Title: Pain of Love

Author/pseudonym: alyjude

Email: alyjude@webtv.net

Rating: NC17

Pairing: J/B

Category: Drama

Date: April 14, 2002

Status: New, complete

Series/Sequel: Will probably be a sequel

Archive: Yes, please, any kind soul

Other website: http://www.skeeter63.org/k9kennel

Disclaimer: Blair says he didn't leave the toothpaste cap off the tube again. Jim wants to know if not Blair, than who. I'm telling you now, it wasn't me.

Warnings: DEFINITELY - SCROLL DOWN TO CAVEAT -

Notes: Thank you to Lisa who beta'd this but if you guys are really smart, you'll beg her for a TS story of her own. She's GOOD. Thank you to TSL and Jael, who also added their brilliant corrections, and to Tricia - who is always there for me. And to Marilyn. Can't wait until June.

And thanks to Blankety, best Cheeto-eating cheerleader out there and new archive elf. Final thank YOU TO MICHELLE (aka K9) for hosting me at her website and loading every doggone story I do!

I'd also like to thank the academy---Heh.

Summary: Jim is dating and Blair is having difficulty dealing as he discovers that love can be painful. He gets into some serious trouble as a result.

*Notes*, the sequel: I have introduced three new OC's in this and I hope you like them. I'm spinning them off into my first attempts at original fiction, but if I do a sequel to this, they'll be in it. JC and her wonderful Nic and Griff are my inspiration. I LOVE those two guys!


CAVEAT: There is non-consensual sex, in the form of *date* rape (off-screen) and later, a brief scene of violence and attempted rape, but it is very vague and hopefully won't squick you. I was in a dark mood when I started this, but as is my want and needs, this has a happy
ending. Duh.


The Pain of Love
by alyjude


Blair cracked open one eye, then quickly shut it. It struck him suddenly that the average person wouldn't know what it's like to wake up naked in a motel room and not know how they got there. It also struck him that he was probably right about that.

He opened his right eye again and decided that he no longer qualified as someone who wouldn't know what it was like to wake up naked in a motel room and not know how they got there, and that scared him. It was not a distinction he wanted.

His head hurt like a son of a bitch so Blair decided not to raise it for a few more minutes but he did look down--just to confirm that he was, indeed, naked.

He was.

Blair was lying on his stomach and there wasn't a sheet or blanket in sight. The room looked totally unfamiliar, in a familiar kind of way. Then it hit him. It looked very much like the motel he'd stayed in after Jim had--yes, well. Blair shifted slightly and had to immediately close his eyes.

Because other places--hurt. Places that shouldn't hurt.

God, so many places.

He felt--hung-over, but the feeling was unlike any hang-over he'd ever experienced. Blair felt
--elastic. Rubbery. His mouth was dry, fingers numb.

Aw, God, he wished the rest of his body could have been equally numb.

He tried to think back, tried to remember--but everything was a blank.

"Okay," he said to himself, "what's the last thing you *do* remember?"

When no answer came, he decided to try to sit up.

Bad idea. The pain almost doubled him over. Blair waited for the sweating and nausea to fade and as the world slowed back to a manageable pace, he thought -- maybe his side?

He rolled slowly onto his right hip, blinked, swiped his tongue over is bottom lip and recognized how thirsty he was. So very thirsty.

God, where the hell was he and what the fuck had happened last night?

On the other hand--maybe last night wasn't where he needed to start--

_________________

Two and a half weeks earlier-

Blair stepped out of the elevator, dug into his pocket for keys, then approached the front door. He unlocked it, let himself in, allowed everything to drop on the floor, then moved directly to the kitchen. He got himself a glass, turned on the water and when the glass was full, he drank. When he was done, he filled it up again, and just like the first one, drank it down. He rinsed the glass out and set it in the drainer. Blair glanced around and wasn't surprised to find that Jim wasn't home. It was, after all, only five. Blair walked into his room and divested himself of his clothes, then with sweats over his shoulder, he padded into the bathroom, set his stuff down on the closed toilet and started the shower. When the water reached a comfortable temperature, he stepped in.

Blair sighed as the hot water hit him, because in spite of having done nothing, he was exhausted. He'd spent the entire day in his office doing a little reading, and when he'd felt up to it, working a bit on his dissertation. That had been the extent of his day. No teaching, no grading, no conferences or meetings, no students.

As Blair soaped up, he decided that other than being bored out of his skull, and maybe missing a few of his regular students, it hadn't been all that bad. Especially the no meetings part. Oh, and the no grading part.

Blair let the water cascade over him, decided not to bother with washing his hair, and finally turned off the water. He stepped out, grabbed his towel and quicky dried. After slipping into an old pair of sweat pants, he put the towel in the hamper, then pulled on his Cascade PD tee shirt.
Walking out into the living room, he picked up the remote and turned on the set.

As he surfed, he wondered if Jim would be home at all or if he had another date with Lily. He also wondered how things were going at the station. A place he hadn't been in over three weeks. Not since a few days after closing the Ventriss case--and Jim had started seeing Lily.

As the news came on, Blair fingered his eye. There wasn't any evidence of the beating left, but every now and then, he'd get this little twinge. Blair tried to get interested in Tom Brokaw, but he kept going back to Jim and--Lily.

The evening wore on and Blair never actually moved. NBC's Thursday night programming slipped across the screen, but Blair couldn't have told anyone who'd said the stupidest thing on Friends: Joey or Phoebe. No, he was seeing his own comedy flashing across his eyes. That moment when Jim had entered the bullpen and introduced Blair to the woman he'd been seeing for a few days.

Lily.

Tall. Blonde. Leggy. Sky blue eyes.

She could have been Alex Barnes.

Blair could still remember how it had felt seeing her as she stepped around Jim, her hand outstretched.

Worse than any beating. Gazing into eyes so like--

Then Jim had slipped his arm around the slender waist, smiled at her and Blair had known Hell.

All of his carefully constructed excuses, theories and expositions had crumbled in that look. Jim had loved Alex. No matter what else had really been going on in Sierra Verde, no matter that Jim was going through some kind of test--he'd fallen in love with Alex.

Double bullet.

The woman had killed Blair, but feelings were--feelings and a man couldn't help who he fell in love with. Blair was proof of that. Didn't he love Jim?

Oh yeah. But damn it, he and Jim had just started to return to normal, to be able to talk, and spend time with each other--

Then along came Lily, the Alex look-a-like.

Blair shut his eyes. He was a strong man and had weathered a hell of a lot over the years, but how the hell was he supposed to handle this? He rested his head back against the sofa. He could still remember shaking her hand, then grabbing his bookbag and mumbling something about having to get back to the university. Blair hadn't missed the startled look in Jim's eyes, but damn, how much was he supposed to take? So, like the coward he'd been imitating, he'd fled. Which brought him to the here and now and the fact that in the last three weeks, he'd barely seen Jim. And that hadn't been Blair's choice, it had been Jim's.

"Nothing going on, Chief, do what you have to do at Rainier."

"Nah, just court all day - go - grade."

Day after day.

And night after night--Lily.

Blair turned off the set and sat alone in the darkened room.

____________


"All I'm saying is--he has a life, Jim."

"I know, I know and I'm doing what I can about it."

Lily Courtland put her hand on Jim's thigh and rubbed lightly. "You miss him."

Numb, Jim stared out his windshield and nodded. "He's my best friend."

"So maybe I was wrong--"

"No, no, you weren't. It's just--"

"You miss him."

Jim didn't need to answer. Instead, he decided to change the subject. "How's John?"

"Better, thanks to you. I think he'll make it, Jim."

"Good, good." He took the key out of the ignition and said, "Shall we go up?"

Lily nodded and they both got out of the truck. "There's no light on," Lily observed.

"He's home. That's his car," Jim said, indicating the Volvo he'd parked beside.

"Ah."

_______________


Jim pushed open the door and wasn't surprised when a light came on.

"Hey, Jim, Lily." Blair stood and smiled.

"You were sitting in the dark, Chief."

"Fell asleep. Rough day."

Jim helped Lily out of her coat and as he hung it up, Lily said, "I can't begin to imagine what it's like to be a TA, Blair. You do all the work of the professors, have to deal with the students, yet you receive none of the perks."

"Perks, yeah, that's what I'm missing," Blair chuckled. Then he moved around the couch and headed for his room. "I'm gonna turn in. Jim, you need me tomorrow?"

Jim shook his head. "Nope. Quiet in Cascade this week."

Blair wasn't surprised by the answer and barely paused on his way. He opened the French doors, turned, smiled and after giving Lily a small wave, said, "Well, night you two. Play nice." Then he went inside and shut the door.

_________________


He could hear their voices--speaking softly--trying to not to bother him. And he heard when they--stopped--talking.

Blair rolled over so he was facing the other wall. He pulled the covers up and glanced at his clock. It was after eleven. His room darkened slightly and he realized that Jim had turned off the light in the livingroom.

He didn't think he could handle this.

Blair threw off the covers, climbed out, drew on the jeans that hung over the back of his chair, then fumbled a bit and found the sweater he'd worn yesterday. He pulled it on, stepped into his tennis shoes, laced them up, grabbed his wallet, then stole cautiously over to the fire escape door. When he was certain that nothing had changed in the living room, that Jim hadn't heard anything, he slowly opened it--then slipped out.

Shutting it silently behind him, he walked down the fire stairs to the alley, then onto the street.
For a moment he looked left, then right.

There was a bar down on Morrison, which was only three blocks and considering his keys were in the basket by the front door--and his jacket was on the peg--well, a short walk was a good thing. He started towards Morrison.

____________


Jim and Lily were slumped down in the sofa, shoulder to shoulder, gazing out over Cascade. He'd turned out the light at her request and was now glad that he had. It was a beautiful March evening, the sky cloudless, the city a sparkling jewel.

"Do I need to talk to John's boss again?" Jim asked softly, not wanting to destroy the peaceful mood.

"No. Really, everything is all right on that front."

"Good."

"I'm so grateful you were there that day. I don't know what I would have done otherwise, Jim. You saved us both."

Jim shrugged. "Hey, protect and serve."

She smiled in the darkness. "Well, nobody does protect and serve better than you, Jim. Mom and Dad will be eternally grateful for at least one Cascade cop."

"You sure you're okay?"

"I will be--in time. Gets better every day."

He nodded and continued to gaze out his windows. Jim felt her wiggle closer but he felt--nothing. What the fuck was wrong with him?

_____________


Okay, this place sucked big time. Blair pulled out a five dollar bill and tossed it down on the bar, then rose and headed out. He needed something different.

As he took in a cold breath of air out on the sidewalk, he remembered that a new club had opened on Travis Avenue. That was only four blocks away. And it was exactly what he needed in order to lose himself. Music, people watching--just the ticket.

_____________


The new club was called The Drumroll and Blair had been right, it *was* what he needed. A man could get seriously lost in a place like the Drumroll.

Shouldering his way inside, he gazed up and noticed the second floor. It took him almost fifteen minutes to get up there, but as he hit the last step, a small table cleared a few feet away and with a bound, he'd claimed it. A waitress in a short skirt and halter top with breasts barely contained, bent down and asked for his order.

He thought about it for a moment, then ordered a nice, ordinary Martini, a drink he'd never tried. He was tempted to say, "Shaken not stirred", but resisted. It would have fallen flat unless said by Jim. Definite James Bond type, his Jim. Blair had a great view of the dance floor below and the music was terrific. He sat back and enjoyed. When his drink arrived, he enjoyed that too. As he watched the dancers, Blair sent out the uncouscious vibes that kept people away--but didn't keep men and women alike from looking. One individual in particular.

The tall, well-muscled man watched Blair from three tables away. He watched as interested men started to approach, then catching the non-verbal message, veered away. He watched as women did the same. After thirty minutes, he got up, walked to the end of the room, to the bar,
and ordered a Martini. When it was delivered, he paid, then headed back. On the way, he dropped a gelcap into the drink. He paused in the shadows in order to allow it to dissolve, then as a waitress started to pass, the tall man took her arm. He waved a twenty under her nose.

"Would you deliver this to the long-haired young man seated at the table next to the stairs?"

The comely waitress snatched the twenty--and the drink. "Sure thing, mister. Sure thing. Want I should tell him anything?"

"Just that it comes from someone at the bar."

She nodded and headed off.

____________


"From someone at the bar?" Blair asked, surprised.

"Yes, sir. I do believe you have an admirer."

She flashed a smile at him as she set the drink down.

Blair dropped a buck on the tray and the waitress walked off. He refrained from looking over at the bar, but he did drink the offering.

______________


Jim thought of moving Lily, of waking her, but that would mean that they might head upstairs, and he didn't want that tonight. He was comfortable where he was, legs stretched out, Lily wedged in between him and the back of the couch. With his arm around her, he let her sleep.

As he drifted, he wondered why he'd started dating her. Not that she wasn't beautiful, she was, and generous too. Sweet, thoughtful, and she'd been in trouble. Or rather, her brother had been in trouble, which as he'd learned, met that she was in trouble.

When he'd first met her, over three weeks ago, she'd been panicking at the bank after being told that her account was empty. There'd been tears and Jim had stepped forward, ever the gallant police officer. From there, it had escalated.

Coffee at Starbucks, listening to her tale of woe, then helping her by helping her brother, John, then the inevitable first date. And from there, he'd told Lily more about himself then he'd told any other person other than Sandburg. And she'd listened. And read between the lines, heard what he hadn't said. After their fourth date, while they were sitting in his truck, she'd broached the subject of--Blair.

"I'm guessing that you need him more than he needs you for his dissertation?" She'd asked.

"No, not at all. We're friends. Good friends."

"And yet, I mean, well, Jim, it's been how long? You said three years? And he still doesn't have his doctorate? He's still riding with you? Where's his life? You said he was an anthropologist. Does he still take expeditions?"

"Well, no. Not since--not since--"

She'd cocked her head at him and with eyebrow nicely arched, had asked, "Not since when, Jim?"

Not since he'd known Blair. "Not since he started--"

"Riding with you?"

Jim had nodded miserably.

"That's not right, Jim. What about his career? Good God, no expeditions in three years? It could ruin him."

And so it had started.

Little by little, Jim had begun to cut the Sandburg cord, hence, no Blair by his side. No Blair at the station. Jim had turned his senses down to normal and had kept them there, in spite of weird looks from Megan. And Simon.

But there'd been no time for either Simon or Conner to question him, because Jim hadn't exactly been truthful when he'd told Blair that things had been quiet. Not hardly.

God, but Jim missed his partner. In more ways than he'd want Lily to know.

__________


Shit. Blair could barely keep his eyes focused. But man, he did feel good, in a whacky way. He could get used to Martinis. He tried to see his watch, but it kept swimming away from him--

"It's after midnight."

Blair looked up and squinted. He could see a face, but not clearly.

"Um, thanks."

The man nodded and smiled. He looked--familiar--but Blair couldn't place him. Not that it mattered. Time to go anyway. He stood, swayed, the room spun and a strong arm, so much like Jim's that he sank back against it,snaked around him.

"Hey, buddy, you okay?"

"Oh yeah. Fine. Just--a little unsteady on my--just a little unsteady."

"Sure, understood. Let me give you a hand--"

Blair felt himself helped downstairs and out onto the street. At some point his awareness faded so he missed the fact that he was being led to a car then put inside and carefully belted in. Nor was he aware as he was then driven away from the Drumroll.

____________


Hands skimming over his bare chest, soft words murmured in his ear, teeth tugging lightly at his bottom lip--

A face above him, short hair, soft and bristly, and arms rippling with muscles--

"Beautiful--you're so beautiful," a voice said. A voice so like Jim's--

The hands felt like Jim's and Blair floated in it, let the hands, let *Jim's* hands, explore and he sighed contentedly, then whispered, "Jim--"

A bright light spread out over the room and before it faded, Blair saw white blond hair--

Not Jim.

NOT JIM!

Blair began to fight.

##############

The Pain of Love

part 2

##############

The present:

Blair needed to get up. His memory was still dark but between his not wanting to think about Jim and Lily and the smell that surrounded him--he got up.

It hurt like hell. Worse. But Blair made it to his feet. He bumped into the nightstand and something fell to the ground. His foot hit the something and he realized that it was his glasses. He managed to retrieve them without his head falling off. Then he made the mistake of
slipping them on.

"Aw, God."

There was blood on the fitted sheet.

He was going to throw up.

Blair just made it to the dingy bathroom.

Ignoring the screaming muscles, the torn flesh and the aches and pains, he went to his knees and let the toilet bowl have it. Ten minutes later he hauled himself up, stuck his head under the faucet, then with eyes closed, reached back for a towel. He wiped his face off, then drank, swished, rinsed and spit. He did that several times until he could no longer taste bile.

With great effort, he let his eyes lift to his reflection in the mirror--and to the long mirror behind him. His back was mottled with bruises and bite marks. Blair allowed his gaze to travel down -- then he looked quickly away. Shaking, he did what he could for himself, then walked unsteadily back into the main room.

__________


Blair tied his shoelaces and stood. He needed a doctor, he knew that. And he needed a friend.
Which meant--Charlie.

He patted his pocket and was relieved to find his wallet. He removed it, checked the contents and sighed. His money was all accounted for as well. Without a backward glance, he walked
unsteadily out of the motel room.

Outside, the sun caused him to squint and shield his eyes as he tried to figure out where he was. The motel was called The Vineyard and from where he stood, he could see the office across the parking lot. He turned in the opposite direction.

He needed transportation. He glanced to his right and spotted a bus kiosk. With great effort, Blair made the several yards to the corner. Fortunately a schedule was still visible on the wall. Apparently he was at stop 6. Charlie's clinic was at stop--27. One transfer away. He could
make it.

Blair reached out and grabbed the back of the bench to steady himself, but didn't sit. That would have been impossible. The schedule and his watch told him he had about fifteen minutes until the next bus. He closed his eyes, felt the sweat trickle down his back, felt the tremor
in his legs and arms--

He had to make it.

