe lighting. Makes me grouchy all day. Why don't you tell me where Phillips is?"

"Why don't you tell us all where he is, Miss Wooden." Jim spoke from the patio doors, Simon just behind him.

She moved in a circular motion, away from Blair, forcing him to back against the rail. As his back rested lightly against the wood, Jim moved forward, fast, hearing what no one else could; the splintering of wood.

The rail gave way behind Sandburg, and he felt himself falling back, arms waving uselessly, and just when he was certain he was going to plunge head first down the moutainside below, a strong hand gripped his wrist and pulled him to safety.

"Whoa, Chief, too cold for a dip tonight."

Blair righted himself, and stepped away from the site of his near demise. "Shit, twice in one day? Maybe I should retire early?"

Simon stepped forward, his hand locked on Miss Eugenia Wooden. "Jim?"

Ellison was checking the wood that was left, and shaking his head. "This was supposed to give way. It's been chemically treated, probably much like the stairs before."

Simon turned to Eugenia, who was even more pale. "Well, Miss Wooden? Another accident? Only this one would have been deadly. Were you supposed to lure the new instructor out here? Make sure he had a "permanent" accident?"

"No, no.....I was supposed to arrange....I mean, a drink, food poisoning...but not this. I swear!"

"Where is he? Where is Phillips?" Jim demanded.

"The boathouse. He's in the boathouse."

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It was amazing how fast it ended then. Simon, Jim and Blair all moved down to the boathouse, and sure enough, there was Jeff Phillips, hunkered down around a small Coleman stove. He didn't put up much of a fight, didn't even deny anything, when faced with Eugenia and the accumulated evidence. The local authorities were called, and Karen stood there, Simon's arm around her, as she watched her husband of ten months carted off to jail.

She wasn't crying, wasn't even surprised, now that she was forced to be honest with herself. In fact, truth be told, she was relieved. As the flashing lights of the squad cars disappeared from view, she turned to look at the people who'd helped her.

"I can't tell you what this means to me. Thank you all, very much."

"Karen, I'm sorry about how this ended, about Jeff." Simon added.

"I'm not. Believe me, Simon. I knew there was someone else, and our marriage hasn't been right for quite sometime. I'm okay, really. And you handled this so quietly, the summer is saved. Stuart and I can talk now, and it looks like the Chelan is going to survive."

"Wouldn't you all stay? Through the BBQ tomorrow? It is the weekend, after all. On me?"

There were those magic words again, real music to Blair's ears and he jumped into the discussion with both feet. "Hey, we'd love to, wouldn't we, guys? Kisha? Simon?"

"Simon," Jim added, "Sandburg here did have two near misses, maybe a weekend here would be just what he needs, to recover?"

Blair was nodding happily, Rafe pleading with his eyes, and Kisha, well, Kisha just looked delectable. What could the man do? Except wonder how these men, who faced down terrorists, murderers, mad bombers and drug lords, could act like little boys.

"We'll take you up on your offer, Karen, but as workers. We'll help with the BBQ, Sandburg will give his lessons, *as* planned, and basically, we'll just......"

"Make pests of yourselves?" Karen finished for him.

"Exactly."

"I say we all go back to the club and party. Anyone game?" Kisha asked.

The rush up the drive, and back to hotel answered her question.

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Blair leaned against the bar, resting after two hours of "working the room", sipping his coke and wiping his brow. So much for fun. He looked over to where Simon and Kisha were dancing, cheek to cheek and he gave a low whistle. It looked like at least one couple would come out of this weekend. He smiled then, as he watched the two, and decided that they were perfect for each other.

On the other side of the room sat Jim and Rafe, the younger detective already having scored himself a date. And next to Jim, sat Willa Bolt. Blair gritted his teeth and tried to look nonchalant. And failed. Miserably.

"You look terrible, Blair." Ben spoke up, from behind Sandburg.

"Just tired. Stuart and Karen still talking?"

"Yep. They have a lot of ground to cover, both with tons of new ideas. This is going to be very good. I've never seen Stuart this excited."

Blair looked at his new friend and smirked, "Never, Ben?"

"Okay, *almost* never. And who knew you would turn out to be a cop? They don't make cops like you in my old neighborhood."

"Jim would tell you that they don't make cops like me in *any* neighborhood. You might say, I'm one of a kind."

Kyle came up next to Blair, off duty and smiling. "I'd agree with that assessment. Definitely one of a kind. But what kind of instructor are you really? I've watched you for the last two hours, dancing with every woman in the place. What about us poor guys? When do we get the chance?"

"Uh?" "Dance. You. Another guy. Like ~ me."

