Title: Named

Author: Scribe

Fandom: The Sentinel

Pairing: Jim/Blair/Rafe

Rating: NC17

Summary: In Hitting the Peaks, Jim and Blair get together with Rafe's kissin' cousin--Special Agent Dale Cooper, and worm out the secret of their friend's first name. Now Rafe is back from his ski trip, and the boys are ready to spring their newfound knowledge.

Archive: Lists, the WWOMB, Rareslash, and others ask.

Status: Finished

Sequel/Series: The Swingers Series, sequel to Hitting the Peaks.

Disclaimer: I did not create the characters here, I don't own them. I derive no profit from this effort. I mean nothing but respect for the creators, owners, and the actors and actresses who
portray them.

Notes: I've started to include little tidbits about myself in some of my Sentinel fiction, sort of like
Alfred Hitchcock making a cameo in his movies. I've slipped my birth date into two stories so far. In My Boyfriend Came in a Plain Brown Wrapper (posted in My Mongoose Ezine, check it out. I'm proud of it), the full date is the combination for a lock. In Casual Day, the year is the last four digits of Rafe's phone number. Here I've included two items that are semi-notorious in my Mary Sue writings. Those of you who know me and my writing--spot the 'insider references'. Two of them, right close together. :)

Named
By Scribe

Rafe's POV

Sandburg and Ellison were up to something. I expect it from Sandburg. He just wouldn't be Blair if he wasn't spending half his time scuttling around with that slightly smug 'I've got a secret, nyah, nyah' look. No, what had gotten me worried was that Jim was apparently in it with him, and judging from the sly looks they'd been tossing my way, it involved me, and THAT worried me. I'm perfectly content to sit back and watch as H., Joel, Megan, or Simon are entangled in the weirdness that is Jim and Blair. Hell, I'll make popcorn and sell tickets. But actually being the
TARGET--that's enough to make a Zen master nervous.

It was Monday back at the squad room, and I should have been feeling fine. I'd just gotten back the previous evening from a ski trip to Aspen--two days of sun and snow, three nights of hot buttered rum in front of the fire, and my pick of snow bunnies--male and female. Sweet. H. had been poking me with his elbow and shaking his head all morning, muttering under his breath about lucky ass bachelors. He went on about what he was missing, and apparently that was taken as a cue, because as soon as H. went off to records, Blair drifted over to my desk and said, "You missed something this weekend, too."

He perched on the edge of my desk, that round ass a little too close to my hand for my peace of mind, so I filled my hand with something, before I slipped and tried to fill it with that butt. "Yeah? What happened--the circus came to town?"

Then Jim sauntered over and stood on my other side, leaning his hip against the desk. That put his crotch right about on face level. Thank God he was wearing slacks instead of jeans--I don't think I could have survived that basket hugged by faded denim. "Not exactly," he drawled. "Although there WAS something of a dog and pony show involved. And what, exactly, are you planning to do with that stapler?" I looked down. Sure enough, I'd picked up the miniature Swingline I use to staple my reports together. "I know that Sandburg's ass is a tempting target, but I really wouldn't advise it."

I put the stapler down quickly, wondering just how many of us in the Bull Pen were obsessed with Sandburg's ass. I know I've heard Megan make an occasional comment, something about 'buns I wouldn't mind sinking my teeth into'. The both had both gone silent, grinning at me. Damn, the Cheshire cat had nothing on these dudes. Finally I said, "Well?"

Blair shook his head. "Nah, this isn't something to be discussed in this highly public area."

Jim leaned down a little. "How about having dinner with us tonight? It's been a while since you were over." I blinked at that, eyebrow lifting. I was over at the last poker night. He seemed to know what I was thinking, and said, "Without the crowd. You know how it is when the gang is together."

I nodded. "Bullshit abounds. So, is this supposed to be some sort of serious discussion? Do I need to bring two forms of ID? My financial records? Vaccination history?"

Blair laughed. "Just yourself. We can supply everything else." He hopped down. "Be over at
six--six-thirty."

Jim gave me another smile. "Don't be late. He gets grumpy when he has to wait." He followed Blair out the door, and I was left alone in the main room.

Simon came out of his office, looking around. "All I can say is that it's a damn good thing that the crooks seem to hate working Mondays, too." He studied me. "You look a little stunned, Rafe. Vacation's over, friend."