_______________


Jim sat at his desk and regarded his paperwork with an evil eye. He'd awakened at seven that morning only to find himself empty-armed, but with a note on his chest from Lily.

*I have a meeting at eight, Jim, so I'm out of here. You're sleeping so soundly, I don't want to disturb you. Call me later, we need to talk.*

There'd been no sound from Blair's room, so Jim had been equally quiet as he moved about and got ready for work. By the time he was set to leave, Blair still had not awakened.

Disappointed, Jim had left.

Now he wanted nothing more than to pick up the phone and call Blair at the university. To hear his voice, maybe ask him to stop by--

No, that would be unfair. Besides, Lily had been right--they did needed to talk.

"Jim? Do you have a minute?"

Simon stood at his door, waiting. Jim rose and moved quickly into his captain's office. "Sir?"

"Sit. Time to talk."

"Is this a friend talk, a boss talk or a 'what the shit is going on' talk?"

"All three. A first." Simon sat on the edge of his desk and regarded his detective. "Three weeks, Jim. For three weeks I've been patient and refrained from asking. But you're different and I want to know what's going on."

"You got a problem with my performance in the last few weeks?"

Simon scoffed. "I'm not even going to dignify that with an answer. This isn't about you the detective, but about you the man. You're miserable."

"Look, Simon--"

"Has this got something to do with Sandburg or the new lady you've been seeing?"

"Simon, there's nothing going on. Sandburg--is fine. I'm fine. And her name is Lily--"

"Jim, there *is* something wrong. And I'd hate to think you can't function without Sandburg. Now, no reflection on the kid, but come on, you've been at this for three years. Surely you don't need him to do your job?"

Actually, Jim had no idea how he'd function without Blair's presence, but he had his suspicions. None of which he intended to share with Simon for the time being. Which meant a little Sandburg obfuscating.

"Look, I'm just--it's an allergy, Simon. So I'm being careful, cautious. That's all."

"I see. And when can we expect a *cure*?"

Jim shrugged, thoroughly ashamed of himself for the pack of lies he was spewing out. "Not sure."

Simon narrowed his eyes at his detective "Tell me we're not still dealing with the Alex thing, that this isn't some kind of fall-out--"

"No, no, Simon. Blair and I are fine. In fact, Blair, Lily and I were together last night. Well, until Blair excused himself around eleven and went to bed."

Apparently satisfied, Simon took his seat behind his desk. "Well, when you see the kid tonight, tell him we--miss him," Simon said gruffly.

"Will do, sir."

Simon waved him away and in relief, Jim left.

_____________


The ride to the corner of Harvard and Meadow was pure torture for Blair. By the time he exited the bus he could barely walk and he was having difficulty breathing. He was also sweating profusely. His vision was bleary and he felt disconnected from the world.

As Blair stepped onto the sidewalk from the bus, he took a few seconds to get his bearings.
The clinic was--east. East. Only a block or two. One foot in front of the other, Blair started walking and eventually, he spotted the building that housed Charlie's clinic.

He opened the door and walked to the counter. "I'd--like to see Doctor Charles Kobyoshi. I'm a friend. Blair--Sandburg."

The young woman in white looked up and was about to ask the usual question regarding appointments but one glance brought her to her feet.

"Just a moment, Mr. Sandburg." She hurried away.

_________


"Doctor?"

Charles Kobyoshi looked up from his paperwork to see a worried Karen at his door. "What is it?"

"There's a man out front, says his name is Blair Sandburg and he looks terrible, Doctor. I think you'd better see him immediately."

At the mention of Blair's name, Charles stood immediately and hurried past his assistant.

____________

"Blair?"

He'd been leaning against the counter, grateful that only two people were in the waiting room, when he heard Charlie's voice. He opened his eyes.

"Hey," Blair said weakly. Then Charlie was moving toward him, had his arm and was leading him to the back.

He was ushered into a room and as the door shut behind him, Charlie said, "Okay, let's get you up on the examining table--"

Blair shook his head. "No, no, can't--sit--down."

Charles turned him around to face him. "Blair? What happened?"

Unable to meet his friend's gaze, Blair shook his head and said quietly, "I'm -- not sure. But I can't sit down again, I just can't."

Charles took one good look at Blair's eyes and nodded. "Okay, let's do it like this," he said gently. "We'll get you undressed and in a one of our super duper paper gowns, then get you on your side, lying down, okay?"

A small smile played around Blair's lips. "Gee, Charlie, do I get a sucker too?"

"Now that's a good sign, Blair. You're with me. Okay, let's get you undressed."

The process wasn't easy and required both Charlie, Karen and another nurse. As the sweater came off, Charles found himself wincing in sympathy, but when it came time to remove Blair's jeans and Charles got a good look, he immediately said, "Linda, get me a rape kit and let Dennis know the clinic is his for the rest of the afternoon. Karen, let's get some blood drawn. Two vials. One for Pharmchem and one for Cobalt Labs."

___________


The clinic had a few cloth gowns and after seeing Blair's condition, Charlie immediately grabbed one from the cupboard and slipped it on his friend. "Okay, let's get you up on the table and on your side, Blair. All right?"

Blair nodded and with great difficulty and lots of help, he was finally down on his right side. He sighed in relief. Just being off his feet and with his eyes closed helped. Drawing his knees up helped even more.

He could hear the others moving around and Charlie's soft voice, but all he wanted to do was ignore them and sleep. He felt--safe. For now.

"Blair, Karen's going to draw some blood. You ready for that?"

Blair nodded sleepily. He felt his arm stretched out, the rubber strip tied off and then Karen's voice asking him to make a fist. He did. A moment later, a slight prick, then the band was released.

"Two vials, Karen. You know the drill," Charles reminded.

The drill.

Blair's eyes shot open. He looked frantically around and was about to move when Charlie's hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Careful, Blair. You know we need one vial in order to test for Aids and STD's. The other will go to a different lab and be tested for drugs. I'm pretty sure that's why you don't remember much."

"Anything. I don't remember anything," Blair said almost to himself.

While Karen switched vials, Charles said gently, "What *can* you tell me?"

"I--I woke up--in some motel--I was alone. I don't--remember anything after going to bed--last night."

The last vial was full and the needle was pulled out and replaced by a bit of cotton, then a Band-Aid. Karen hustled out, knowing that the second vial would need to go out that afternoon.

Blair had been about to close his eyes when Charles spoke again.

"Why didn't you call the police, Blair? Or your partner?"

Eyes full of pain, Blair shook his head stubbornly. "Not going to tell. Not going to tell."

Charles gazed over at the covered tray that represented a rape kit, then back to his friend. "Blair, that's not like you. Someone hurt you, they--"

"We don't know it was rape." The words were spoken so softly that Charles almost didn't catch them. When he did, his mouth dropped open. Then he clamped it shut.

"You were drugged, Blair. The last thing you remember is being in your own bed. It was rape. And you need to report it."

Blair shook his head again. "No. I don't remember anything. Can't identify the person--"

"DNA evidence, Blair. You know better than I what the cops can recover from the--scene."

"And from me? From my body?" Blair said sharply.

"Yes. From your -- body."

Blair lowered his head back down to the small pillow and sighed. "You're my friend, Charlie and my doctor. And if I don't want you to tell--"

"I'll honor your decision, but you need to consider one thing." When Charles was certain he had Blair's attention, he said, "Other victims."

It had been a low blow, delivered deliberately. Charles Kobyoshi knew his friend, knew his heart and if Blair thought someone else might suffer--

"No," Blair whispered. "No."

Surprised, but too worried to discuss it now, Charles patted Blair's shoulder. "All right, we won't discuss it anymore right now. Just relax. I need to examine you, Blair--"

"I know. Just do it."

____________


Blair had thought things couldn't get any worse, he was wrong. The exam and following treatment nearly undid him. Charles spoke softly, kept him informed, but none of it helped. By the time Charles was done, Blair was pale, sweating again and shaking almost uncontrollably.

Blankets were brought in and draped over him. Then a hand on his head, soothing him.

"I'm sorry, Blair, but you needed--stitches. You've got some bruising and tearing, but you're gonna be fine. I've taken care of the--other--wounds but you're a little shocky right now and I want you to rest, all right?"

Blair nodded, eyes shut tight. He felt his friend move away from him and said softly, "Thanks, Charlie. Thanks."

His shoulder was patted again, then he was alone. As he lay drifting and starting to warm, he thought of what Charlie had said about reporting what happened, which started his shaking again. The very idea of Jim or Simon or anyone else in Major Crime knowing--

No way.

He squeezed his eyes shut as he realized that in reality--he hadn't seen any of them in three weeks and whatever friendship he and Jim had once known, well, it was over now. What harm could be done by anyone knowing what happened? He was a non-entity anyway. That had been made pretty clear during the whole Ventriss thing, right?

And--and--maybe--someone else could be spared.

Damn.

Okay, so he'd report it. He had nothing to lose.

Blair heard Charlie enter and he opened his eyes. His friend had two cups of something hot in his hands.

"Thought you could use some tea, Blair."

Charlie set both cups down, then raised the head of the examining bed. "Here," he said, as he handed Blair one of the cups.

"Thanks, Charlie."

Kobyoshi pulled his stool over and straddled it. He watched as his friend took a tentative sip, then said, "It'll be a day or two before we have the results of the blood analysis. You were slurring your words a bit when you arrived and your pupils are still dilated. How do you feel
otherwise?"

"Headache."

"On a scale of one to ten?"

"Twenty."

"How about your muscles?"

Blair looked at his friend over the rim of the cup. "You're kidding, right?"

Charles smiled slightly. "Okay, skip that question. Your blood pressure is low, too low, so I suspect--"

"Rohypnol," Blair stated unemotionally.

"Yeah, or something similar."

Blair nodded, then said almost conversationally, as if he weren't lying in a clinic after being stitched up following a rape, "I was pretty dizzy and cold, still cold, in fact. I also had difficulty breathing, but that could be and probably is, shock."

Charles nodded his agreement. "Probably."

Blair looked up at his friend. "You still want me to report it, don't you?"

"Yes."

Blair was suddenly overwhelmed with it all. And with none of it. It was so strange because he'd just made up his mind to report it, that he had nothing to lose by reporting, and yet he felt as though his life were now over. Like he'd given his life permission to cease and desist.

"Okay. But could you not call--Major Crime?"

"I have a friend, Blair. He's in the Sexual Crimes Unit. His name is Dean Wilcox. You can trust him. Can I call him?"

Blair stared at his tea. "That's a -- good unit. I don't know him, I don't think, but if you say so--"

"I do. Shall I call him?"

"Yeah, yeah."

As Charles stood, Blair asked, "Hey, how good of a friend?"

Charlie grinned. " A very good friend."

______________


"Hey, Wilcox, grab line six. It's the doc."

Dean Wilcox looked up from his computer and nodded to his partner, Sheila Ramsdale. "Got it, and thanks." He picked up the receiver and turned away from the room.

"Hey," he said softly, with a grin on his face.

//Hey yourself.//

"How do I rate a call in the middle of the day?"

//I need you to come by. I have a patient, a victim.//

There was a pause and Dean frowned. "Charlie?"

//He's a friend, Dean. A good friend. Can you get over here now?//

"I can be there in fifteen."

//Thanks.//

Dean put down the phone and stared at it for a few seconds. A friend. And he hadn't liked Charlie's voice.

"Sheila, get your stuff, we have another one."

He stood up, grabbed his suit jacket from the back of his chair and headed out, Sheila hot on his heels.

______________


"Is it one of the Rumbler's?"

Dean slowed for a traffic light and shook his head. "I don't think so. The victim is at Charlie's clinic, so it sounds doubtful that he was thrown from a moving car."

Sheila Ramsdale gave out with a little whistle. "I don't know if I'm glad or not. Captain Lomax is getting pressure to kick the Rumbler upstairs to Major Crime."

"I know. But maybe, well, I wouldn't be adverse to that, Sheila. They've got the reputation and the chance to work with Ellison, well, maybe it would be a good thing. We have four victims and the last one is still in ICU and we've got bupkis."

"I know. Believe me, I know." She gazed back out the window and said, "So do you know anything about the guy at the clinic?"

"Only that--he's a friend of Charlie's."

"Oh shit."


#############
The Pain of Love

part 3

#############


"Hey, Karen."

The young nurse glanced up and grinned, then her expression went serious as she indicated the back rooms with her thumb. "He's in treatment room 2, Detective Wilcox."

"Thanks." With a hand on Sheila's back, Dean led her behind the counter and down the hall toward room 2. As they approached, the door opened and Charles stepped out.

"Hey."

Dean smiled warmly. "Hey, yourself."

"Sheila," Charles acknowledged.

"Doc. How's our patient?"

"He's going to be fine--eventually. But I need to warn you, he doesn't remember anything."

Sheila nodded. "To be expected. You're sure he was drugged?"

"Positive. All the symptoms. And he's still feeling the effects. But of course, I'll know more when we get the results."

"Charlie, you know about the combo our Rumbler is using, right?" Sheila asked.

"Yeah. But come on, you don't think Blair--I mean, the other four victims were thrown from a moving car."

"Anything's possible, Charlie," Sheila posited.

"But no, I don't think we're dealing with the Rumbler. That cocktail of his, well, from everything we've seen, your friend would probably still be in that motel room, unconscious."

"Good point. Which of you will interview Blair?"

"I will, Charlie," Dean said quietly.

Charles nodded, then said, "Sheila, you'll want to see Karen for the rape kit. We've maintained the chain of custody. Let me introduce Dean to Blair, then we'll go see Karen."

"Sounds good to me. I'll wait here in the hall."

Charles nodded and opened the door, allowing Dean to precede him inside. Once the door was shut, he walked over to Blair, who was dozing, and said gently, "Blair? My friend is here to talk to you about what happened."

Blair groaned, then opened his eyes. "Charlie?"

"Yeah, Blair. And this," he said, indicating Dean, "is Detective Dean Wilcox. I'm going to leave you two alone, but I'll be back, all right?"

Blair nodded and as Charles started to leave, the doctor said, "Blair, Dean's a good guy. You can trust him."

___________


Dean wasn't prepared to recognize the man lying on his side, a pale green blanket pulled up to his shoulder, but know him, he did. As he put out his hand and the young man on the table extended his cautiously, Dean said with a warm, encouraging smile, "I think we've seen each other at the station."

Blair nodded and winced as he pulled his hand back. But not before Dean spotted the badly bruised wrist.

"You ride with Ellison, right?"

"Yeah. And thanks--for this."

Dean shrugged. "Hey, it's what we do."

Dean pulled the stool towards him and promptly sat down. He could tell from the shocky gaze of the man on the table that he'd need to go slow, as much for the shock of what happened to him, as for the shame Blair was experiencing when thinking of his work with the PD.

As Dean rolled closer to the table, he asked easily, "So how long have you known Charles?"

"Over ten years. We took a few classes together."

"Ah."

"You two?"

"A few months. Met him at Cascade General while on a case."

"Ah," Blair mimicked. Both men smiled, although Blair's was weak.

"So, what can you tell me, Blair?"

"Nothing. I woke up in a motel room, don't know how I got there, and then I came here."

The brevity told Dean more than Blair realized. "Have you tried to remember?"

Blair closed his eyes. "Yes," he whispered.

"So tell me what you've come up with, Blair."

"I told you--nothing."

Accepting that, Dean asked softly, "What was the last thing you ate?"

Blair's eyes opened and he frowned. "Ate?"

"Yeah, what's the last thing you ate?"

Blair thought about it for a minute, then said, "Pretzels--I think."

"At home or out?"

Blair's eyes widened in shock, then his expression changed to admiration. "Man, you *are* good. We don't have pretzels at home."

Dean smiled. "And where's home?"

"852 Prospect Avenue. Number 307."

"Who's *we*?"

"I room with Jim. It's his place."

Dean let that go as a memory kicked in regarding a conversation he'd overhead about Ellison *letting some hippie move in with him*.

"Okay, so you had the pretzels out. Were you sitting at a table in a restaurant, or--"

"Bar," Blair said, as if just remembering. Then in amazement, "I was in this bar, not far from home."

"Good, good, we're getting somewhere. Remember the name?"

"It had to be--Kelbo's. I--walked. Yeah, I walked. But--I didn't stay."

"I wouldn't either, Kelbo's is a dive." He waited for the grin and when he got it, said, "All right, so you walked to Kelbo's. Got the exact address?" At Blair's expression, he shook his head. "Never mind, I can look it up. So you left Kelbo's. What next?"

"I--I remember--it was--I didn't like it there--"

Dean nodded reassuringly as he said, "Kelbo's. Dive."

No smile this time."Yeah. I left."

Dean could tell he was losing Blair so he reached out carefully and placed a hand on the younger man's arm. "You left. And you--what--walked some more?"

Blair frowned in concentration. "I--yeah. I walked. I remembered a new place--a new club--"

A spark of memory surfaced for Dean and he hazarded, "Could it have been a place called The Drumroll?"

Blair's expression cleared. "Yeah," he said excitedly, "Yeah, The Drumroll." Then he smiled brilliantly, "I had a Martini. Never had one before."

"Charles loves the chocolate Martinis at the Crow's Nest."

"I had a plain one. I almost asked for it to be shaken not stirred, but I chickened out. I'm not the James Bond type."

"I'd a done it anyway," Dean confided with a grin.

"You're the type--like Jim."

"Charles says I'm more like Inspector Clouseau."

Blair chuckled at that, then went serious again. "I think I had two drinks. But--but--I'm pretty sure I only paid--for one."

"That's good, Blair. Very good. So you think the second drink might have been given to you?"

Blair's brow wrinkled again as he fought to remember--

"I think so. A waitress--yeah, a waitress said it came from someone at--the bar."

"Do you remember where you sat, Blair?"

"Upstairs. Near--the staircase."

"Excellent. Did you speak with anyone?"