"Uh....."

"Come on, be a good instructor, dance with me." Then he bent low and whispered, "We can make him jealous as hell."

Blair drew back, shock written all over his face. "What do you...."

"Come on, I've seen the way you look at him, at your partner. You may be straight, but you're definitely leaning...." and he held out his hand as the Orchestra began playing "Bailamos".

And Blair took it. But as they stepped onto the floor, he asked, "Who leads?" Kyle frowned, then brightened, "You start, then halfway, I'll lead, okay?" Blair just shook his head in wonder and they moved out.

The beat was seductive, the drums pounding in the patrons blood. Once again that night, other dancers stepped to the edges, marveling at their teacher, dancing with Kyle. Some men were definitely uncomfortable, but the women gasped, eyes wide, breaths coming fast and furious. Soon, as Blair moved the larger man across the floor, their bodies so close as to be indistinguishable, *everyone* found their mouths watering, their breaths coming in short pants.

Halfway through, positions changed and now Blair had one leg positioned between Kyle's their bodies dipping, hips swaying, Kyle's hand now low on Blair's back, their hands lightly clasped.

At the table near the edge, Jim watched, eyes glazing over, mouth open. Blair - dancing with a man. Not him, but another man. Hands on *his* Blair, and he watched as those strange hands moved down to rest on Blair's hips and to turn him, and then to bring him close, that tight ass up against Kyle's groin, and now their bodies dipped, as Kyle moved Blair forward, both of them bending at the waist, and women inhaled in sexual delight, watching, mesmorized, as the two men moved as one, as Blair's hair moved over his face, as the two came back up, and Kyle pulled Blair impossibly closer, and Jim stood, unable to sit, and Blair looked up, seeing Jim staring at him, and Kyle moved forward, back, hips gyrating, and Blair and Jim's eyes locked, and it was as if *they* were dancing......

And Willa Bolt stood, put her arm on Jim's, tore his gaze from Blair's and pulled him back down into his seat.

The music ended amid cheering and clapping, and Blair just stood there, watching as Willa captured Jim's attention, and Kyle took his arm and they walked back to the bar.

Kyle could feel the disappointment radiating off the man next to him, and he felt like going over to the big man and shaking him until the marbles in his brain got into proper alignment.

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It was after one and only a few patrons were left, some dancing slowly on the floor, others talking and drinking. Blair was exhausted, and wanted nothing more than to fall into bed and sleep for three or four days. He was near the side entrance, torturing himself by watching as Jim led Willa toward the front doors, probably going to escort her to her room.....and he wondered if he could get away with packing up and leaving tonight? Going back to Cascade?

It would be rude.

It would save his life.

And his sanity.

Damn.

The orchestra was done, with taped music providing the sounds and just as Blair was about to leave, to *really* leave, he saw Jim come back inside ~ alone.

Melissa Etheridge's "I'm the Only One" came on, and Blair watched as Jim seemed to be looking for someone. Blair took a few steps toward the dance floor, wondering, but he kept losing sight of Jim, as suddenly it seemed that all the couples left were now on the dance floor, including Simon, Kisha, Rafe and some redhead, even Ben and Stuart. He tried to get Jim's attention, but he could barely see him, could barely make him out......but Jim could see *him*, could see him, smell him, hear him.

Their eyes locked for the second time that night, and Blair began to whisper the words, knowing full well that Jim could hear him.

"Go on and hold her til the screaming is gone, go on, believe her when she tells you there's nothing wrong, but I'm the only one who'll walk across a fire for you, and I'm the only one who'll drown in my desire for you....."

And Jim began to move slowly toward him, his eyes never leaving Blair's lips, as he continued......

"It's only fear that makes you run, the demon that you're hiding from, when all your promises are gone......" and Blair touched his chest and finished, "I'm the only one......"

And Jim was standing over him, and still moving, and Blair kept stepping back, and Jim kept moving, until Blair could move back no further, his back now up against the wall, and Jim leaned down and whispered into his ear, "Do you wanna dance?"

Blair nodded dumbly, as Jim whispered again, "Do you know how to tongue dance, Teach?" And Jim's hands were on Blair's shoulders, his head sliding and then his lips were on Blair's, forcing them to part, and his tongue dipped in, and Jim's body moved closer, his hips gyrating to beat the band, and all Blair could do was hold on for dear life as his mouth was thoroughly kissed and his tongue was waltzed, woo'ed, and tied up.

At the bar, Stuart, Ben and Kyle watched, smiling gleefully. Kyle gave a little chuckle and said, "And down goes another het, man, we are going to take over the world at this rate!" And the three men high five'd each other.