"Oh, it's not that. Jim and Blair just invited me over to dinner, and I'm trying to figure out if
they're up to something or not."

Simon grimaced. "Was Sandburg smiling a lot?"

"Yep."

"Think real hard--is there any charity drive, fun run, talent show, community service activity, New Age retreat, or boring technical seminar coming up that they could try to coerce you into?"

"Probably."

He shook his head. "Well, you're going to get drafted into SOMETHING--I just can't say what."

*****

So there it was, six-fifteen, and I was at 852 Prospect. They said all I had to bring was myself,
but what the hell--I had a bottle of wine I wasn't doing anything with. Actually it was my emergency stash, for if I talked some sweet thing into coming home with me unexpectedly, and needed to do a little loosening up. This vintage was strong and sweet, and it could put you on your ass before you knew it was sneaking up on you. I was knocking on the door before I thought to wonder why I was going to waste this treasure on Jim and Blair.

I mean, they're my FRIENDS, but this was prime seduction ammo. Jim and Blair are in a committed relationship--it's an open secret at work. Everyone knows it, but no one discusses it with outsiders. Regulations are relaxing a little, but they'd still oppose partners in a 'relationship', be they mixed couple, or same sex.

I know they swing occasionally. Take that FBI agent who came through a while back. What was his name? Mullins? Mahler? He had an unusual first name--I remember that. Any way, it was simple to see that Sandburg and Ellison had targeted him from the moment he'd arrived.

I have to say I envied the lucky bastard. Jim and Blair as a tag team must be awesome. Don't think I haven't thought about that occasionally, but it isn't likely to happen. I've always doubted they'd want an office fling, with all the baggage that could come with it. Damn it. I was going to commit myself to spending an evening alone with them, watching those special shared looks and touches become more obvious as they relaxed in the comfort of their own home, confident that they could be themselves with me, since I was a friend. Maybe I should just go home and call,
telling them something had come up?

*Like my libido.*

Before I could chicken out, I knocked, and the door was answered almost instantly. It was Jim, and his welcoming smile was enough to melt wax. He called back over his shoulder, "Yeah, it's Rafe--and he's brought us a gift." He stepped back. "C'mon in. Dinner's nearly done."

Blair leaned out of the kitchen, spotted the bottle, and called, "Red or white?"

"Red," I replied.

"Mind if we save it for after dinner? I'm making sea food chowder, and I think Martha Steward would drive over and kick our asses if we drank red with that." I nodded agreement. "Come shove it in the fridge, and it'll be nicely chilled later."

I went into the kitchen, Ellison right behind me, and popped the bottle into the refrigerator. You know, a glimpse into someone's refrigerator can tell you a lot about them. Lots of bottled water, milk, herbal energy drink, a crisper that held more than a shrunken tomato and wilted lettuce, turkey lunchmeat--I'd say that was Blair's influence. Beer, take-out leftovers, and what looked like a plastic wrapped Pop-Tart were probably Jim's. I couldn't figure out the can of Redi-Whip, though.

Blair was stirring a simmering pot of something that smelled slightly briny, and totally delicious. "Get the dishes and stuff, you guys, while I pour this in the tureen."

Jim was reaching into a cabinet. He lifted his eyebrows at me. "Hear that, Rafe? You're
special--you get the TUREEN. That's about the only thing I kept out of my marriage to Carolyn."

"You should have held her up for the spring form pan, man," said Blair, carefully ladling chowder into a (yes, looked like bone china) tureen. "Then I could've MADE cheesecake instead of buying it."

"I get cheesecake, too?" I was suspicious now. Home cooked food, and cheesecake. What were they going to try to rope me into?

Jim bumped me with his hip as he carried bowls and spoons to the table. "Only if you're a good boy."

I got the basket of rolls Blair indicated, and the dish of butter. "So, is that what the canned whipped cream is for?" I asked.

Blair snickered, and I wondered what sort of joke I'd just made. "No. It's intended as topping, but not for cheesecake."

Jim nodded in agreement. "Yep. It's for another type of cake entirely."

*Cake,* I thought. *Shit, they're going to try to con me into contributing to some sort of bake sale. One of Blair's student organizations must be having a fundraiser.*

"What the hell are you thinking so hard about?" asked Jim as we sat down.

"Me?"

"You. You look like your brain is working ninety to nothing."