Blair shook his head, then asked out of the blue, "You don't take notes."

Dean tapped his head. "Photographic memory."


"That's cool--for reading, but I'm talking."

Dean laughed out loud. "Yeah, well," he finally said, "it works for listening too. Want me to *read* back everything you've said so far?"

Blair smiled. "Nah. I can do that too. Drives Jim nu--" his voice faded and his eyes darkened.

"So where were we?"

"You didn't talk to anyone."

"Right. Except the waitress, of course."

"Of course. Did anyone approach you while you were there?"

Again Blair shook his head.

"You sure?"

"Pretty sure. I just sat, listened to the music and watched the dancers."

"Blair, do you know what time you may have arrived at the Drumroll?"

"Um--late. I think. I--didn't go out--til--after eleven--I think."

"All right. And you didn't stay long at Kelbo's, correct?"

Blair nodded.

"Okay, what next?"

Blair's eyes glazed over as he shook his head. "I don't--I mean, after the second drink--I--"

"Nothing at all? Not even a glimmer?"

Blair shook his head again--miserably. "Sorry."

"No, don't be. I'd bet the second drink held the drug. You've already remembered more than I would have thought possible. You've given us a great deal to go on, Blair. Now you rest while I go talk a bit with Charlie. And thanks."

He got up and patted Blair gently on the shoulder before walking out.

___________


Blair closed his eyes. He'd just been interrogated and very well. Jim would have handled it just as well--not necessarily with Blair, but with anyone else.

God, he was exhausted. He could hear the murmur of voices next door, probably Charlie's partner with another patient, and in the background, the sound of some kind of motor. All together, the noise worked as drug and lulled Blair to sleep.

Strange, he thought, just before drifting off, that only here, only now could he sleep. He wondered why in a hospital or clinic, a person could drift off when they wouldn't be able to at home--

_____________


Dean walked down the hall to Charlie's office and knocked, then stepped in. Sheila was seated on the small couch.

"Got everything?" he asked as took the chair opposite Charlie's desk.

Sheila pointed to a box at her feet. "Got it. Signed, sealed and delivered.

"Where's Charlie?"

"He'll be right back. Went to get me a cup of coffee."

"Mmm."

"Well? How did it go?"

Dean picked up one of Charlie's pens and stated to click it open--then closed. "Not bad. He remembers a great deal more than I expected. Did you get a team over to the Vineyard?"

"Yeah. Mulcahey and Simmons. The cleaning crew hadn't finished their rounds. I think we might be in luck."

"Good, good."

Sheila cocked her head at her partner. "You seem-- a bit preoccupied.What's wrong?"

Hazel eyes met dark brown. "This doesn't bother you? I mean, okay, Blair isn't a cop, but you've heard what I have. He and Ellison--shit, just thinking about it--"

"So you're saying he's one of ours?"

"Don't you think so?"

Sheila shook her head. "No, not at all. He's an anthropologist, not a cop. And does it really matter? He's a victim, Deano."

Dean stood up, anger in every line of his body. "You haven't been at this long enough to sound that cold, Sheila."

"And you've been at this long enough *not* to take a case personally," she shot back. "Blair Sandburg is damn lucky, Dean. Lucky that he *wasn't* a victim of the Rumbler. Lucky he wasn't thrown from a car going thirty miles an hour."

"And that makes this case less? Is that what you're saying, Sheila? Because Blair wasn't--"

Now Sheila stood. "You know damn well that's not what I'm saying. And what's with you? Why is this one bothering you more than usual?"

Dean, face suffused with color, stepped into his partner's space. "Whether you think of that man in there," he pointed to the wall behind them, "as a cop or not, the fact is that *we're* here taking this report--*not* Major Crime. Now why do you suppose that is, huh?"

"What the hell is going on in here?"

Both Sheila and Dean turned to find Charles standing in the doorway. He quickly shut the door and repeated his question. "Well? What the hell is going on?"

Sheila blushed, then said, "Basically, your life partner has been educating me, but I'm stubborn and it took a few minutes."

Dean shoved his hands in his pocket and grinned. "Sorry if we got a bit too loud, Charlie."

Green eyes zipped between the two, then Charles walked to his desk and sat down. "Everything go all right with Blair?"

Dean returned to his seat and said, "Fine. I just need you to fill us in on his injuries and any conclusions you made."

"He's badly bruised--all over. Several bite marks, some deep. If you get the guy, you'll have dental evidence. I'd say that at some point, Blair fought him."

Sheila sat forward from her place back on the couch. "You mean there was some awareness?"

Charlie nodded, his face darkening. "That's exactly what I'm saying. There are defense wounds and bruising. Blair fought whatever drug was used and he fought his assailant. I took samples of skin from under Blair's fingernails.

"There was no semen present so I'm pretty sure a condom was used. But I took scrapings from around a couple of the bite marks. We can hope there's enough saliva to provide a DNA match."

"You going to hospitalize him?"

Charles shook his head. "No, I don't think that would benefit Blair. He'll do better at home."

Both detectives rose, Sheila picking up the evidence box. "I'll just head out to the car, okay, Dean?"

"Yeah, be right there."

She smiled, then walked out, shutting the door behind her.

"You okay, Charlie?"

"Yeah. But there's something really wrong with all of this, Dean."

"Besides the obvious?"

"I'm going to ignore that. Look, I just don't get what circumstances would put Blair in harm's way like this. I mean, where was Ellison? Where the hell was Blair's partner?"

Dean walked behind Charles and started to massage his neck and shoulders. "Are Blair and Ellison--"

"No. But if you want my opinion, it's not because Blair wouldn't want it. He's been in love with Ellison for a while."

"Which provides us with another clue as to why I'm here instead of Major Crime."

"And why Blair didn't want to report it to begin with."

Dean leaned down and kissed Charles' temple. "Sorry, babe. I know it's hard."

"You don't know the half of it. Blair is--different, Dean. He's--special."

"Smart, too. And strong, Charlie. He's *very* strong. Don't sell him short. He'll survive this."

"I wonder."


##############
The Pain of Love

part 4

#############


"Simon, got a minute?"

The man in question looked up and immediately waved Joel in. "Sit, take a load off."

Joel shook his head and said, "Only have a few minutes. Conner and I have to interview Wilson."

"Right. So what's up?"

Joel fidgeted a bit, then said, "Heard any rumors about the Commissioner kicking the Rumbler upstairs to us?"

Simon shook his head warily. "No-o, but I take it you have?"

"Well, in a way. Word in the halls is that the minute they have a fifth victim, it's ours. And the rumor is--Detective Wilcox went out on number five about two hours ago. I know you and Captain Lomax go way back--"

Simon rose and reached for his jacket. "I get it, Joel. Thanks for the head's up. I think I'll just stroll down there now, sound him out."

_____________


Blair thought he should really get up, get dressed and go ho--

"Aw, God," he groaned, remembering.

There was no way he could go back to the loft.

No. Way.

He had to stay somewhere else for a while. Make up some excuse--maybe a sick friend?

Oh, that's ripe. A sick friend. Ha-ha.

Okay, house-sitting. Ooh, that's good. Perfect. Now all he had to do was find the house to sit.

Man, he so needed another pain pill. He really did.

He idly wondered how long he could stay in this treatment room. All day? The night? He chuckled dryly.

"Man, you are losing it," Blair whispered to the empty room.

Yes, he was. Funny how you didn't have to remember something for it to--alter you. Although, in his case, everytime he moved, he knew.

Like, who needs to remember? And wasn't this a coincidence? He was being punished at Rainier because of the pulled endowments and the endowments had been pulled because of a snot-nosed rich kid who'd date-raped one of Blair's students. How was that for--karma?

All right, that was the simplified version, but still--

Had Blair been date--raped? Didn't you have to *be* on a date? *Had* he been on a date? No, he knew he hadn't, but had he met someone at Drumroll? Maybe just had too much to drink, went back to this mysterious stranger's place, then--

Then what, Sandburg? Then you *let* him do this to you? Let implies memory and free will.
You don't remember, which means you probably didn't have free will, and guess what? That's rape. Even if you went back to his place willingly.

But maybe--you didn't say no.

Maybe you did.

Yeah? Well, maybe you're going crazy. Like, when was the last time you were with a *guy*, eh, big shot? Okay, so it's been awhile. A long while. But still--

Oh shut up.

Right. He could do that.

Think of something--good. And tall. And built.

Jim.

Safe Jim. Who was probably sitting at his desk right now, on the phone with Lily--

Jim wasn't so safe. Jim kept not choosing Blair. Jim stupid.

Blair smiled sleepily. Jim stupid. Yeah.

Except--now it was a very good thing that Jim had never chosen Blair. But damn, why did he have to choose an Alex clone? Couldn't he have just punched Blair in the face instead?

Blair decided to get up and get on with things. Enough lying around a clinic doing nothing. And he had to find a place to stay--

__________


Charles walked down the hall toward room 2 and heard the thud. He ran. A moment later he burst in and found Blair on the floor. Rushing to his side, he said, "Jesus, Blair, what the hell were you trying to do?"

"Get up, just get--up. Go. Get dressed."

Charles put his arm around Blair's waist and helped him stand. "You have no clothes to get dressed in*to*, Blair. Dean has them. Evidence, remember?"

They were standing and as Charles moved Blair back to the table and helped him up, he said, "I have some scrubs here, I was going to loan them to you til you got home."

"Not going home," Blair said stubbornly. "Can't go home. *Won't* go home."

"Okay, okay, no problem, kind of anticipated that. You can stay with me and Dean, okay?"

"No, no, I'll go somewhere. A motel--" Blair's voice died away, then with a hitch of breath, he said, "Hotel. I'll stay at a hotel."

"No, you'll stay with us. You know damn well I have a spare room."

Blair dropped back onto his side, wincing and biting back a groan. "No, I really can't, Charlie. But thanks."

Charles pulled the blanket back up and said, "Blair, you need someone to watch over you. Now, either I call Jim or you come home with me. Which one?"

"You wouldn't--I can't--Charlie?"

"Blair, I don't pretend to know what you're going though, but you can't be alone right now."

Blair sighed, knowing that Charlie was right, damn it. "I'm sorry, Charlie."

"Don't say that anymore, okay? I feel like a rejected myopic tuna."

Blair smiled. "Sorry, *Doctor* Kobyoshi."

"Look, it'll be awhile before I can leave, so why don't you get some more rest? I'll bring in a pair of scrubs later, all right?"

"Thanks. I--" Blair closed his eyes again. "I--"

"Go to sleep, Blair."

_____________

Dean picked up his completed preliminary report and walked back to his desk. He hated the fact that the printer was around the corner. And not because he was lazy--exactly. He smiled to himself and sat down. He signed the original, then the copies. He was just putting the original into a file when he heard his captain's voice.

"Simon, you've met Detective Wilcox, right?"

Dean turned and found himself facing Captain Lomax and--Captain Simon Banks. He rose quickly and unobtrusively closed the file. "Good to see you again, Captain Banks."

"You too, Detective. Captain Lomax and I were just playing catch up with each other."

Lomax smiled and said, "That's a bold-faced lie, Dean. Simon came down here to beat the Commissioner to the punch."

Dean quirked one eyebrow. "Sir?"

"Before the Commissioner can pull the Rumbler from us, Simon is offering a joint collaboration between our two departments."

Dean looked from one man to the other, but before he could respond, Lomax asked, "I'm correct that this new victim isn't number five, right?"

"Um, well, we don't know for sure, and won't, until we get the results back from the blood test, but no, I don't believe so."

"Good. Let's hope this bastard gives us a break. What can you tell me about the new case?"

"Uh, nothing, yet, Sir--"

"Isn't that your report there?" Lomax indicated the green folder and before Dean could do anything, his captain was lifting it and opening it.

"Um, yes, sir, it is--"

Dean watched helplessly as Captain Banks looked at the report as offered by Lomax. And he watched as the big man's face paled dramatically.

"This report says your victim was Blair Sandburg. Is this correct?" Banks demanded.

"Yes, sir."

______________


Jim gazed over at the phone and for the fifth time in as many minutes, he reached--and dropped his hand. Then he reached again, and this time, he picked it up and dialed the university.

//Rainer University, Anthropology Department, This is Gail, may I help you?//

"Yes, I'd like to speak with Blair Sandburg, please."

//I'm sorry, Mr. Sandburg called in ill today. Would you care to speak to anyone--//

"No, no," Jim interrupted. "I'll try--I'll call him later. Thank you."

He put the phone down. Ill? Blair had called in sick? Jim dialed home.

//This is the Ellison residence. We're refusing to answer simply becausewe can. Leave a message at the you-know-what.//

Jim closed his eyes. Guess that was one way to hear Sandburg's voice. At the beep, he said, "Blair? Pick up. I know you're sick, now pick up."

Nothing happened. Damn, what was going on?

____________


"I'm sorry, Captain Banks, but Blair specifically asked that--you--not be informed." When there was no response, he rushed on.

"Doctor Charles Kobyoshi is a friend of Blair's and when Blair refused to allow--anyone--at Major Crime to be called, well, he called me."

Simon was reading the words that told him that Blair Sandburg had been raped. His heart was stuck in his throat and he was having difficulty breathing.

"This--isn't possible." Simon looked up and with greater conviction, repeated, "This isn't possible. Blair was home last night, with his partner. He went to bed around eleven. This," Simon waved the report in the air angrily, "simply is not possible."

The three men had moved into Lomax's office the minute Simon had read Blair's name on the report and now Lomax leaned forward. "What do you mean?"

Simon tossed the report haphazardly onto the desk. "I mean, there is no way my man could be your victim. At ten thirty last night, he was at home, with Detective Jim Ellison, and Ellison's date. At around eleven, Blair excused himself and went to bed. Could I make it any clearer?
"There's no way Blair was at some bar called Kelbo's, let alone this club, the Drumroll."

Lomax glanced over at his detective. "Wilcox?"

Dean thought back to his interview with Blair, to the way the younger man had answered his questions--and to the way his face had darkened at the mention of Jim Ellison--

A suspicion began to form and he didn't like it.

"Dean, you've seen Mr. Sandburg around the station, haven't you?"

Dean nodded slightly.

"And the man you interviewed earlier, at the Crestview Clinic?"

"It was him, Captain."

The sudden coldness of the detective's voice brought Simon's head up. "And I'm saying that he couldn't have been--"

"Maybe it didn't happen quite the way Blair--Mr. Sandburg--stated. Maybe he was protecting someone, Captain Banks," Dean said, his new suspicions causing him to speak more harshly then intended.

Simon rose to his full height. "What are you implying, *Detective*?"

"Simon, take it easy," Lomax said quietly.

Taking two deep breaths, Simon turned his attention to Wilcox. "Are you suggesting that Sandburg is protecting--his--partner?"

"Look, Captain Banks, you say Mr. Sandburg couldn't have been at the Drumroll. Okay then. Why would he say that he was? And he *did* refuse to allow Doctor Kobyoshi to report it, until he was assured that it wouldn't be reported to--Major Crime."

"I think we're all getting a bit ahead of the facts," Lomax stated in an effort to calm the situation. "Dean, have you heard from Simmons yet?"

"No sir. They're still checking out the Vineyard."

"When were you and Ramsdale planning on checking out Kelbo's and this club, the Drumroll?"

"Later this afternoon. Drumroll opens at five and the bartender who was on duty at Kelbo's last night won't be in until seven. We've tried to reach him at home, but so far, no luck."

"All right then. Until we have more, let's take this at face value. We're investigating a possible attack that began at Drumroll. Got it, Dean?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. You're excused."

___________


"Bill, I'm telling you--"

Lomax held up one hand. "I know, Simon. I know. Go upstairs, talk with Ellison. I'm sure there's a logical explanation. But I think, for now, this case had better stay down here, don't you?"

Simon stared at his old friend, his face registering shock. "Bill, how did this happen? I came down here to--"

"I know. Go upstairs, talk to your man, then get over to the clinic."

"You're a good friend, Bill."

______________


"Okay, you feeling up to this?"

Blair was standing by the examining table wearing a pair of sickly green scrubs. He blinked at his friend, then nodded. "Sure, sure. And Charlie? Thanks."

"Stuff it, Blair," Charles said with a grin. "I've got a pocketful of prescriptions for you, and my chariot awaits."

The walk out to the car was arduous for Blair and by the time they got to Charlie's car, he was sweating profusely. Charlie got the door unlocked, then said, "I'm thinking the backseat? You can stretch out on your side?"

"I'm thinking--you're right." With Charlie's help, Blair managed to get in with minimum discomfort.

"All right, we're off."

The drive took fifteen minutes and Blair felt every bump and pothole. By the time Charles pulled into his driveway, Blair was beginning to realize that he'd made a mistake. That letting Charlie and Dean take him in was a very bad thing. Unfortunately, his mind was too fuzzy to tell
him why.

"All right, let's get you inside."

Charlie's voice brought home the fact that Blair would now have to--move.

__________


Charles kicked the door shut behind him and said, "You want to go directly to the spare room, or would you prefer lying out here? Maybe you're hungry?"

"No, no, not hungry. I--just wherever, Charlie. Wherever."

"Okay, let's get you to bed."

With his arm around Blair's waist, Charles guided Blair down a long hall and into a bedroom. Blair gazed blearily around him.

"Nice."

"Second best view in the house. The backyard curves around so both bedrooms overlook it. Dean re-did the landscaping when he moved in with me. He's brilliant."

Blair looked up at his friend and said quietly, "I'm sorry, Charles."

Charles slid the sliding glass door open and at Blair's words, turned around. "Tell me we're not going over the whole *staying here* thing?"

"No, not that--yet. Save that for later. I mean--us."

"Ah. Us. You mean the fact that both of us have been too busy to do much in the communications department? Or did it skip your notice that I haven't been any more communicative than you?"

"Oh, yeah. You haven't been, have you?"

"Nope. Thought about it, but never got around to it. Mea culpa."