Blair was certain he'd never, ever been kissed like he was being kissed now. For that matter, *he'd* never kissed as he was being kissed. Jim was having wild, monkey sex with his mouth, and Blair's body was just kind of following along. Hell, he didn't even know what to do with his hands. This from a man who at sixteen, actually practised his moves. His hands were just ~ there, flying around, unsure where to land, but his leg, his right leg seemed to know *exactly* where to land, it started to wind it's way around Jim's, and Blair found his body trying to give a little jump, instinctively attempting to bring their cocks into alignment, and Jim must have realized because he bent a little, and gave Blair a bit of a hike, and suddenly Blair knew just where to put his hands, right on Jim's shoulders.

Ben and Stuart quit watching, deciding that maybe Jim and Blair had the right idea and why watch when your own house was just a few minutes away? They made a discreet exit.

Kyle decided to call Brian in Paris - and reverse the charges. Maybe being a "kept" man wasn't so bad after all.

On the third floor, Willa Bolt was just opening her door to Eliot Carstairs and she was beaming.

Simon and Kisha had smiled happily as Jim made his move on Blair, or was it the other way around? Then Simon made *his* move on Kisha and she moved *him* all the way out to "their" cabin. Hey, he wasn't *her* Captain.

Rafe had been deserted by the redhead, but was making goo-goo eyes at a tall, statuesque blonde and as Kyle walked by, on his way to a phone, he grinned. The tall blonde was a cross-dresser. And he/she loved bow ties.

Jim had finally come to his senses, realizing that he and Blair were about to do the horizontal Mambo in a public nightclub, so he pulled away, which left Blair hanging in mid-air. He and gravity agreed that Blair was hanging and he landed with a loud "OOF", on the floor.

Blinking up at his Sentinel, he reached back and rubbed his now sore rear, but before he could ask what had happened, but not before a cloud of doubt crossed his features, Jim reached down and plucked him off the floor and hissed into his ear, "You. Cabin. Now. Naked."

All doubts fled and so did Blair. As fast he could move.

But he didn't quite make it to Cabin number 7. He was just running up the steps, Jim in close pursuit, when he felt a hand grab at his vest and whirl him around, and once more he was plastered against something, this something being the door to their cabin. He didn't even try coy, he just opened up and Jim dove in.

But Blair was ready this time and kissed him right back, grabbing at Jim's tongue, pulling it in, loving it with all his being. Jim managed somehow, to get the door open and they fell in, laughing now, excited as two teenagers, delighting in the fact that they were *together*, that all the dreams, all the fantasies were about to come true. They were also very hot, so it didn't take long for the laughter to dwindle, for eyes to connect, for hands to reach, unbutton, pull, shove, push, unzip and generally work at getting both men completely undressed.

And for the first time, Blair felt his confidence slipping. Tall, not. Built like a brick house, not. Too thin, too short, too nervous, too everything.

But then he looked into Jim's eyes.

And he saw such desire, so much love, so much heat and passion, all directed at him, as those Sentinel eyes took him in, moved up and down his body, the smile of love growing, the appreciation clearly written, and Blair Sandburg swallowed his self doubts and said, "What the hell" and threw himself at the man in front of him.

They just made it to the bed, falling backwards, as Jim's knees hit the edge, and they started laughing again, as mouths attacked, as Blair nibbled on Jim's lips, biting lightly, and Jim buried his hands in wiry masses of sweat dampened curls, and at the first touch of their cocks, Blair nearly jumped, and thought for sure he'd come, but Jim flipped them over, and now all heat was suspended, as the two men gazed at each other, Jim's eyes roving all over the beloved face below him, memorizing it, scrutinizing it as he'd never had the luxury before, and Blair did the same, noticing the laugh crinkles at the corners of Jim's eyes, and the way he was licking his lips, and how long his lashes were, so fucking long and dark, and had he ever really noticed that nose before? So patrician, so noble, and no, he had no intention of ever saying that to Jim's face....not if he wanted to live.

And Jim drank in those eyes, always so expressive, hiding nothing if you knew how to read them, and now there was nothing there but love for *him*, totally focused on *him*, and his eyes moved down, to those lips, how many times had he wanted to bite, to lick those lips? And the stubborn chin, and the adam's apple, bobbing now, as Blair swallowed, and he couldn't help it, he latched onto it, and Blair craned his neck back, giving him access, moaning at the first touch, arching up and their cocks bumped, and all heat exploded, and their sex became frantic, rolling, legs entwining, locking bodies in place, Blair's arms wrapping around Jim's waist, holding him, tightly, and Jim, thrusting deep, pushing Blair into the mattress, and they were kissing again, and the kiss *became* the sex, bodies moving in time, and Jim could feel how ready Blair was, *knew* he was close, that they were both close, and he wanted to let go, to scream, and a harsh, husky whisper got through to him, "let go, Jim, let go, it's alright, I've got you..." and wasn't that always the way? So Jim let go, trusting, giving himself completely, screaming Blair's name, shooting so hard, so fast, it was almost torture, sweet torture, and Blair's head went back, his fingers tightened, leaving bruised flesh, as he came.