"I'm just trying to figure out what you two are up to."

They exchanged looks. Blair said, "Whatever do you mean?"

I snorted. "Stuff it." I pointed at him with my spoon. "You can do innocent, but I always know that means you're plotting something. You," I pointed at Jim, "can't do innocent worth shit."

"Nice talk at the dinner table," said Jim mildly, but his eyes were amused. "Eat. We have plenty of time to talk after dinner."

I sighed. "Am I going to need that wine?"

Blair chuckled. "Well, it's not necessary, but it might make things a little smoother."

*Oh, crap. It isn't just something I'm not going to like, it's BAD news.*

The meal was pleasant enough, but I was getting so nervous waiting for the shoe to drop that I could hardly finish my second slice of cheesecake. And they DIDN'T use the whipped cream--they had chocolate sauce. It was nice, but I caught myself licking smears off my fingers when I noticed they were watching me. You ever had a feeling that there was an unspoken conversation going on that you weren't a part of, but that you were probably supplying the subject? That's how I felt when Jim said, "And we'd forgotten all about THAT," and Blair replied, "Don't worry, we have a half-bottle left." I was really stumped when Jim said, "Is it still out on the counter? We don't want it too cold." Jim Ellison doesn't strike me as the type to just leave food sitting out on the counter.

I was further shocked when all Ellison did was rinse the dishes off instead of doing a full wash, dry, stow routine. I'd just about figure that finding a dirty dish in this man's sink would be a strong clue that someone had popped him over the head before he could take care of it, and currently had him tied up somewhere.

Anyway, we were settled in the living room on the sofa--all of us. I'll admit wondering, very vaguely, why they did that, when there was a perfectly comfortable armchair available, too. I didn't say anything, though, because cheesecake tends to make me mellow to start with, and that first glass of wine would have had me well on the way to contented--if I wasn't so darn antsy about what they were up to.

They refused to discuss why they'd asked me there, instead chattering about sports, local politics, and families. Jim didn't have much of a family--just William and Steven. Blair, apparently, might be lacking in the father department, but he had a hefty handful of aunts and uncles, and a whole SLEW of cousins. Then he smiled at me brightly and asked about my own family affiliations.

I was into my third glass of wine by then, and feeling a little more relaxed. "Let's see... I have one set of grandparents still going strong. Of course, the weird thing is that they're a blend of BOTH sets of grandparents. Nana Carswell was widowed about ten years ago, and Grandpa Rafe was widowed a few years ago. They'd always gotten along well, but it still shocked the hell out of the kids when they decided to get married." I chuckled. "My Aunt Clarice kept going on about incest, but hell--I don't think that would have qualified except maybe by medieval, or possibly Mosaic Law. They were never blood relatives, just by marriage. It DOES make it interesting to explain things to visitors at the family gatherings, though."

Jim made an 'oh, I just remembered something' expression. "Speaking of family reunions, you just missed one."

"No, the last one was back in June, and I went."

Jim was lounging back on the sofa, arm along the back behind my neck. "Have a good time?"

*Damn, he can pack a lot of suggestion into a short sentence.* I HAD had a good time, a reeeal good time, thanks to a certain someone, but that wasn't for open discussion. "Sure did."

Blair was leaning in, too. "It's great seeing the cousins, isn't it? I always have a blast with mine."
His eyebrows wiggle. "Though I'm not as close with mine as I understand SOME people are."

*Uh oh. No, they couldn't POSSIBLY...* "What did you guys mean about my missing a family reunion?"

"Someone came looking for you last Friday," said Jim.

*Double uh-oh.* "Who?"

Blair said, "Does this ring a bell? Black suit, white shirt, enough hair styling gel to tame the Big Hair of 1960's crop of beauty pageant contestants, and a donut obsession."

I gaped. "Dale came HERE?"

Jim laughed. "What was the chief identifying characteristic--the hair, or the donuts?"

"Hard to say. The only other thing even more Dale-ish would be a craving for cherry pie and a cup of strong coffee. But he was here?"

Jim nodded. "He was passing through on his way to an investigation, and was hoping to bunk down with you."

"Well, crap! I hate missing him. We always have a good time together."

"Yesssss," it was a croon, and I looked at Blair in surprise. "He told us."

A sudden suspicion dawned on me. I think my voice squeaked as I said, "He TOLD you?"