Blair yawned, then said with a small smile, "Double mea culpa."

"Funny me ending up with a cop though."

"Yeah, considering all the smart-assed remarks about me ending up *working* with one."

They smiled at each other.

"Lie down, Blair. Go to sleep. I'll wake you later--"

"Have to--do something--about--Jim. Gotta call him."

"I'll handle that for you. Tell him what he needs to know--"

"NO!"

The yell was so piercing that Charles nearly leapt to Blair's side. He dropped an easy arm over his shoulders.

"Okay, okay--"

"Can't know, Charlie. Need to tell him--just--I'll tell him I'm staying--with friends. Not a lie. He won't--care."

"All right, however you want to play it. But Blair, the case *is* being investigated. Dean will be discreet, but come on, you can't seriously think--"

Blair's body slumped and it was almost as if all the air had been let out of him. "Just--for--as long--please?"

"Okay, Blair. The phone is over there, on the nightstand."

"Thank you."

"Blair?"

As he looked up, dull blue eyes trying to focus, Charles asked, "Are we good friends?"

"Yes."

"Do we go back several years?"

"Yes."

"Did you help me out of a real mess?"

"No."

Charles gave Blair a small playful punch in the arm. "Did so and you know it. What I'm getting at, is that you don't have to say 'thank you' or 'I'm sorry' anymore. Understood?"

"Yes."

"Good." Charles started for the door. As he was about to walk out into the hall, Blair said, "Charlie?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry--and thank you."

"You stinker."

"Yep."


###########
Pain of Love

part 5

###########


Blair was getting mighty tired of being on his side. Of course, the alternative was--not good, but hey, at least he had a nice view. Lush greenery, a riot of color and bird life in the form of roses and small hummingbirds that zipped in and around the bushes and trees.

Funny, here he was on a comfortable bed in a bright, cheery room, surrounded by silence, and yet--he couldn't close his eyes. His body wasscreaming its need for sleep, something he'd been able to do easily at the clinic, but now, no dice.

Weird.

He should be able to do this because it wasn't as if he had a memory that could invade his sleep. There would be no face to take over his dreams, there'd be--nothing.

Except--everytime he did close his eyes, he was hit with an unbelievable sense of claustrophobia. Not to mention the feeling of being suffocated. And should he mention the --darkness? The fucking darkness?

Well, duh, Sandburg. You close your eyes and it's like, dark. Yeah, but usually that's a good thing and now when he tried, he felt trapped and without any control.

Like--Jim.

At that sudden -- comparison, Blair sat up and immediately regretted it, but he didn't slide back down. Oh, man, no wonder Jim fought the whole sentinel thing every step of the way. No wonder surrendering so much to Blair had been so fucking difficult. God, if Jim felt even half of the control loss that Blair was currently experiencing, no wonder he hated being a sentinel.

God, what had he been doing to Jim all these years? But he knew. He'd been pushing Jim, forcing--

Forcing.

Blair's world split apart, green, blue and brown pieces scattering to the four winds, and it took every ounce of will-power that Blair possessed not to scream to the heavens in anguish. His chest was heavingas he tried to breathe, tears coursing down his cheeks. His body shook with silent wracking sobs as he realized that he was no better than the mother-fucking bastard who'd--

Blair couldn't breathe--he tried to bring air into his tortured lungs but he couldn't do it. He struggled off the bed and the room spun wildly-- "Jim--" he managed to gasp out as he dropped to his knees. "Jim--forgive--me. Dear God--forgive--"

Light faded--

________________


Simon stalked into the bullpen only to find Jim's desk empty.

"Brown, where's Ellison?" he snapped out.

"Said something about going home, that Sandburg had called in sick today. Guess he wanted to check in on him."

"How long ago?"

Brown stared at his captain, then he coughed and said, "Um, about--thirty minutes ago, Sir."

"Fuck." Simon turned and walked out, leaving a stunned Brown behind.

Simon never used--not at work anyway--

What the hell was going on?

_____________


As he rode down to the main floor, Simon took out his phone and punched in Jim's cell number. It rang three times, then--

//Sandburg, tell me this is you--//

"Sorry to disappoint, Ellison. Where are you?"

//Sorry, Sir. I'm at the loft. Blair called in--//

"I'm well aware of what Sandburg did. Stay there. I'm on my way."

//Sir?//

"Just do it, Jim. I'll be there in ten."

//Has something happened--//

Simon hung up.

________________


Simon wasn't surprised to find Jim standing in the doorway of 307 when he stepped out of the elevator.

"Sir?"

"Inside."

Simon swept in, followed closely by Jim. When the door was shut, Simon took a seat at the dining room table. With a worried look, Jim followed suit.

"Tell me again about last night, Jim. It's important."

"Tell--you--what exactly? What *about* last night?"

"Tell me everything that happened from the moment you and Lily walked in the door."

Uncertain of where this was going, but sensing the seriousness of the question, Jim nodded.

"O-kay. We got in about ten thirty. The loft was dark but Blair was sitting on the couch. I turned on the light, we exchanged the usual pleasantries, then Blair excused himself and went to bed. Lily and I sat on the couch and eventually, I turned out the light so that we could watch the city lights. We fell asleep like that.

"When I woke up the next morning, Lily was gone but she'd left a note," Jim looked away, "on my chest. I got up, got dressed, Blair was still asleep. I left and went to work."

"So you and Lily spent the night on the couch?"

"Yeah."

"How did Blair look when you two arrived?"

"You know, I'm being real patient here, Simon. But it's about gone--"

"How. Did. He. Look?"

"Tired, okay? Fucking tired. Like he's been looking for weeks."

"What time do you think Lily left?"

Jim's eyes narrowed dangerously, but all he did was to rise, walk over to the couch and then picked something up off the coffee table. "Here, read it yourself."

Simon caught the note Jim tossed and read it. "Doesn't really say what time--"

"GOD DAMN IT, SIMON! JUST TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?"

"You *tell* me, Detective." Simon stood up, eyes blazing.

"You tell me," he hissed out, "how the hell Blair Sandburg could leave this God damned apartment around eleven last night and you not know it. You tell me how you can stand there and say that when you got up this morning, Blair was still asleep, when in actuality, he was lying in some motel room, bruised and bleeding, the apparent victim of a rape. You tell me that, O GREAT FUCKING SENTINEL!"

______________


Blair blinked up at Charlie. He looked around, then frowned. Charlie was holding a paper bag to Blair's face.

"You okay, Blair?"

Blair nodded. "Wha' happened?" he asked as he pushed the bag away and tried to sit up.

"Whoa, take it easy. You had a panic attack. Lucky I sometimes brown bag it for lunch, buddy."

Charles helped him sit up, then guided him back so he was resting up against the side of the bed.

"You really had me scared, Blair. You weren't listening to me, I couldn't get you to focus, man, I was ready to call it in."

Blair started to apologize, but Charles, sensing it, smiled and said, "Don't even think about it."

Blair dropped his head back and listened to his breathing. He sounded--okay.

"When was the last panic attack for you, Blair?"

"Years ago. Years and years ago."

One eyebrow arched in disbelief. "Oh yeah? Just how many years and years ago?"

"Mm, three."

"You're impossible."

Blair had to agree. He leaned forward and started to get up, Charles quickly giving him a hand. Together, they managed to get Blair back into bed. As Charles brought up the covers, he said, "I'm going to give you a mild sedative, Blair, all right?"

Blair shrugged submissively. Charles hurried out and reappeared a few minutes later. He held out both hands. "Here. Water and a magic pill. Take them."

Blair stared at the glass and Charlie's open palm. He took the pill, swallowed it, then drank down the entire glass of water. As Charlie placed the cup on the nightstand, he asked, "Did you call Jim?"

"Left him a message at the station."

"Okay. I still think you should tell him, Blair."

"Yeah, yeah. But I'm not going to, unless he somehow hears about it. My decision."

Charles sat down on the edge of the bed. "You remember Monique Baker?"

"Mmm, in one of our Psych classes?"

Charlie nodded. "She's a psychologist now. She specializes in--"

"Let me guess. She specializes in helping rape victims."

"Gee, how'd you guess?"

"Ha-ha. And no, I'm not ready to think along the lines of counseling. I don't even know what happened, Charlie. For all any of us know, I asked for this, participated in it. I feel bad enough that Dean is investigating--"

"Which one of us is a doctor?"

"Um--you? If you don't count me, in all but my fucking dissertation, that is."

"You are the most stubborn," Charles stopped, then sighed. "Which one of us," he tried again, "is a practicing physician?"

"That would be you."

"So if I tell you that you fought your assailant, are you going to believe me?"

"Maybe I didn't like--maybe I said--"

"No? Maybe you said fucking NO?"

"Oh shut up."

"Just think about seeing her, or calling her, okay?"

"Sure. But if you think that little display of--"

"Little? That was *not* a *little* panic attack, Mr. Sandburg. That was an *almost call the coroner* panic attack."

"Whatever," Blair waved his hand aimlessly, "the point is, it wasn't about--what happened. It was--something else. Something I realized, okay?"

"Care to share?"

"In a word: no. But suffice it to say that I came face to face with myself, and I didn't like what I saw, and man, what the hell did you give me?"

Charles smiled and patted Blair's cheek. "Feeling sleepy?"

"You shit."

_____________


Jim's legs buckled and if Simon hadn't jumped up and caught him, he'd have hit the floor.

"Jesus," Simon ground out in shock as he put his arm around his friend and helped him over to the couch

Over the years, Simon had seen Jim in several terrible circumstances: kneeling over the dead body of a woman he loved; immediately following a harrowing experience undercover in a prison; at the Temple of the Sentinels, watching as another sentinel was carried away, her brain
fried to nothing; and bent over his drowned friend while trying to force said friend to breathe. None of those could have even remotely prepared him for the Jim he was observing now.

Shaken to his core, pale and sweating, eyes unfocused, Jim had aged twenty years in two minutes. His breathing was shallow and based on the sound of it; painful. No, Simon had never seen Jim Ellison like this.

Suddenly exhausted, Simon sank down beside his friend and closed his eyes wearily.

______________


"I turned everything off, Simon."

Banks opened his eyes and turned his head. "What?"

Jim was staring straight ahead, his voice almost dead as he repeated, "I turned everything off. Down. Whatever. I never heard Blair leave. Couldn't know he was gone this morning. I turned everything off."

Finally--the last three weeks made sense.

"That's why you've been so weird. You've been driving Conner crazy."

Jim didn't respond. Instead he rose and headed for the door. "Where is he, Simon? Which hospital?"

"He isn't in a hospital, Jim. And letting you see him right now--well, that wouldn't be wise.
You're--a suspect."

Jim's hand froze on the door knob. "I'm--what?"

"You're a suspect. My fault. When I saw the report down in the Sex Crimes Unit I told them it was impossible, that Blair had been home with you--"

Jim still hadn't moved and his body was so still that it scared Simon.

"Where did he go, if not to the hospital?"

"A clinic run by a fri--" Simon got no further. Jim was at the phone and dialing.

"Yes, I'd like to speak with Doctor Charles Kobyoshi, please. He has? Could you tell me if Mr. Blair Sandburg is still--yes you can. I'm with the Cascade Police Department. I see, yes, thank you." Jim hung up.

"He's with--Charles. He went home--with Charles."

_____________


Charlie got up and walked out to the living room. For a moment he didn't move any further, just stood thinking. Maybe bringing Blair here had been a mistake and admitting him to a hospital would have been the better choice.


The phone rang before he could go any farther in his thought process. Hoping it was Dean, he picked up quickly.

"Kobyoshi."

//Wilcox.//

"You goof."

//Yep. Just checking in. How is he?//

"I could say as well as could be expected, but he's not behaving in any way expected."

//Well, I'm about to add to the problem.//

"Oh?" Charles said suspiciously.

//Babe, I'm so sorry, but, well, there's a possibility that--Ellison was--Blair's assailant.//

Charles thought there'd been an earthquake.

_____________

Sheila stomped over to her desk and dropped down into her chair, then put her legs up on the desk and crossed them at the ankles. "Nothing, Dean. Absolutely nothing. The bartender, who by the way, does not believe in deodorant, couldn't remember Sandburg. Same thing at the Drumroll."

Dean sat back in his chair and regarded his partner. "Not surprising. What about the motel?"

Sheila scowled. "We struck out. The cleaning crew *had* been there after all. Not that Forensics isn't going over the place with a fine tooth comb, but--"

"Laundry?"

She grimaced. "You're not going to believe me--"

"They ship to some huge plant and their laundry had already been emptied?"

"Give the guy a kewpie doll."

"Anyone talk to the waitresses yet?"

"Yeah, me. The only one who meets the description you wrangled out of Mr. Sandburg couldn't be located. Her boss said she left with *someone*."

"As in a customer?"

"Yep. And she's not on duty until Saturday. We'll keep checking her home and I left a message on her voicemail."

"We're batting a thousand."

"You're telling me. Any idea on when we'll get the drug results?"

"Tomorrow. Charlie told the lab to rush it. Why?"

"Just got a feeling."

Dean leaned forward and rested his arms on his thighs. "Spill."

"Maybe--it was someone he knew. Maybe he wasn't drugged at all."

"He was drugged, of that, there's no doubt. Charlie didn't need a blood test to confirm it. All the test will do is tell us what drug was used."

"Okay, so recreational. And I still say it was someone he knew."

Dean looked down at the floor. "You could--be--right. Captain Banks was here earlier, he saw the report. Said it was impossible, said Sandburg was home last night. With his partner--and his partner's girlfriend."

Sheila's legs came down and she stood up. "You shitting me? And why didn't you say something right away?"

"Calm down and lower your voice."

"God damn it, just because--"

"Sit down and lower your voice."

Sheila, her gaze spitting bullets, sat down. "Okay, okay. But--"

"Look, right now, Captain Lomax says we treat it as reported. There's at least one witness who could corroborate certain facts. I talked with the bus driver of the route that goes by the Vineyard and guess what? He *does* remember Sandburg. Said he looked like shit and got off a short distance from the clinic. Whatever else we might think, he *was* at the motel."

"Lomax and Banks go way back."

"And Jim Ellison is a good cop."

"So, what, we protect him?"

"You know better than that. But until this investigation is complete--"

Sheila raised a hand. "I know, I know. We're not the jury."

"Lecture number?" Dean hinted with a smile.

"I believe 32. Yeah, Dean Wilcox lecture number 32."

"Bingo."


##########
Pain of Love

Part 6

##########

"Do you know where this doctor lives?"

Jim shook his head, eyes staring vacantly ahead.

"Okay, I'll take care of it, Ellison."

Simon picked up the phone and hit redial. A moment later, a woman picked up.

"This is Captain Simon Banks of the Cascade Police Department. I need the phone number of Doctor Kobyoshi." Simon took a pen from his pocket and started writing on the pad by the phone. "Thank you." He dialed the provided number.

//Kobyoshi.//

"My name is Captain Simon Banks, Cascade Police. Blair Sandburg works for me. I understand he's with you?"

//Yes, Captain.//

"I'd appreciate it if you could give me your address?"

There was a pause, then--

//Captain Banks, Blair's asleep right now. I'm aware that you've been informed of what occurred, but I haven't--told Blair yet. He didn't want anyone to know. I guess what I'm saying is--it might not be a good idea to come over here.//

"One of my men has been--hurt. Another one stands possibly accused of doing the--hurting. I need to see Blair."

//Could you hold on for a moment?//

"I'll hold."

___________


Charles put the phone down and headed back to the spare room. He peeked in--

"I'm not asleep, exactly."

Charles smiled and stepped inside. "Hey, that pill should have knocked you out good."

"Yeah, well, take heart, I'm feeling no pain."

"Simon Banks--is on the phone, Blair. He found out. Dean couldn't stop it." When nothing happened, he added, "He wants to come over, to see you."

"No."

Charles moved closer. "Blair--Jim appears to be a suspect. Your captain needs to speak with you about it."

Slowly Blair sat up. He ran his hands through his hair, then rubbed at his face. Hard. "Did I hear you right? Did you just say that *Jim* is a suspect?" At Charles' nod, he said incredulously, "Suspect in what?"

"In your assault."

"I--is this--a joke?"

Charles shook his head and Blair's face seemed to crumple.

"Blair?"

"How do I do this, Charlie? How do I screw up so often and so thoroughly? I didn't mean for any of this to happen, I swear it. But somehow--somehow--"

"He's holding on, Blair," Charles said calmly.

Blair dropped his head down. "Let him come over."

Charles reached over and palmed Blair's cheek. "You can handle this?

"Tell Simon he can come."

_________


Charles picked up the phone. "If you have a pen, Captain Banks, I'll give you directions."

_________


"I'm going with you, Simon."

"Jim, that's suicide. You think I'm going to let a suspect see the victim?"

"I'm no more a suspect than you. Once they talk to Lily, it's over. I'm coming."

"God damn it. Get your fucking coat."

___________


Blair stared at himself in the mirror. He had no doubt that once Lily was interviewed, Jim would no longer be a suspect, but Blair also knew that by then it would be too late, the damage to Jim's career, to his reputation, would be serious and possibly irreversible. There was also the undeniable truth that many would believe that a girlfriend could lie--

Blair had to figure out a way to clear Jim absolutely and immediately. Stop the investigation cold--

The answer came to him. The only answer.

God, he'd never felt so alone in his life.

___________


Dean trudged up the driveway, stooped down and picked up the paper. He wondered how he and Charlie had missed it this morning? As he walked up to the door, he stopped long enough to turn on the sprinklers, then let himself in.

"Oh honey, I'm home," he said quietly, with a smile.

Charlie came out of the kitchen, a dish towel thrown over his shoulder. He'd changed into old jeans and a grey sweater and looked good enough to eat.

"Blair?"

"In the spare room."

Dean took three steps toward his bedmate only to have Charles hold out a hand to stop him. "We're about to have company. Simon Banks."

Dean froze. "What?"