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Jim didn't wake, he came to. He looked around, dazed, he focused and realized he was in their cabin and Blair was under him, and he smiled. He lifted himself up, climbed out and padded to the bathroom, ever the neat freak, got a wash cloth, wiped himself up, almost hating to do so, not wanting to remove Blair from his skin, but he did, then got another wash cloth, dipped it under the warm water and took it back to Blair.

He cleaned him up, smiling at the fact that he was still out, but obviously aware on some level, because he muttered something about knowing Jim wouldn't be able to sleep through the night without cleaning up.....

Jim started to get up, started to take the cloth back to the bathroom, but looked at the body that was Blair Sandburg, legs askew, arms splayed out, hair a tangled, sexy mess, lips red and bruised, and said, "What the hell", and threw the cloth over his shoulder, lay down on his side and pulled the man close, happy when arms seemed to know just where to go, when one leg hooked over Jim's and all the hair came to rest on his chest and Blair gave a very satisfied grunt, settled in as though he'd been there all his life and slept. Jim sent up a quick little prayer of thankfulness, grateful that he knew how to Mambo in bed.

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The second time, he did wake. Because his arms were empty. The sun was up and doing it's best to let Jim know it was morning, *late* morning, and he turned his head to see his partner in all things, stretched out on his stomach, one arm dangling over the edge of the bed, head buried deep in two pillows, sheet half on, half off, revealing just enough to get Jim all hot and bothered again. He didn't move, too stunned to do anything more than drink it all in. The smooth flesh, the round ass just peeking out from under the pale yellow sheet, one bare leg, and he grinned like a fool when the hand nearest him seemed to open and close, to try to find something, and the body mumbled, "jim?" and the head turned, followed by the body, and sleepy blues met his.

"Morning."

"Morning to you. Sleep well?"

"ummm, thanks to you."

"Good. Wanna get up?"

"What time is it?" <> "About noon, I think."

"Two hours til next lesson. Bed is good."

Jim moved over and pushed hair out of sleepy eyes, gently caressing one cheek as he tucked a piece behind an ear. "Bed is very good."

Blair gave a stretch, a long, lazy, satisfied stretch and Jim decided that was almost as much fun watching as Blair dancing and Blair sleeping.

"You think I could have a private dance lesson today?"

Sapphire blues blinked, as a smile spread across Blair's face. "Gee, I don't know, I'm pretty booked up, right up to the BBQ, man," he teased.

"Well, I can always get lessons off the net, do a little surfing on your Mac. But I prefer the real thing, if you know what I mean?" He'd been watching Blair's face as he spoke, and he didn't miss the frown, although Blair was quick to replace it with a playful grin.

"You better watch the net, man, you just never know who you're really talking to, you know? Maybe I'd better make room for you, try to squeeze you in?"

"I'm looking forward to the *squeeze*, and in the meantime, you want to explain the frown when I mentioned your Mac?"

"Hey, no big deal, just, well, you won't be using it to surf, I sold it. To Terry."

This brought Jim up to a sitting position, his mouth hanging open. "YOU WHAT?"

"Relax, you'll bust something and it'll probably be something I need. I sold it. No big deal."

Jim took several calming breaths before asking, "Why did you sell it?"

Blair suddenly found the sheet fascinating, his fingers picking at the material. "I just did. Terry needed one, you know, law school and all."

"Law school? So? He can go buy one somewhere else. Why your's? And what about *your* needs? Your plans? Or have you forgotten?"

Blair frowned, surprised that Jim was reacting this way, surprised that Jim even cared about his plans to get his degree in psychology.

"Hey, it's my PC to sell, and I did. And we were getting pretty romantic there, for a minute, so since when is PC so important?"

"I.....that PC is......Blair, it's *you*. Going back to school, that was important to you. And you still need it, the PC I mean. Why did you sell? Spill."

"Look, I needed the money, okay? I don't get paid for another three weeks, I've got no money coming in, and a guy's got to eat, you know? And pay bills. Student loans, credit cards, the usual. I just needed money." Blair sat up then, realizing the mood was definitely gone and wondering if this had been the shortest relationship of his life. What a coup.