"Well, we sort of made him an offer he couldn't refuse."

"Oh, man! He is in SO much trouble!"

"Chill, Rafe." Blair's tone was soothing. "You're only second cousins, and I think that isn't illegal,
even up north. Besides, I have a feeling that you've done some bean spilling yourself. How else did Dale find out about Jim, I, and our *cough* extra-curricular activities?"

*Busted.* "Uh..."

Jim poked me in the side. "You just told him, right? Didn't go writing it on any bathroom walls?"

"No! Gah, guys... Look, I'm sorry, but... but..." I sighed. Well, if they were going to pound me, they were going to pound me. "He, uh... We were sort of in the middle of something..." Have you ever felt yourself start to blush? "...and he wanted me to talk dirty to him." I shrugged. "I couldn't think clearly enough to make anything up, so I told him about what I suspected went on with you and that other FBI guy."

"Well, you must've given us good press," remarked Blair. "The man was downright enthusiastic."

I couldn't help smiling. "He goes off on a tangent sometimes, but sex is one of the things he's REAL good at concentrating on. So, this is what you two have been so smirky and secretive about?"

"Sort of. Blair and I were just wondering," Jim was running a finger up and down the side of my neck. It sort of made my leg want to twitch, like when you find the exact right spot to scratch on a dog. It didn't twitch, though, because Blair had slid his hand over onto my thigh, and was just sort of holding it there, giving a squeeze every few seconds. "Would you be interesting in making a sort of family tradition?"

I had to take another gulp of wine, because my throat was suddenly dry. "What would this involve?"

Blair said, "The three of us, that can of Redi-Whip, and the chocolate sauce."

I almost choked, and Jim was saying, "And a cheap disposable sheet. I almost lost a set when Dale was here. The whipped cream wouldn't have been a problem, but Blair insisted on dragging out the honey, and I'm pretty sure that chocolate sauce would be even harder to get out."

Blair had leaned over and was nuzzling my ear. "C'mon, Jim, the honey came out of Dale just fine." He whispered, "You can do wonderful things with a squeeze bottle."

I didn't faint, but I came close.

The rest of the evening is something of a haze. The chocolate sauce had been left out of the fridge, so it wasn't cold. The Redi-Whip, however, almost left me hanging from the ceiling. After Jim and Blair finished laughing their asses off, though, they made it worth the chill, but I think it took Blair almost ten minutes to coax my balls back down into a normal position (since he was using his mouth, I had no complaints). I discovered that canned whipped cream CAN be used as a lube, if you're patient, very relaxed, and pretty damn drunk. I'd never been with more than one person at a time, and I found out how much fun it could be to be sandwich filling. I found out that Jim Ellison can just about fuck you through the mattress, and that his yoga has made Blair Sandburg so flexible that he could give a Chinese acrobat a run for his money. I found out I was a LOT more adventurous than I'd thought I was, and I learned that you COULD fit three grown men into a shower, if you were determined and careful.

The disposable sheet had been a good idea. Jim just stripped it off, put on a top sheet, and we were ready to crawl into bed. I was just about to drop off to sleep between Jim and Blair when they exchanged a look over my head. Blair said, "So, Rafe--have you every had problems filling out forms when you had to put your name down?"

"Why should I?"

Jim said casually, "Well, we thought that with that first name last, last name first thing you might get some of the people in charge confused." Pause. "What with them both being the same, and all."

I sat straight up. "SONOFABITCH! DALE, YOU ARE CUT -OFF-!"

Blair nodded. "He said that would happen. Don't be too hard on him. We offered Redi-whip, and all that came with it."

I narrowed my eyes. "This calls for revenge. He's bound to be back through sooner or later, and I'm going to give you ammunition. I want you to promise me that you'll use it."

"Well," said Jim, "We're always up for a good bout of 'tease the Fed'. But it needs to be good."

"Oh, it's good, all right, and it's appropriate. I'm not the only one with a little naming quirk they like to keep quiet. Dale never told you his middle name, did he? Or the fact that he has TWO middle names, and BOTH of his parents had a twisted sense of humor?"

Now Blair looked interested. "No, he didn't. Is this better than being named Rafe Rafe? Will he suffer pangs of painful embarrassment if we use it?"

"I think so." I smiled wickedly. "After all, I hardly think that he wants it widely known that his
full name is Dale Evans Gary Cooper."

The End