"He's coming over to see Blair." Charles checked his watch. "Ought to be here any minute."

"Shit. This isn't right, Charlie. I'm the investigating officer--"

Charles put his finger on Dean's lips. "I know, but do you really believe that Simon Banks would jeopardize the case?"

Dean nipped at Charlie's finger, then snaked his arm around him. "No, but still--"

"Let's just play it by ear, Dean. Right now, my only concern has to be
my patient."

"Yeah, yeah. But don't forget--me."

The height difference between the two men was slight but still required Charles to lift his head a bit in order to kiss Dean. He let his lips just graze Dean's, then said, "Go change. He'll be here soon."

"You're killing me here, Charlie."

"Save it for tonight, stud."

____________

Simon pulled up in front of the modest home on Elkington Drive and turned off the engine. Without looking at Jim, he said tersely, "Stay in the car for now, Jim. And that's an order."

"I'll stay, for now. But I am going to see him, Simon. Understand that."

Simon got out and shut the door. He walked up the driveway, onto the porch, opened the screen door and knocked. A young Asian man answered, eyes shuttered.

"Captain Banks?"

"Doctor Kobyoshi?"

They both nodded simultaneously and the doctor immediately stepped out of the way.
"Please, come in."

As Simon stepped inside, he said, "Thank you for letting me intrude--"

"Blair's the one who said yes, Captain. If you'll make yourself comfortable, I'll get him."

Before Simon or Charles could move, Dean came in from the backyard. He spotted Simon, wiped his hands on his jeans and stuck out his arm. "Sir."

As Charles headed down the hall, the two men shook, then stood awkwardly.

__________


Charles knocked at the door and stepped in. "Blair, Simon is here."

Blair had been lying on top of the covers and now he rose slowly and shrugging, said, "Okay, let's go."

____________


Simon and Dean remained standing in the middle of the living room, both uncomfortable and unable to speak. When Charles re-entered, Blair by his side, both men gave almost inaudible sighs of relief.

Simon watched Blair walk in and realized just how unprepared he was for this meeting.

Blair looked pale and tired and Simon found himself searching Blair's face and eyes for any kind of clue as to how bad things were. He was shocked to find that Blair offered him no indication of what he was feeling.

"Hey, Simon, sorry about all this."

"No problem, Sandburg. Are you--all--right?"

"Hell yeah. Charlie here is just kind of paranoid and didn't want me to be alone. You know doctors."

Simon's brown eyes moved hesitantly toward Charles, then back to Blair. "Yeah, well, doctors usually know what they're doing."

"Yeah. Usually." Blair smiled a bit, then took two more steps into the living room. "Look, Simon, this whole thing is a big mistake." Blair turned to face Dean. "I am so sorry, man. I was just so fuzzy earlier and -- look, it's real simple. I had a late date. No biggie. We were supposed to meet at Kelbo's but he didn't show." Blair shrugged sheepishly, then said, "I guess I was really pissed and had too much to drink. I decided if the asshole could stand me up, well, I was primed, you know? Ready for a night out. So I decided to check out the Drumroll.

"I hooked up with this guy, he had a roommate and well, guess what? So did I, so we agreed to go to a motel. Things got real fuzzy then, and man, I admit, I was flying. Anyway, obviously things got out of hand, but there was no wrong doing on anyone's part, you know? Just--things--just got out of hand."

Blair finished, his voice trailing off. He glanced back at Dean and said, "I am so sorry, Dean. I guess--earlier--I was so embarrassed and I'd really had too much to drink and--well, there's no victim here. No victim."

Dean started to say something, but Charles put out a hand and rested it on Dean's arm. "Look, we're going to make ourselves scarce so you two--"

"No need, Charles. None. In fact, Simon, maybe you'd give me a ride back home? Back to the loft?"

Simon's mouth was open. He closed it.

"Sandburg, tell me you're making this up. Just tell me that."

Blair's face went slightly pink. "Simon, you know me. This has all been a mistake. My fault entirely."

Simon's dark eyes glittered behind his glasses. He ran a hand over his the top of his head. "What do you think is going to happen now, Sandburg?"

"I don't--know. I have no plans to press any charges against the guy--"

Dean jumped in at that point. "So you're saying you know who did--who you were with?"

"It was a one-night stand, Detective Wilcox. Do you get that?"

"You were drugged, Blair," Dean persisted.

"God knows what we drank or took. It was a wild--night." He looked at each man and letting his voice rise slightly, said, "Look, I admit I didn't remember much before, I'd had a *lot* to drink, okay?"

"Jim's outside, Blair. Maybe you'd like to tell *him* what you just told me?" Simon offered, his voice cold.

Blue eyes skittered to the door, then back to Simon. "Sure, why not?" He walked slowly to the door, opened it and went outside.

___________


Jim had been watching the house and was about to storm the bastille when the front door opened and Blair stepped out. Jim jumped out of the car and ran up the driveway. He got half-way when Blair said, "Man, I really screwed up this time, Jim."

If Blair hadn't been smiling, Jim might have believed he was blaming himself for the rape, but damn, Blair *was* smiling. Sheepishly. Like a kid who'd been caught with his fingers in the cookie jar.

"Sandburg?"

"It's all been a big mistake. I had a date last night. A late date. Things went south on me, that's all. Look, I'm going back inside and get my stuff, then you two can drop me back home, okay?"

"Sandburg, what kind of date leaves you injured and alone in a motel room? What, you were dating Wonder Woman?"

"Get real, Jim. The date was a guy and he never showed. I picked somebody up. We got a little--rough. That's all."

____________


Charles looked from Dean to Captain Banks, then said, "I'm going to go put some things together for Blair--"

Dean didn't look at him, neither did Banks. Charles shook his head and walked out.

He hurried down the hall and spent the next few minutes gathering together Blair's prescriptions and other necessary items. He stuffed them into the same bag he'd used on Blair earlier. By the time he re-entered the living room, Blair was standing there, doing his best *not* to look at anyone.

"You'll need this." Charles held out the bag and Blair took it gratefully.

"Thanks, man. And thank you for all you've done today."

"No problem. I'll expect you in my office in two days, all right?"

Blair nodded and started toward the door, Simon silently following him.

___________


"Dean--"

"Don't say anything, Charlie."

"Dean, Blair was lying. He's protecting Jim."

Wilcox turned on him, eyes blazing with anger. "So you're telling me I just let Ellison go?"

"Jim Ellison didn't do anything. Don't you get it? Blair was doing for Jim exactly what I'd have done for you, you idiot. Protecting his reputation and career. Last night Blair Sandburg was drugged, basically taken out of that club against his will and raped in that fucking motel by some sick pervert, *not* Jim Ellison."

Dean's hazel eyes, which had gone dark and glittery, softened as he looked at his lover. "Why would Blair do what he just did, knowing that as soon as we interviewed the woman Ellison was with, Ellison would no longer be a suspect?"

Charles moved into Dean's space and wrapped his arms around Dean's waist. "You know why, Deano, you know why."

"This isn't good, Charlie--"

"You think I don't know that? Blair's going to need real help, Dean. And so will Jim Ellison."

Dean ran his hand through the silky fine, jet black hair of his lover and rested his cheek against Charlie's. "Why did you let him?"

"He's my friend. And the alternative would have been worse, in the long run, for Blair. Much worse."

"I guess this case is still very much open."

"Oh, yeah."

_____________

Blair sat in the backseat staring out the window. Both Jim and Simon were stiff and silent in the front. Blair would have given anything for another pain pill--or two--or three. When Simon pulled up in front of Prospect, Blair barely allowed the car to come to a stop before he was out.

"I'm going on up and to bed, guys. Jim, I'll see you later, uh?"

Jim slowly opened the door and stepped out. "No, not later. I'll see you up, make sure--"

Blair waved his hand and the bag he held, in the air. "No, you go to work. I'm fine, really."

Simon leaned over and said out the window, "Jim, we need to talk."

Blair started to back up. "I'm on my way--"

Jim held out a key chain. "You'll need this, Sandburg."

"Oh, yeah, right." Blair grabbed the keys. "Right, so," he leaned down so he could see Simon, "thanks, Simon, thanks a lot." Then he turned and hurried inside.

For a moment, Jim watched until Blair disappeared from view, then he turned back to Simon. "I think I should stay, sir."

Simon didn't have an opportunity to answer. A bright red Mustang pulled up in front of his car and Jim's eyes widened.

"Oh, shit."

Simon looked out his windshield. "Jim?"

"It's Lily."

Simon climbed out and joined Jim on the sidewalk just as a tall, leggy blonde walked up to Jim and kissing him on the cheek, said, "You must be Simon. I'm Lily."

Simon stared into the cornflower blue eyes and he had to submerge the instinct to punch Jim Ellison out.


##########
Pain of Love

part 7

##########


Blair didn't bother with the elevator, choosing instead to run up the three flights. The pain felt good.

At the top, he turned and let himself into the apartment. He took his bag into his room and dropped it on his desk, then breathing hard, he sat down on the bed and stared at the floor.

He'd never intended to return here--and yet--here he was.

The pain finally got to him and he quickly stood. He felt--oddly disconnected and his heart was beating strangely--

Blair tried to move, but couldn't. He twisted a bit, thinking maybe he could simply fall back onto the bed and was shocked to see a smear of blood on his comforter.

Blood.

He was--bleeding--again?

Numb with shock, he slowly reached back and touched the thin hospital material--

Slightly damp and a bit sticky.

Fuck.

He picked up the bag and slowly, using anything he could to brace himself, made his way to the bathroom.
___________

Jim took Lily's arm and led her a few feet from where Simon stood. When he was certain that Simon couldn't hear them, he said, "Look, now isn't a good time. My partner--he's been--he's
had an accident--"

"Blair? What happened?"

"It's too complicated to go into right now, but I can't leave him alone. Can I call you later?"

Lily searched his face, then glanced over his shoulder at Simon. "Don't worry about it, Jim. I think--we both know--call me if and when you want to, all right?"

Jim nodded distractedly and together they walked back to her car. He helped her in, then shut the door. "Thanks for understanding, Lily--"

"Don't mention it, Jim. And Jim? I mean that." She started the engine, gunned it a bit, then peeled away.

For a moment, Jim watched the small car as it sped down Prospect, then he stepped back onto the sidewalk.

"I don't fucking believe you, Ellison."

Puzzled, Jim stared at his boss. "Sir?"

"I don't know what the fuck is going on anymore. I'm more confused than I've ever been, and that's saying something considering the advent of Blair Sandburg into my life, but Jim, even *I* can see the resemblance between that woman," he jerked his thumb at the disappearing car, "and Alex Barnes. Do you have any idea how--God, it must have been like a slap in the face to Blair, Jim."

______________

Blair exited the bathroom, wincing with every step. Thanking God for the bottle of water he kept on his nightstand, he made his way back to his room, rummaged around for the right prescription bottle and finding it, shook out two small white pills. He let the bag drop to the floor, too tired to do anything else with it. He picked up the water bottle, unscrewed the top, popped the pills and took a good swallow. As he wiped his mouth, he stared at the comforter.

He needed to--do--something with it--and scrubs.

God, he was so fucking tired.

Taking a deep breath, and ignoring the tears slipping down his cheeks, he carefully slipped out of the uniform, dropped them onto the comforter, then rolled them up and let the whole thing slip to the floor--he'd wash tomorrow, or later. Right now, all he wanted was to climb into bed and go to sleep--

Five minutes later, covers pulled up to his neck, the pills and his exhaustion worked together to lull him into a drowsy enough state that he actually slept.
__________

Jim heard Simon, heard the words, but he couldn't concentrate. He walked into his lobby and like his partner before him, ignored the elevator and headed for the stairs. Only instead of climbing them, he stopped, then with a moan, sat down on the third step up. Simon walked over to him and waited.

"I don't know--what I'm doing anymore, Simon."

Any anger Simon might have been harboring, quickly melted away in the face of his friend's pain. The last twenty-four hours had been--surreal. He nudged Jim over and sat down beside him.

In a tired voice, Simon asked, "So--you missed the resemblance, uh?"

Arms resting on his thighs, Jim nodded, then said in a lost voice, "I don't get any of this. She was in trouble, I helped her, we went out a few times while we worked on getting her brother--"

"Jim, start from the beginning, okay? Take pity on this old man."

Jim chuffed, then gave out with a dry laugh. "The beginning? Simon, that goes back three years. That goes back to a nice ordinary detective in a treatment room at Cascade General and a short dweeb masquerading as a doctor. Do you really want to go back that far?"

"Jim, you are so far removed from ordinary, with or without your senses, well, ordinary just doesn't apply. Doesn't work for describing Sandburg either."

"You've got a point there, Simon." Jim turned slightly so he could rest his back against the wall. "I've been feeling so God damned guilty lately. Like--no matter what I do, I can't help anyone anymore. I couldn't help Alex, couldn't protect Blair, I really screwed up with Ventriss--"


Simon held up one hand. "Whoa, we *both* did a number on that one, Jim."

"I should have listened to Blair right away." Jim turned tortured blue eyes to his boss. "Why didn't I? Why did I brush him off? Why am I *still* brushing him off?"

"Only you can answer those questions, Jim. Although, I have a few of my own. Like--why does he stay?"

Jim smiled ruefully. "Oh, yeah, that's a good one. And why the hell did he come back?"

"And when's he gonna finish that damn dissertation? And when he does, then what?"

When Jim said nothing in response, Simon asked gently, "Maybe those are the real questions, eh, Jim?"

"He could--have finished months ago."

"No doubt. So what's he been telling us all these months?"

Jim stared off into the distance, then said, his voice sounding strange, "What is he telling us now?"

"Jim?"

Slowly Jim rose, then turned and stared up toward the next landing. "I mean, I don't think Blair's had a date--in months. I'm not kidding. And he's never, in the three years I've known him, had a *late* date. I mean, he's had late dates, but never a *late* date."

"Jim," Simon stood, "what are you saying?"

"I don't--know. But--I need to see the medical report--*we* need to see it."

"Ok-aay, let's go back to the station, see Captain Lomax and get a look at the entire file."

Jim was still staring upward but at Simon's suggestion, he said, "I don't think--I should leave--Blair alone."

"All right, I'll do it. I'll give you a call."

Jim turned. "Thanks, Simon. Thanks--for everything today."

Nodding, Simon stepped down, then as he walked toward the lobby door, he said, "Be careful with Sandburg, Jim."
__________

Jim climbed to the third floor and entered his home. He wasn't surprised to find Blair in bed. But he was surprised by his next action: he went inside the small room, took the desk chair and set it down next to the bed. As he did, he spotted the bag. He picked it up and set it on the desk, then took his seat.

Watching his sleeping partner, Jim found himself wishing that he could be a sent--

The smell hit him first. Coppery. Stinging.

Blood.

Jim's eyes stung and he shook his head drunkenly--

More smells assailed him--

Medication. Fear. Sweat. Something--salty, like--tears.

Dials. He needed--his--dials.

Slumping down in relief as his senses realigned, he glanced around the room looking for the strongest source of the blood--he spotted the balled up comforter in the corner.

Things got a little rough, huh?

Jim turned back to stare down at the sleeping man.

"Late date?" he whispered. "Yeah, right."

He sat down and went back to watching. What was it Incacha had said? A sentinel will be a sentinel as long as he wanted to be one? Well, something like that.

Guess Jim wanted to be a sentinel.
_______________

Simon sat at his desk, the file in his hands. His shaking hands.

"A little rough, Sandburg? A late date? Right."

Simon thought he might be sick.
___________

As the night wore on, Jim never moved. Nor did Blair. As the hours stretched out, Jim found the strength to delve deeply within himself and amazingly enough, he found quite a few answers.

Simon had called hours ago with the information on Sandburg from Dean's file. Jim hadn't bothered to tell Simon he'd already figured out the truth. The first of many truths that night.

Jim wondered if he'd ever understand Blair Sandburg. And he wondered how he could have missed the fact that he was in love with the younger man. Another late night truth.

"You didn't miss it, Jimbo. You expunged it."

Good point. Couldn't even claim to have repressed it. Not this time, anyway.

Self examination while your partner sleeps is good for the soul. Gives a man's soul a chance
to search for answers.

As Jim continued his introspection, his eyes remained fastened on Blair, in spite of the fact that all he could see of Blair was hair. It was enough.
____________

A dark Pontiac cruised slowly down Prospect. It paused in front of 852, then continued on.

Three minutes later, the same Pontiac drove by again. This time--it stopped--then parked.

A tall man climbed out, walked into the lobby of 852 and over to the mailboxes. He searched--and found one in particular--

#307
J.J. Ellison
B. Sandburg

The man ran a finger over the letters that spelled out *B.Sandburg*. Then he turned around and left.

Back in the Pontiac, he drove away.
_____________

The jangle of the phone penetrated Dean's brain and he reached over Charlie's head and snagged the receiver.

"'lo?"

//Doctor Kobyoshi, please. This is Pharmchem calling.//

Dean sat up and shook his still sleeping partner. "Hey, up and at 'em, Koby. Come on, it's Pharmchem."

Charlie groaned, but an arm snaked out from under the covers. Smiling, Dean placed the phone in the waving hand.

"Doctor Kobyoshi here."

While Charlie listened, Dean popped out of bed and headed for the bathroom. When he came out two minutes later, it was to find Charlie sitting up in bed, a stunned expression on his face.

"Koby? What is it?"

Green eyes were lifted to his as Charlie said, "The drugs--in Blair's system?"

"Yeah?" Dean said, worried.

"The exact same combination as your Rumbler."

___________


Jim walked out of the bathroom and into the kitchen. He'd been up for over an hour and as he poured his second cup of coffee, Blair stumbled in, then froze when he spotted Jim.

"Morning, Chief. How are you feeling?"


Jim watched in fascination as Blair moved into his act.

"Um, fine. Just--fine. Might even head over to the university later."

"Uh-huh."