He climbed out of bed, and completely unaware of his nakedness, walked into the bathroom, leaving a stunned Jim behind.

Jim felt as though a 6'5, 300 pound linebacker had just kicked him in the stomach. How could he have not known? He should have realized. He couldn't have felt any lower if he'd just kicked a baby's toy out of reach. Or if he'd just kicked a puppy.

Damn.

He was still berating himself when Blair came out, drying his hair with a towel that hung around his neck. He walked over to his luggage, pulled out a pair of Jockey's, slipped them on, reached for a pair of Chino's, slipped into them, then walked back into the bathroom, shaving kit in hand.

Ellison reached for his own shorts, pulled them on and walked into the bathroom.

Blair stood in front of the mirror, just plugging in his shaver when Jim stepped in.

"Blair, I'm sorry, I didn't realize, never even thought."

Blair didn't make eye contact as he answered, "It's okay, Jim. You were going through some pretty tough shit. Not your responsibility anyway. And once I get my expense report reimbursed, I'll be fine until payday. Provided I'm alive after Simon sees it."

So much of the last several weeks hit Jim then. The days Blair spent at the Academy, mostly alone as Jim worked the case, undercover, neither of them really talking after the whole dissertation fiasco, then his graduation, and they were both thrown immediately into a major case, and Jim, refusing as usual, to talk and this time, Blair not pressing him......and he gazed into the mirror, as Blair shaved, an act he'd seen hundreds of times in the last four years, and he struggled to find the right words, the words that would tell Blair how he felt......

"I never got to read your dissertation. May I?"

Blair was just guiding the electric razor down the left side of his jaw when Jim spoke. The razor froze mid stroke. Blair's eyes flicked up, catching Jim's in the mirror. They widened, then he frowned. "Why?"

"It's a major part of our lives. It's about *us*, and you wrote it. You kept a copy, didn't you? I mean, there'd be no reason to destroy it now. May I read it when we get back?"

The razor dropped from Blair's hand as he continued to stare at the man behind him, his eyes searching, and Jim found himself holding his breath, praying that Blair would see what Jim was trying so hard to say.

"I'd like you to read it, Jim. Very much."

Jim Ellison smiled, a truly beautiful smile, his eyes lighting up and the smile was returned by the man in the mirror, and Jim moved forward and Blair turned and they stepped into each other's arms.

As they held, and as mouths found each other again, Jim was already planning Blair's Christmas present. He'd seen it at CompUSA just the other day. And Christmas was only a few months off.

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Monday night - Cascade:

Blair was fidgeting. He was trying desperately to stay calm, to sit quietly downstairs, as Jim read his dissertation upstairs, but it was impossible.

They'd left the Lake Chelan Resort late Sunday night, Rafe driving the Volvo back so that Blair and Jim could drive back together. Saturday had been great, the BBQ a complete success. But Sunday had been just Jim and Blair. They never left their cabin. But now, they were home, business as usual, well, almost as usual, if you call copping a feel at every opportunity while on duty, normal.

They'd gone out for dinner, and Blair hadn't mentioned his dissertation once, unsure if Jim really wanted to read it, unsure if Jim *should* read it. They were healing, Simon had groused only slightly at Blair's expense report, before hand carrying it down to accounting himself, and all could be considered well. But then, as they'd walked into the loft after dinner, Jim had asked Blair to get his dissertation and would he mind if Jim read it now?

So here he was, nervous, stomach doing flip-flops, undecided as to whether it wanted to keep the chinese food he'd eaten or give it up, visions of the last time Jim had read any of the dissertation swirling about him. They almost lost their friendship that time. They had way more to lose this time.

Upstairs, Jim read.

He turned the last page, his eyes watering as he read the last paragraphs;

"......humanity, upon dug into it's past in hope that it will shed light on it's future. Perhaps what this reveals is that it is the best of ourselves that will survive and get us through the next millennium.

Watching our every step will be our tribal protectors, Sentinels, and their insight will further illuminate the spiritual connection to all things......"

The End

Jim dropped the last page on top of the others, but not before a splotch of wetness landed on the page. He reached up and felt the tears, but didn't wipe them away. Slowly he walked downstairs, walked over to Blair, whose head swiveled toward him as soon as he heard his first step, eyes worried, flicking back and forth, and the uncertainty Jim saw, nearly killed him.

He stopped when he reached the couch, and was standing over Blair. He held out his hand, Blair took it, still uncertain, and stood with him.

"Thank you, Blair. Thank you."

They moved into each other's arms then, holding fast.

The End