Blair stayed where he was, halfway between his bedroom and the bathroom. "Um, Jim?
I--you--don't seem--very angry. I mean, if I were you--I'd be madder than hell."

"Well, obviously--you're too short to be me."

Blair frowned, his eyes blinking rapidly. Before he could say anything, the phone rang. Jim picked it up.

"Ellison."

//Jim, I need you to roll. We just had a double murder--a councilman and his wife--at the Marina. You're the closest. I'm sorry.//

"It's okay, Simon. I can be there in fifteen."

//Thanks, Jim. How is he?//

"Still going for the Oscar."

//Ah. We'll have to straighten him out later.//

"Looking forward to it, sir."

Jim hung up. "You'll be okay for a bit? I have to head over to the Marina."

"Yeah, I'm fine. Go. Probably be gone when you get back."

Jim walked up to his friend, walked up close and put his hand on Blair's shoulder, glad when the younger man didn't shy away.

"Blair, you *will* be here when I get back. Is that understood?"

"I said I'm fi--"

"You will be here."

Still frowning, Blair nodded. "Okay, okay. I'll be here."

"Good." Jim grabbed his jacket and keys, pointed a finger at Blair and repeated, "You will be here." Then he was gone.

Shoulders slumping, Blair walked stiffly into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee. He had no intention of being here when Jim got back.
___________

"Are you certain, Koby?"

Charles held out the pad he'd used to write down the information. Dean took it with a shaking hand.

"Shit." He tossed the pad on the bed.

Charles got out of bed and put on a robe. "We both know that what this means. That combination of drugs is--"

"I know. I know. Blair was the Rumbler's fifth victim. So why no car? Why a motel?"

Charlie shrugged helplessly. "Maybe the others weren't what the bastard was looking for?"

Then Charlie's expression changed to one of horror. "Dean? Could Blair be in danger?"

"Oh fuck."
_____________

Blair splashed water on his face and as he lifted his head, the overhead light blinked as if about to go out. He waited, head cocked. The light flickered again and then brightened--

Headlights.

Blair's breathing quickened.

Headlights brightening the room and highlighting a face and--hair.

Blond.

Blair could see the man's face as it hovered over him--


##########
Pain of Love

part 8

##########

Blair jumped back so fast, he slammed into the bathroom door. There was nothing else, no other memory, just that face illuminated by headlights shining in through a motel window.

Blair's breathing was shallow and harsh as he stared at the mirror, willing the face to disappear. He jerked forward and after pushing the toilet cover down, he dropped onto the slightly padded surface and covered his face with his hands.

Dear God, what had he done?

The old saying *caught between a rock and a hard place* seemed to fit him to a tee. Blair had lied to protect Jim but now he had a face burned into his mind--and if he told--who'd believe him?

Which left a sick schmuck out there--maybe hurting others. Maybe--last night while Blair had floated in his drugged sleep.
_____________

Dean threw on his suit jacket and hurried down the hall. As he entered the living room, Charles was just hanging up.

"The clinic is covered for this morning. I'm going to head over to Blair's."

"Pharmchem going to fax the results over to--"

"Yep. It'll be there when you arrive." Charles grabbed his coat and as he slipped it on, he asked, "You going to talk to Banks? Ellison?"

"Yeah. Not looking forward to it, but yeah."

They both moved toward the front door and as Dean opened it, Charles asked, "Do you think--I mean, what we said earlier--do you think Blair is in any real danger?"

Dean brought Charles into his chest and smoothed a hand up his back. "No, not really. Our guy probably just changed his mo, that's all. That's all, Koby."

"That combination of drugs pretty much ensures that the victims don't remember anything, Dean. But--"

Lifting Charlie's face with a finger on his chin, Dean prompted, "But what?"

"But--Blair was aware. He fought. He's already remembered more than any other victim."
___________

Jim drove into the parking lot of Marina South, the uppercrust area of pricey townhomes that peppered the bay. He waved his badge to a uniform and barriers were removed, allowing him to pass. He spotted Joel and surprised, pulled the truck up next to where the big man stood in the early morning wind.

"What are you doing here and what have we got?" Jim asked as he walked up to Taggert.

"*I've* got two dead bodies, bullets in the back of their heads. *You've* got instructions to get back home."

Jim gave Joel a double take. "What?"

"Simon just called. Said you were to hightail it back to Prospect and that he'd meet you there. Conner is on her way here."

Jim reached out and grabbed Joel's arm. "Nothing's happened to Bla--"

"No, he's fine. But Simon did--imply--that it was urgent you get back there. Lucky for you I was only a few miles from here. Now go."

Jim nodded and with a worried frown, jumped back into his truck and peeled out of the parking lot.
___________

Shaking, Blair, now in nothing but his robe, walked out into the living room and stopped next to the coffee table. He stood swaying gently, eyelids fluttering. Slowly he looked around as if he'd never seen it before in his life.

He rubbed his eyes, then walked over to the front door, opened it and walked out.
__________

Charles pulled his Miata into a spot across from 852. As he stepped out of his car, Blair walked out of the lobby. Charles raised his hand, trying to catch Blair's eye, but then he frowned in concern. Blair was wearing a robe. And he was barefoot.

"Shit." Charles slammed the door shut and barely giving traffic a look, he raced across the pavement.

He was halfway when a blue and white truck turned the corner, heading straight for him. There was a screech of brakes as the truck swerved and came to rest at the curb. The door opened and Jim Ellison jumped out.

"ELLISON! IT'S BLAIR, OVER THERE!"

Jim glanced over his shoulder and spotted his partner walking slowing down the sidewalk toward Holder. He took off after him, Charles quickly closing---

It only took Jim three large leaps to reach his partner. Wisely, he moved in front of him and began to walk backward, aware that Charles was only a few feet behind Blair. It didn't take a genius to see that Blair had no idea where he was. His eyes were glazed, face slack. Jim had
never felt such fear in his life.

"Blair? Can you hear me?"

Nothing. Blair kept walking, eyes unfocused. Jim could feel his own heart beating, thundering against his chest--

"Chief, it's me, Jim. Please, can you hear me?"

Blair kept walking.

"Jim, touch him--carefully and slowly," Charles advised softly.

Jim reached out and touched Blair's face. "Please, Blair? Try to focus here, for me?"

Blair stopped. Letting out a gust of air, Jim moved forward and let his hand slip up under Blair's hair and come to rest on the younger man's neck. "It's okay, babe, I swear it. Just--just look at me, say my name."

Blair frowned, and for a moment Jim hoped-- but then Blair's face went slack again.

"Charles, he's not responding," Jim said, dread in his voice.

"All right, let's get him inside--carefully."

Jim slid his hand down to Blair's shoulder and gently turned him, then with his arm across Blair's back, he slowly started walking back to 852, Charlie on the other side. They got him into the elevator and finally into the loft.

"Get him to the couch and let's warm him up, Jim."

While Charlie covered Blair with the afghan from the back of the couch, Jim turned on the fire.

"Socks, Jim."

Jim nodded, then he and Charlie maneuvered Blair back and with little effort, got him seated. Worried about the lack of response, Jim moved quickly to Blair's room, rummaged in his sock drawer and pulled the heaviest hiking socks he could find. As he was coming out, Charles was
heading for the kitchen.

"Tea?"

"Cupboard above the toaster."

Jim knelt down, picked up one leg and resting it on his own, slipped a sock over the cold foot, then repeated the process with the other. While he was doing that, Charlie made tea. As the water heated, Jim rubbed Blair's cold hands, talking softly all the while.

Charles joined him, a steaming mug in his hand. He sat down on the other side of Blair and started to blow on the hot liquid.

Jim watched Blair's face and finally asked, "Shock? What?"

"I don't know, Jim. I just don't know. Could you get the prescriptions I gave him?"

Nodding, Jim found himself rushing back to the bedroom. Sentinel eyes found no bottles. Instinct led him to the brown bag. A moment later, three bottles in hand, he walked back to the couch. "Here."

Charles took them, read each bottle, then shook out two tablets from one of them. "You're going to need to help me, Jim. Hold his head back just a bit--"

"He--he'll choke--"

"No, see?" Charles indicated Blair's neck. "He's responding to our voices and he's swallowing on a regular basis."

Jim pressed one knee into the sofa cushion, then gently took Blair's head and moved it back--

"That's it. Now hold him steady--" Charles parted the slack lips and inserted the two pills, then watched as Blair swallowed, his reflexes taking over. "Okay, I'm going to try to get this tea into him--"

The lip of the mug was rested against Blair's mouth and Jim rubbed his thumbs lightly against Blair's temples--

"Drink for us, Chief, please? Come on, let Charlie help you--"

Blair's mouth opened and both men sighed in relief. Charlie let a small trickle of the warm liquid flow into Blair's mouth, then he paused, waited, and when Blair swallowed again, he let more tea dribble into Blair's mouth. After about five such moves, he finally reached behind him and put the mug down.

"Okay, lets get him flat, Jim. Those pills are going to kick in quickly and he'll sleep."

As Jim picked up Blair's legs and stretched them out on the couch, he asked quietly, "Will he--will he be all right?"

"If, when he wakes up, there's no improvement, then--we'll have to take him to the hospital."

Jim closed his eyes briefly, then got up, went back to Blair's room, grabbed the blanket from the bed and upon his return, draped it lovingly over the younger man. He tucked him in and slowly, Blair's eyes drifted shut and his breathing evened out.

Charles carried the mug into the kitchen, Jim following.

"Why were you here, Charles?"

Placing the mug in the sink, Charlie faced Blair's partner. "Man, I do not want to be the one to tell you this, but--we got the results of the blood test this morning--and the drugs--" He got no further.

"*Drugs*? Drugs, Charles?"

"It was the exact same combination that was found in the systems of the Rumbler's four victims. Dean--"

Charles was interrupted by a knock on the front door. Jim tilted his head, then said, "Simon." He moved quickly and as he opened the door, he put a finger to his lips.

Simon nodded as he stepped in. He discarded his coat and seeing Blair, he walked over. For several minutes he stood at the back of the couch staring down at the sleeping man, barely conscious of Jim and Doctor Kobyoshi behind him. Finally he turned and Jim indicated the dining room table. All three men sat down.

Simon looked at Charles and asked quietly, "Have you told him?"

"Yes, just before you arrived. We had a small--problem. When I pulled up downstairs, Blair was out on the sidewalk, wearing only a robe. Jim arrived and we got Blair back up here."

Frowning, Simon leaned forward. "Is he all right? What the hell--"

Charles lifted a hand. "I'm not sure what happened, but I'm hoping that when he wakes, well, I'm hoping."

"The blood results, that's why you wanted me to come home, Simon?"

"Yeah, Jim. Dean caught me with the news just as I arrived this morning."

"So we're saying that Blair was--that--"

Simon stared at Jim and nodded solemnly. "The fifth victim. The odds of anyone else using just *that* combination of drugs, in just those amounts--"

"What exactly are we talking about, Simon?" Jim asked.

"Rohypnol, marijuana and xanax, along with--curare."

Charles rested his arms on the table and added, "The amounts used are such that your perp pretty much guarantees no memory, no fight and one relaxed victim--except, in Blair's case--"

"He fought," Jim supplied, his jaw clenching.

Charles nodded. "He fought. At some point, awareness battled the effects of the drugs and Blair fought. And--he remembered things."

Jim's eyes narrowed. "Remembered things?"

"When Dean--interviewed him, he remembered more than any other victim The others, they
lost one or two days."

Jim pushed back his chair and walked over to the couch. For a moment he stared at his friend, then reached down and pushed some hair from Blair's face. "He tried pretty damn hard to convince us--to protect--me." Jim looked over at Simon. "So what do we do now?"
____________

"It's possible that our guy has simply changed his game plan," Simon posited.

"That's what Dean said, but--"

"But we all know that serial rapists rarely change their MO's. No, something triggered a different response in our perp," Jim said softly. Simon let his gaze drift back to the sofa. "This morning--is it possible that Blair remembered more? And that did--that--to him?"

Jim looked at Charles, who shrugged. "It's possible."

At that moment, Simon's cell started chirping. He pulled it out of his pocket and flipped it open. "Banks."

//We're out front, sir.//

"Thanks, Rafe. You have the schedule set up?"

//We do. Two shifts. Brown and I up first, then Conner and Taggert.//

"Good work. Which of you is covering the rear?"

//Brown.//

"All right. Watch for repeated drive-bys and--oh, hell, you two know what to watch for."

//Yes, sir.//

Simon could hear the smile in Rafe's voice. "I'll be a while, Rafe."

//Yes, sir.//

Simon hung up and turned to Jim. "I've got the pla--"

"I know. I heard."

Simon looked at Jim suspiciously and said, "You *heard*?"

Jim nodded without looking at him.

"I see."

Charles gazed from one man to the other.

Simon, catching the puzzled look, said, "He's a cop. He knew from end of the conversation--"

"Ah," Charles said, unconvincingly.

Jim got up and walked over the chair in the living room, picked it up and set it down next to the couch. He sat down.

Simon watched, then said to no one, "Right. We wait."


##########
Pain of Love

part 9

#########

The slight moan got Jim's attention. He was up on his knees and next to the couch instantly. Blair rolled over on his side and yawned. Jim had the ridiculous urge to pump his right arm in victory. Surely a yawn was a very good sign? A hand crept out from under the blanket and Jim
watched as Blair scratched his chin, then stretched a bit and opened his eyes. He blinked and squinted, then focused on Jim's face, which was close enough for him to see clearly without his glasses. Blair smiled.

"Hey, Jim," he said softly. "Whatcha doing?"

"Watching you. How ya feeling, partner?"

"Not bad, not ba--"

Blair's face changed. One minute his expression was dreamy, the next--horrified.

Before Jim could react, Blair's hands were on Jim's chest. Blair pushed as hard as he could as soundlessly, he yelled a word Jim easily identified--*NO!*

Charles and Simon were up and moving, but Jim, even after pushed back on his ass, moved faster. He grabbed Blair's hands and without so much as blinking, pulled Blair into his arms.

"It's me, Chief, just me. You're okay, everything is okay. Just listen to me, you know my voice--come on, Chief, it's okay--"

Blair stopped struggling as Jim worked his hand into Blair's hair, fingers massaging his scalp.

"That's it, Chief, that's it."

"Man--face--you--"

"Ssh, ssh, it's okay. It's really me. Look--" Jim pulled back and as he did, he took one of Blair's hands and placed it on his cheek. "See? Me, no one else. Really me."

Blue eyes searched hungrily, then Blair nodded. "Sorry, man, sorry. Did I hurt--"

"My butt is ruined for life, and my pride took a beating, but other than that--"

Blair untangled himself from Jim's arms and sat back on the couch as he tried to catch his breath. He gazed about the room and when he spotted Charles and Simon, a dull red flush crept up his face. "Shit," he said, then rubbed at his face. "One minute I was alone, now I'm surrounded. What happened?"

Simon came around the side of the couch and sat down next to Blair while Charles took a seat on the other couch. Jim stayed where he was as he answered Blair's question.

"You're gonna need to tell us, Chief. Charlie and I found you outside, wearing nothing but a robe."

Blair looked over at Charles, who nodded. Blair scratched his upper lip, then the back of his head as he said, "What were you two doing on the street in only your robes?"

Jim reared back, one eyebrow arched, his left eye closed.

Blair shrugged, then said, "Hey."

"*You* were on the sidewalk in your robe, Chief. Charlie and I were full dressed. Fully."

Blair's eyes slid sideways, avoiding Jim. The older man leaned forward. "We know, Chief. There was no date. None. I don't know why you went out the other night, but *no* one believes that it had *anything* to do with a date. So," Jim sat back on his haunches, "why were you outside in your robe?"

Blair's gaze flicked over to Simon, then to Charles. Both men gave small, reassuring nods. Blair looked back at Jim. "What about--"

"Don't worry about me, Chief."

"Blair, once we have Lily's statement--not that it's needed," Simon reassured, "Well, we're talking formality. Jim isn't really--"

"A suspect?" Blair asked, his tone unemotional.

"He isn't a suspect, Sandburg. Trust me on this."

Blair nodded, then pulled the blanket tighter around him as his gaze fell to the floor. "I saw the guy's--face. This morning--in the bathroom. I can--identify him."

"Well, God damn," Simon said.
_____________

Blair's statement energized Simon. Within minutes a call had been placed to Dean, who arranged for one of the police sketch artists to be dispatched to 852 Prospect. While waiting, Simon asked, "Give me what you can now, Blair. I'll get at least a surface description down to
Rafe."

Blair looked puzzled. "Rafe?"

"He's downstairs, with Brown. They're watching the building. Taggert and Conner will take over tonight. You see," Simon glanced over at Jim, who nodded his permission. "the results of your blood test came in. They showed that you had four drugs in your system--the same combination used by--the Rumbler."

Jim watched, amazed, as Blair changed right before their eyes. He drew into himself, then lifted his chin, almost in defiance. "Wait, I've heard what every one else--that the Rumbler--he," Blair's eyes closed briefly, "pushes his victims from a moving car."

To punctuate his words, he waved his hand and Jim captured it immediately. Holding it tightly within both of his own, he said, "We don't understand what's going on, Blair. That's why the extra protection."

Blair stared down at his hand, trapped within Jim's, and as his eyes drifted upward, Jim saw more vulnerability in his partner than he'd seen in three years.

"How--look, I really screwed up here, Jim. Why are you being--why are all of you--"

Anticipating the rest of Blair's words, Jim ducked his head in close to Blair and smiled gently. "Gee, I don't know, Chief. Maybe--we like you? Or maybe you didn't screw up at all? Maybe you were the victim of some prick and when your best friend was suspected, you did the only thing you could to protect his sorry ass? Whatcha think? Could that be it?"

Blair blinked like a small boy trying to understand a parent's big words. Then the mature Sandbur took over and he gave a little raspberry type sound. "Yeah, right. I'm betting Dean won't see it that way and I'm further betting Simon doesn't either. But it doesn't matter. What
matters is that you stop this asshole."

"God, you're stubborn." Jim turned to Simon. "Come on, sir, help me out here."

"What, the great Sandburg is going to believe me? He's gonna believe it when I say that I'd give anything for a friend like him? That I count him among a select few to whom I'd entrust my life and more importantly, my son's?"

Blair's head moved slowly toward Simon, his eyes widening. Simon huffed a bit and said, "Nah, he wouldn't believe that, would he, Jim?"

Seeing something in Jim that screamed that he and Blair should be left alone, Charles stood.
"Captain Banks, I think I'll go down with you. Dean's coming with the sketch artist."

Clearing his throat, Simon stood as well. "Sandburg," his voice was all business again, "what can I tell Rafe and the others?"

Blair coughed a bit, then said quietly, "He's tall, white, has blond hair cut short--a buzz cut. His eyes are brown. He's--big. Broad." Blair narrowed his eyes and they all knew he was deliberately calling that face back--

"A tattoo," he said, his gaze faraway. "On--his shoulder. A dagger piercing--a heart."

Simon rubbed his hand over his mouth, then nodded as he did everything he could to call forth the professional captain instead of the angry, hurting friend of Blair Sandburg.

"Good--job, Sandburg."

Charles gave a little jerk of his head and together, he and Simon walked out leaving Jim and Blair alone. Jim immediately took his place next to Blair, but managed to keep Blair's hand.
"Do I need to lecture you, Chief? Give you the same speech that you've given to friends and victims? The same speech you'd give me if things were reversed?"

Blair rolled his eyes. "Things would *never* be reversed, Jim. Never."

One eyebrow rose. "Oh-ho. And what makes you think that I can't be drugged? None of those chemicals have any odor--"

"I was thinking you might be too old--"

Inwardly, Jim high-fived himself. Those were the words of the Blair Sandburg Jim knew and loved. Outside, he narrowed his eyes, then grinned. "Oh, I don't know, I have a bit of life left in these *old* bones, Sandburg. You might be surprised."

"I think we're indulging in black humor here. A sure sign of how sick we both really are, Jim, my man."

Jim, remembering the soft, dreamy smile Blair had favored him with when he woke up, said quietly, "I could live with that, Blair."

Blair knuckled back some hair as he said, "What, being sick?"

Tightening his grip on Blair's hand, Jim said, "No--being your man."

The fingers that had been playing with a strand of hair--froze. Blair turned and looked at Jim, his eyes wide with disbelief. Then he sat back and shook his head as he slowly pulled his hand from Jim's. "Man, you have the absolute *worst* sense of timing in the world."

Jim pursed his lips at that, then looked up at the ceiling as he said, "I don't know, I think I have excellent timing, Sandburg." Jim's gaze came back down and fastened on Blair. "So, what do you think? Any chance?"

"You're certifiable, Ellison."

"You're stalling."

The sudden silence was astoundingly loud for both of them. Jim decided it needed quieting. "Sandburg, take your medicine like a man. And by that, I mean I'm getting a little back. All these years of listening to you trying to wheedle my feelings out of me, prodding gently until I
spilled my guts about things I've never told a soul--now it's your turn. Tables are turning.

"Practice what you preach and all that jazz. I love you, Blair Sandburg, and don't ask why I'm suddenly able to say it, just don't ask me that."

"Why are you suddenly able to say it, Jim?"

Jim's lips twitched. "I knew you were going to ask me that."

"I knew you knew that I would ask you that. You knew the minute you asked me not to ask you that, that I'd ask you that."

"I knew that."

Blair stood up--and immediately sat back down again. "Whoa. When did the room start moving?"

"Charlie gave you a couple of pills. You were pretty much out of it when we--found you--downstairs."

"Sorry 'bout that. I guess--I just went on a small trip to la-la land. Seemed the thing to do--at the time."

"We're not going there anymore, are we?"

"Well, for at least one of us--it's a mighty short trip under the best of conditions. I can give you the name of several psychologists who would back me up on that."

"Hell, *I* can back you up on that. I've been on that trip with you for three years--"

"Hey, it's not such a long trip for you either, Mr. I Could Repress Yesterday's Breakfast."

"That's why we go so well together."

Blair, holding on to the arm of the couch, stood again, this time more successfully. He walked over to the big windows and crossing his arms over his chest, said, "I'm not--I'm not the same person, Jim. I'm not totally sure where the old Blair Sandburg has disappeared to, and he was
gone long before that jerk slipped me a mickey, but he *is* gone. I'm not sure this Sandburg is one you'd want--"

Jim was up and standing behind Blair before he could finish his sentence. Placing his hands on Blair's shoulders, he said, "There's never been only one Blair Sandburg. There are, at last count, at least fifteen different Sandburg's. I love each and every one of them, including the insecure one standing in front of me right now."

"Insecure? Moi?"

In spite of the light tone, Jim knew that Blair was deeply disturbed. Small tremors were running throughout his body.

"Yeah, you. Things have been--tough--lately. I've been distant--"

"Jim, you're seeing someone. Okay? Suddenly you want to be *my* man? What about Lily?"

Jim dropped his hands and moved to stand next to Blair. He stared out on the city as he tried to gather his thoughts. "Blair, I'm not sure what--Lily--was all about. But I do know that when Simon told me what happened--to you--I--can't begin to explain what I felt."

"I can. Guilt. Pure and simple. Misplaced, but guilt nevertheless." Blair moved to stand in front of Jim. "We've been working hard to repair the damage done when Alex Barnes came into our lives. Unfortunately, we weren't all that successful. Now this. I think--we should just shelve any talk of -- any relationship between us. Let's get through--what's happening now, okay?"

Jim found himself shaking his head in denial, but something in Blair's eyes, something that looked suspiciously like fear, stopped him from arguing.

"All right. For now, we concentrate on catching the Rumbler. But later, we talk."

"Whatever."

Jim didn't like that answer, but he could hear the elevator and voices--so he led Blair back to the couch.

"Sit. Rest. They're back and I think the artist is with Simon and Charles."

Blair nodded and rested his head back and closed his eyes. Jim moved to open the door.
___________

While Blair worked with the Nancy Vogler, one of the police artists, Charles, Simon, Jim and Dean sat in the living room. Blair had made it obvious that he didn't want them hovering while he and Nancy worked.

Dean was seated beside Charles, and Jim found himself wondering about the two men.

Dean was close to Jim's age, Charles maybe a year or two younger. The two men didn't seem to be a fit at all. Dean looked like the typical All-American, not unlike Jim. He was good looking, rugged, with dark blonde hair and light hazel eyes. Charles, Jim knew from Blair, was half French, half Japanese. He had the dark, shiny straight hair of his Japanese father, but the green eyes of his mother. His skin was very fair, his features fine and elegant. He was, quite honestly, beautiful.

A cop and a doctor. Gay. And Jim had never known about Dean Wilcox. He knew the detective, slightly, but had never even guessed as to his orientation. How the hell had he missed it?

"Captain Banks? We've got it."

Everyone looked over at the table as Nancy made her declaration. They moved as one and she held up the sketch.

"This is him. Your man."

Jim took the picture from Nancy's hand and stared at the face. There was something--familiar--about him, but Jim couldn't pin it down. With a shaking hand, he passed it on to Simon. For a moment, he saw red, then a hand touched his arm and he glanced down into Blair's worried and
exhausted blue eyes.

"You okay, Jim?"

"That is so God damned typical of you, Sandburg."

The cold tone froze everyone in place.



###########
Pain of Love

part 10

###########

Blair removed his hand from Jim's arm and rose slowly. He smiled at everyone, then started for his room. "I'm bushed," he jerked his thumb in the direction of his bed, "gonna hit the hay. Nancy, thanks."

Ignoring the staring eyes, Blair shut the French doors and started to sit down, but immediately changed his mind--he'd been sitting too long already. He did a kind of roll onto his side, then bunched up the pillows and settled in. He hurt, but he was doing a good job of ignoring it.

In reviewing what just happened with Jim, Blair's best guess was that he'd made Jim mad. Okay, that wasn't a guess, it was a done deal. Jim was acting out of guilt again.

Again.

Blair closed his eyes.

Again.

Amazing how often Blair was the cause of that guilt. Blair could wish that Jim was acting from something else--where Blair was concerned.

Like--love. Hell, he'd even take like and respect. Okay, anyone want a pain pill? A forget -everything-for-a-little-while pill? Blair raised his hand and chuckled.Then his gaze rested on the
door that led outside.

He should never have gone out that night.
____________

Jim closed the door and turned back to face Simon. Dean was taking Nancy back to the station and Charles had gone with them. Both had promised to return later, Charles wanting to check Blair over. Now it was just Jim, Simon and a sleeping Blair.

"You mind telling me what--"

Jim raised a hand to stop Simon's question. "He was asking about *me*. This happened to him, yet he was asking if *I* was all right."

"Ah. I see." Then Simon dropped down into a chair and said, "No, I don't. What I saw was you biting off his head."

"He never takes care of himself," Jim said sullenly.

"Tell me that sounds as lame to you as it does to me?"

Jim pulled out a chair, dropped into it and covered his face with his hands. For a moment, neither man spoke, then Jim said softly, "Hell, I don't know what's wrong me. I don't know what the hell I'm doing or feeling, or how to help him, or convince him--"

"Jim, whoa. You *do* know what you're feeling. You're angry and you're hurting and you want to kill someone. How's that?"

Jim smiled ruefully. "Not bad."

Simon fiddled with a pencil that had been left on the table. Finally, he said, "Jim--is it possible that you--love--Blair?"

"No. It's a fact."

Simon smiled at that, but the smile was bittersweet as he said, "You know, you've really led me a merry chase in the last several months. One week I'd be saying, 'Yes, he does', the next week, 'No, he doesn't.' Today, yesterday, the vibes were falling in favor of a most definite 'he
does'. So Lily was what? An aberration? An attempt to *not* love him?"

Simon looked at Jim, his gaze thoughtful as he answered his own questions. "No-o, I don't think so. Lily was in trouble when you met her, right?" At Jim's nod, Simon went on. "Huh-uh. Trouble. Like Alex. But you couldn't save--Alex. But you *could*--"

"Save--Lily?"

Simon touched his nose in answer.

"Could I be anymore pathetic?" Jim asked.

"You're working on it, that's for sure. And as to Lily, I expect Blair could explain it better than either of us. But then, maybe you don't want to go that route."

"I told him how I felt. He wants to--wait. Doesn't believe me."

"Ah."

Jim tilted his head. "Ah?"

"Explains your anger."

"Ah."

"Yep."
___________

Blair stared at the door. He hated that door. He hated the permanency of the past and time.

Blair punched at the pillows again. Restless, he rolled over, but that meant that he was facing the loft. Okay--on his back. Stare at the ceiling.

Safe.

Painful. Okay, not his back. His side and the--door. The door he'd used to leave two nights ago.

The brown bag was on his desk. Blair carefully rose, walked over to it and pulled out the prescription bottles. An antibiotic and the pain pills. He shook out two of the pain pills and swallowed them dry. Blair crawled back onto his bed and settled on his side. He was edgy and he knew why.

Psychologically speaking, he wondered where he stood with regards to--being--raped.

If a drugged man thought he was being made love to by the man he loved--was it rape? If he responded because he thought the hands and the lips and the body were someone else's, how could it be rape? And when a face swam up out of nowhere and that face was *not* -- Jim's, is that when it turned to rape?

There was the problem. Blair didn't remember anything other than a kind of supreme happiness that he was apparently being made love to by Jim. He remembered the effortless feel of desire, the tingling sensation as somewhere in his brain, he registered that a dream had become more real and therefore could not *be* a dream. He remembered the incredible joy and sense of abandon that even now--haunted him. He'd been almost--euphoric. Until headlights had illuminated a face that was most definitely *not* Jim's.

Did fighting like a dog at that point count? Or had it been too late?

Blair closed his eyes, his body suddenly feeling disconnected to the rest of him. God, if only his mind would disconnect--
_______________

"Why isn't anything ever easy for us, Simon?"

"Jim, there are so many ways to answer that--it boggles the mind."

Jim gave his friend and boss a disgusted look, then said, "We need a drink."

"Amen, brother."
____________

"You okay, Dean?"

The two men had dropped Nancy off, then Dean had tried to check in with Sheila, only to be informed that she'd finally connected with the waitress at the Drumroll. He'd made sure that the sketches of their perp were circulated, then had taken a few minutes to review the other reports. His final act had been to leave Jim's number with one of the other detectives in case Sheila returned before he could meet up with her. As a result, it was late by the time he and Charlie headed back to Ellison's.

As Dean turned onto Prospect, he nodded. "Yeah, I'm okay, why?"

"Blair."

Dean pulled in next to the curb and shut off the engine. He turned in his seat to face his life partner. "Charlie, what Blair did--was one of the bravest acts I've ever witnessed. It took guts to dump that load of," he smiled, "crap on us."

Dean looked past Charlie to 852 and a thoughtful expression came over his face. "I'm--ashamed--to admit that for a moment, okay, several moments, I believed that Ellison could have been the one--"

"That's your job. Not to mention that in spite of the fact that you two work in the same building, you don't know Ellison from a hole in the wall."

"Yeah, well--"

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Deano."

"Did you have to say *hole in the wall*?"

Charles grinned and punched Dean's thigh. "You pervert."

"And proud of it." Dean's expression changed again, this time to one of almost wonder. "Your Blair Sandburg is something else and now that I know him, up close and personal, so is Ellison. But man, what is with those two?"

"I think I know what you mean. And I'm glad you like Blair. I owe him a great deal."

"So you've mentioned. You gonna share?"

"I have," Charles said with a grin and a wink. Dean frowned, clearly puzzled. Charles took pity on him. "Rainier, sexual identity crisis."

"Shit. You're telling me that he's the one who set you on the--"

"The gay and wide?"

Dean chuckled. "Yeah. And I like that. Gay and wide. Heh."

"Yeah, he's the one." It was Charlie's turn to look thoughtful. "He didn't run the usual 'be true to yourself' crap on me. Oh, no, not him." Charlie smiled softly in memory and Dean leaned forward--

"He did this whole karma shit thing and how if people just let themselves go, then everyone would see that they have the potential for same sex relationships. Well, I, being the med student, got smart with him and brought up genes, etcetera, and damn if the little fart didn't laugh."

"How old was he?"

"Seventeen. The twerp was seventeen fucking years old and get this--a virgin."

"Now you're pulling my leg."

"Nope."

"Oh, you mean a virgin to gay--"

"No, Deano, I mean a virgin--period."

"Should you be telling me this?"

"He would. He made no bones about it at the time."

"Um--Charlie? Did you two--"

"No. But only because he *was* seventeen. Believe me, if he'd been a few months older--"

"This is *not* something you should be telling your jealous *I carry a gun* lover."

"Come on, this was years ago."

"But you stayed friends and excuse me, but he *did* turn eighteen. So why--"

"Simple. By then, we were friends. Good friends. And he'd--discovered--women. And they'd discovered him."

Dean laughed outright at that. "So when did he discover men?"

"That was always there. He's bisexual, but he'd kill me if he heard me use that term."

Dean's eyes seemed to look *through* Charlie as he said, "I owe Blair big time. When I think that if he hadn't been there for you--"

"With his wise seventeen year old mind--"

"Yeah," Dean smiled, his gaze focusing once again on his life partner. "Yeah. I could have lost you before I ever met you."

"I was one screwed up guy, all right. On the edge and then this skinny *kid* comes bouncing along and somehow--everything he said made sense. He straightened me--"

Dean's laughter stopped Charlie and as he realized what he'd said, he joined in. "Oh, man," he managed to say between wheezes, "bad choice of words--"

Dean reached out and palmed Charlie's cheek. "We're lucky, Koby. So damn lucky."

Charlie, leaning into the strong hand, nodded.
__________

Awareness came back to Blair and he groaned softly. The day had managed to slip by him, thanks to pills and more pills. Judging by the lack of light coming in through the window over his bed--the day was gone.

Blair ran his hand back over his face, then through his hair as he sat up. He couldn't hear anything coming from the living room, but he could see vague shadows beyond his doors.

He scooted back until he could brace himself against the wall. He was in no rush to join anyone who might be out there.

So--he was one of the Rumbler's victims. How 'bout that? And because of him--maybe someone else had suffered last night--or today.

Blair got up and took off his robe.
__________

"Jim, you all right?"

Jim rubbed at his eyes. He had a headache that was threatening to break out of his skull and take over Cascade--perhaps the world. No he wasn't all right. He wished he and Simon *had* been able to have something to drink, damn it.

"You look like shit."

"Thanks, Simon."

A gentle knocking stopped Simon's response and with a strange look thrown at Jim, who'd clearly *not* heard anyone approaching, Simon answered.

"Captain Banks."

"Doctor Kobyoshi. Where's Detective Wilcox?"

"He received a call from his partner so I came up alone. The interview with the waitress at the Drumroll turned up something. He'd said he'd call you shortly, if not come by himself."

Simon nodded. "Would you like some coffee, Doctor?"

"No, thanks. Is Blair--"

"He's asleep."

"Ah. Maybe I will have a cup of coffee then. I don't want to wake him--"

Charles got no further as Jim, face stricken, jumped up and almost ran to the French doors. Without knocking, he opened them, then groaned.

"Jim, what the hell--"

"He's gone, Simon."

###########
Pain of Love

Part 11

##########

Jim's words were said on the run -- to the outside door in Blair's room. Before anyone could really react, Jim had it open and was charging down the stairs. Shaken from their shock, Simon and Charles followed, Simon already yelling into his cell phone.

Jim nearly slid down the stairs, hit the alley, then the street and skidded to a stop. He could see Taggert and Conner getting out the car but when he looked in the opposite direction there was nothing. No Blair.

He could hear Simon and Charles coming up behind him, could see Conner and Taggert approaching, but couldn't see who he needed to see. Jim felt angry, frightened tears threaten.
When the fuck was he going to get it right? For Sandburg?
_____________

Under normal conditions, Blair would have been the first to admit that he wasn't being rational, but he'd passed normal days ago.

Bees in the belfry--he refused to use the term bonnet--and here he was, a few doors from the Drumroll. Okay, so he had bats--in his bonnet.

Blair had only the vaguest idea floating around in the belfry but he thought it was worth a shot. Hit the place again, move around, hope he'd spot the guy, then--

Oops. Then.

Wouldn't you know there'd have to be a *then*? Blair took a deep breath and pushed his way inside, glad that it was early enough that the crowd was fairly small.

The music almost hurt, but Blair persevered. Without hesitation, he made his way back upstairs and as he moved, memories swirled around him, some just out of reach, as if surrounded by fog. Half way up, he shook his head, then climbed the rest of the way.
____________

Dean and Sheila walked down the stairs of the Emerald Isle Apartments, their interview with Connie Madison concluded. She'd been more helpful than Dean had been expecting, in as much as she'd actually been able to identify their perp from Nancy's sketch. As the two detectives walked through the courtyard, Dean's phone rang. He quickly answered. "Wilcox."

//Dean? Blair's gone. He left without anyone's knowledge. We're taking to the streets. How soon--//

"On my way, Charlie. On my way." He was about to ring off when Charlie spoke again.

//No, wait--//

Dean could hear voices, then--

//Jim says to head over to the Drumroll, Dean. He thinks--//

"Good thinking. We're on our way. And the suspects name is Gerald Rankin. Ex-Navy. He spends a lot of time at the Drumroll, according to the waitress."

//Got it, Dean. Hurry.//
____________

Conner and Taggert ran back to the cars as Jim yelled out the club name. Simon jumped into his car, Charles getting in on the other side. Jim chose to run. He could cut through alleys and maybe--Blair was still on the street somewhere--

Maybe.
____________

He'd be in a dark corner--if he were here, Blair thought idly. But would he be here *yet*? And the other victims hadn't come from the club, only Blair had. Did that make this a fool's errand?

As befuddled as Blair was at that moment, as much pain as he was in, his scientific mind was screaming at him that this was *not* a fool's errand. That what had happened to him here had been the aberration, the temporary divergence from the rapist's MO. His instinct told him the guy would be here.

Blair gazed about him and decided that sitting wasn't going to get the job done. Not to mention that it hurt like hell. He stood and started walking.

Nothing upstairs. Blair headed back down. As he moved around the perimeter of the dance floor, eyes searching every face, he wondered what, exactly, he'd do if he spotted the guy--

A moment later--he had his answer.

Blue eyes met brown and Blair froze. Revulsion filled him as he stared at that face. The man's eyes widened in shock, then narrowed as understanding came. Strobe lights flickered, bodies moved to the music, colored streams of light criss-crossed the large room and still--both men stood, unmoving.

Blair broke the spell--he grinned. Ferally.

His mind screamed that he was a fool, that he was hurt, not even remotely at his best--and that even at his best, the guy opposite could turn him into manure in five seconds flat--but he moved toward the man anyway. Moved slowly, deliberately--resolutely--forward.

The man stayed where he was, but his eyes quickly scanned the area around him. Blair knew he was looking for anyone that looked--dangerous to him. Like a cop.

Satisfied that Blair was alone, the brown eyes focused back on the advancing Sandburg, who grinned wider.

Blair stopped when he was one table away. There were only three other tables in this corner and all were empty. Blair rested a hand on the back of a chair and allowed his fingers to curl around metal that had been formed to look like bamboo. His adversary added his own feral grin to the mix and with all the confidence of the psychopath that he had to be, took several cocky steps in Blair's direction. When he was close enough to be heard, he spoke low, his whiskey voice husky and daring.

"Come back for more, sweetcheeks?"

Blair didn't think about it, he just did it. He brought the chair up, latched onto it with his other hand as well--and swung.

At the last minute, the rapist brought his arm up and that was the only thing that kept Blair from being completely successful. The chair connected, the man's arm preventing it from slamming into his head. But he did reel backwards as the chair broke apart. Blair wheeled around and
grabbed up another chair.

He started for the guy again, but was shocked when the big man turned on his heel and--ran.

The lights around them dimmed even further and more people headed for the dance floor.

No one had witnessed the altercation and no one paid any attention as a tall blond man ran across the dance floor, pushing his way through by using his elbows and hands. Blair followed in his wake, but his energy was waning fast.

The man turned right and barreled through a small group of people who stood in front of the hallway that led to the bathrooms--and the alley exit.

Blair followed.
____________

Jim rounded the corner and ducked into another alley, one that he prayed would lead him to the club.

As he ran, his hearing tracked Simon and the others. He heard the screeching brakes and knew that the others had pulled in front of the club. He could hear Simon shouting orders and the fast footsteps that told him they were entering the club.
_____________

"Taggert, you and Conner take the stairs, the Doc and I will search down here. Go."

Joel nodded and he and Megan moved cautiously for the staircase. Simon's gaze swept the area but before he could move, the door behind he and Charles opened and Dean and Sheila entered.

"Is he here, Captain Banks?" Dean asked, his eyes scanning.

"We just arrived. Two of my people are upstairs. Why don't you take southern end of the club, I'll take this end."

Dean nodded and with Charles joining he and Sheila, they moved off. A ruckus at the front of the bandstand caught Simon's attention but the bodies between him and the problem made it difficult for even a man of his height to see. Instinctively, he moved toward it.
____________

Gerald Rankin hit the exit door and bounded out into the alley. His head whipped right, then left. He smiled and moved to his right, to the other side of a large trash bin. He wasn't disappointed when the door burst open and the man who'd captured his attention a few nights ago, charged through. Rankin had to marvel at his luck. He'd gone to 852 Prospect, had intended on watching the man--and yet--here he was.

Rankin waited.
____________

Blair charged out into the alley and came to an abrupt stop. He listened. No footsteps, no harsh breathing.

He stepped further out into the alley, head cocked.
_____________

Dean put out a hand and Charles stopped behind him. The detective pointed and both Sheila and Charles spotted it--a broken chair.

Dean moved easily forward, this small corner still empty. He knelt down, Sheila beside him.
"You don't suppose--"

Dean nodded. "Yes I do. Look, blood."

Sheila spotted the dark stain on one piece of chair. "Fresh," she observed.

They both stood, turned and tried to spot Simon. Charles tapped Dean's arm. "Up there," he said. Dean looked up. Joel Taggert was pointing even as he was running toward the stairs, Megan ahead of him.

"Charlie, you stay here." Dean pulled his gun, as did Sheila and both detectives headed for the exit.

Charles waited to the count of ten, then followed.
___________

Something in the alley shifted, something--undefinable. Blair held his breath.

He backed up a bit, eyes searching for anything that could be used as a weapon.

A shadow disengaged itself from the wall behind and to Blair's right. He started to whirl around, but a hand clamped down on his shoulder even as an arm wound its way around Blair's chest. He felt himself being lifted--turned, his fingers clawing at the arm, eyes searching frantically--

Lid.

The lid.

As he was swept up and back, he reached out and latched onto a trash can lid. His fingers wrapped around the handle and as hot breath seared the side of his face and that same whiskey voice said, "Encore, sweetcheeks,"

Blair brought up the lid and smashed it into the side of the man's head. The arm released him and he dropped to the ground. Like a jungle fighter, he crouched, ready to strike again, but he wasn't prepared for the kick. It caught him in the shoulder and threw him back two feet. He
tried to roll up, but pain shot through him and his right arm folded under him.

Darkness--claustrophobia--his body blanketed by something heavy, hands ripping and tearing and Blair--fought.
_____________

Jim heard a door opening and he veered left, vaulted a small chain link fence that stood between him and what he was certain was the final alley. He landed lightly and kept on running.

His pupils dilated as the area grew even darker. He could hear breathing--and two heartbeats--just ahead.

As he ran, he opened up his sense of smell, filtered out the stale odors of trash and refuse and he had it. Blair. A mixture of deodorant, medication, antiseptic creams--and blood.

Jim, spurned on by the scents, made a right into the dark alley, an alley that for him, was like day. He had no difficulty spotting the figures at the far end.

Blair.

On the ground, face down, trying to claw his way out from under the man who was trying to capture those hands--

"NO!"

Jim heard the yell, knew that it came from him, but his vision narrowed to just those two and he was no longer human as he ducked his head and charged.
____________

Rankin heard the yell, looked up quickly, could see nothing, then an elbow struck him in the solar plexus and he was gasping for breath even as the young man beneath him surged up--
____________

Simon's hand was on the backdoor that led out of the club when he heard it. Later, he'd swear the yell wasn't human, nor would he admit that it froze his blood. He nevertheless got the door opened--
_____________

Blair was losing. In every way. Then--the yell.

He recognized it. Somehow, against all the odds, he recognized Jim.

He heard the anger and the pain in that yell and he was energized. The man above him paused and it was all Blair needed. He shoved his elbow back, connected with soft flesh, then surged up. At the same time, a missile struck Blair's assailant and there was no more sense of suffocation, no more claustrophobia, just--freedom.

He crawled forward, then pulled himself up to his knees and lifted his head--

Jim. Only--not.

Blair shook his head almost drunkenly, tried to focus, but it was Jim. Fighting, rolling, face hard, expression grim, and Blair understood that Jim was fighting--to kill.

He tried to stand, to move toward his partner, to stop him, but he couldn't. The door of the club opened and a large shape was there, blocking Blair's sight and he felt fear for Jim -- and panic -- because he couldn't see Jim anymore and he *needed* to see him.

Blair somehow struggled to his feet and took two faltering steps as he whispered, "Jim?"

##########

Pain of Love

part 12

#########

Such a simple sound. Simple word. His name, as spoken by Blair. It got through to Jim, brought him back to earth, to his human self.

His fingers had found their way around Rankin's throat, but at the sound of Blair saying his name, Jim let go. The man was unconscious anyway.

Jim went from inhuman killer to humane cop.

He pulled out his cuffs, flipped the man over and quickly and efficiently locked them in place. He stood, swayed a moment, then turned, only to come face to face with Simon, gun leveled at him.

"Uh, Simon?"

Behind the tall captain, Jim could see Dean, a woman who looked familiar, Charles, Joel and Conner. All stood with mouths agape. Simon closed his eyes, then holstered his gun.

"You just aged me ten years, Ellison. Ten years I can't afford." The tall captain partially turned and said, "Joel, would you?" He indicated their suspect. Joel nodded and moved quickly to the man, who was struggling to roll up and onto his knees. Taggert began to read him his rights.

Jim took two steps forward, but Charles moved quickly past both he and Simon in order to get to Blair. Jim followed the doctor with his eyes until he rested his gaze on Sandburg. The younger man was on his feet, barely, his hand against the wall. Charles got to him, took his arm and placing it around his own shoulders, he began to walk Blair inside.

"My car is just to the right of the alley, Doctor. That might be better than," Simon jerked his thumb backward, "in there." He then tossed Charles his keys. "Do we need to call an ambulance?"

Charles shook his head and changed direction after exchanging understanding nods with Dean.

The group watched the two men make their slow way out of the alley.
_____________

Blair sat in the back of Simon's car, Charlie beside him. Surrounding them were flashing lights, cops moving in and out of the club and--the curious. The patrons of the Drumroll had spilled out onto the sidewalk as soon as the cops showed up and now stood while Rankin was taken to a
squad car and with a hand on his head, guided into the back seat.

"Blair, we need the hospital," Charles said quietly. "I'm pretty sure your arm is fine, but we need to do an x-ray just to be safe. And I need to--examine you."

Blair was staring out the window, his eyes following different officers as they moved about.

Charles was pretty certain who he was looking for so intently. "Blair, did you hear me?"


"Yes. Can't we go to your clinic?"

"We could, yes. Would you feel more comfortable--"

"Yes. Thanks."

"All right." Charles waited a moment, then asked, "You okay?"

"Yes."

"Um, Blair? Monosyllabic responses aren't very reassuring to a doctor. Care to give me more? Convince me that you *are* okay?"

Blair turned his gaze from the window and focused on his friend. He rubbed at his face, then said, "I'm fine. Stupid, a jerk, pathetic, but fine."

"Oh, now *that* reassured me."

"Look, I feel like shit, I hurt all over, I did a very stupid and foolish thing, I endangered an investigation, Simon has *got* to be madder than hell at me, Jim will probably never speak to me again, and Dean? Well, he'll probably suggest that in the future, you should do a better job of picking your friends. But other than that--I'm peachy keen."

One eyebrow rose. "Peachy keen, Blair? *Peachy keen*?"

"Your mom used to say that, remember?"

"Oh, yeah, I remember. Including the last time she said it around the two of us." Charlie's voice changed as he said, mimicking his mother's French accented voice, "Dar-ling, you are gay? But that is, how do they say in America? *Peachy keen*?"

Blair smiled, a real one, a smile that lit up his face and eyes. "Hey, at least she handled it. She was truly delighted to know that her dear son was gay."

"Only because it pretty much guaranteed no grandchildren to embarrass her by showing everyone how old she really is."

"You love your mother and you know it. And she'd love grandchildren."

"Yeah, riiight." But Charlie was smiling.

Things seemed to be settling down outside as gradually the police cars began to peel away. The customers moved back inside and in a few moments, the only people who remained on the sidewalk were Simon, Jim, Dean and Sheila.

Both men watched as Sheila nodded at something Dean said, then hurried across the street to stop Joel and Conner, who were just about to pull away from the curb. She opened the back door and slid in, then Joel drove off.

"Uh-oh," Charlie murmured.

"Uh-oh?"

"Yeah. Dean's mad. He sent Sheila back without him. Lecture time for me."

"What did you--"

Charles grinned as he looked over at Blair. "He told me to stay--"

"Let me guess; he told you to stay put and you didn't, right?"

"Nailed it in one."

"Been there, done that."
______________

"Do you know how close I came to firing on you, Jim?"

"Sorry, sir."

"Do you know how close I came to -- *not* firing?"

"Sorry, sir."

"Which one of us is going to lecture Sandburg this time?"

Jim tore his eyes from Simon's car and Blair's face to look at his captain. "Neither of us, Simon. Neither of us. I think--he's reached the end of his rope. I'd prefer *not* seeing him dangling at the end of it, if you know what I mean?"

Simon turned around to look at his car. He could barely see the two figures in the back seat, but a shiver ran through his body. "Right," he finally said. "No lecture."

Dean pulled his hands out of his pocket and strode forward, saying, "Sandburg may not be getting a lecture, but someone else is about to--"

He pulled open the back door, stuck his head inside and said, "Charles? What part of *stay put* don't you understand?"

Dean was very surprised when Blair and Charles started laughing.
_____________

Charlie walked out of the treatment room, took a deep breath and entered the lobby. The moment he rounded the counter, Jim stood.

"He's fine, Jim. No break. Doesn't even need a sling. He's got a few additional bruises and he--I--needed to do some repair, but he's fine."

Jim sighed in relief and asked, "Can I see him?"

"You can see him, you can take him home, he's all yours. Turn left on the other side of the counter -- first treatment room."

"Thanks."

Charles, Simon and Dean watched the detective until he disappeared.

"Doctor, is he really all right?"

"Physically he'll heal. If we can keep him down for a few days, he'll feel a hundred percent better. But mentally--well, there's a great deal going on inside that brain of his and not all of it is centered around what--happened to him the other night."

Simon continued to stare at the doorway that led to the back of the clinic, his expression thoughtful--and worried.
____________

"Okay, you're ready," the nurse said as she helped Blair slip his sweater back on. "I'll go get the additional prescription for you and then, according to Doctor Kobyoshi, you're free to go."

Blair tugged at the edge of the cardigan and nodded as the nurse walked out. He sat there, trying to get his thoughts together, trying to decide what to do. His ruminations were interrupted by a knock, then the door was opened and Jim stepped in.

"Hey, Chief." His voice was soft, his eyes, gentle.

"Hey, yourself."

"Charlie says I can take you home. You ready?"

"Just waiting for another prescription."


"Oh, okay." Jim walked to the examining bed and smiled nervously. As he stood there, moving slightly from foot to foot, Blair made up his mind.

"Jim, I'm going to head out to Saint Sebastian's tomorrow. That shouldn't be a problem, right?
We can go to the station now, I can do my--statement--then you won't need me for a while, right?"

"I--well, sure, sure, peace and quiet is just what you need, Chief. Brother Marcus, sure. Look, I'll talk to Simon, then drive you--"

"No, you won't need to do that. They'll come and get me, don't worry."

"Oh. Right. Sure. Okay then."
___________

Jim moved like a robot. Blair was going away.

Tomorrow.

The next two hours were a literal hell. He walked into Major Crime with Blair, listened as his partner's heart rate shot up, went through the whole statement thing, answered when asked anything, but all that mattered was that Blair was leaving.

Calm reason told him that the decision was a good one, that the brothers of Saint Sebastian could help Blair, but underneath that calm reason was an unreasonable fear.

When they were finally done with his report and Sandburg's statement, Jim got up and together, they left. He'd been cognizant of the effort everyone took to act normal around Blair, to avoid staring or making him uncomfortable, and he was grateful. Now if only he could do the same for
his partner.
___________

Jim sat alone in the dark. Blair had gone to bed almost immediately upon arriving back at the loft, an act that was becoming routine of late.

Jim rested his head back and closed his eyes.

During the entire ride home, he'd been unable to say what he needed to say and tomorrow, Blair was leaving. Jim had heard Blair making the arrangements with the monastery and his heart had literally clenched, the pain radiating outward. Now--he felt powerless. And wasn't that a
kick in the head? Mr. Control Freak feeling powerless even though he'd given up no control? Maybe there was a lesson to be learned here. Somewhere.

As a gentle rain started up outside, Jim opened his eyes and stared down at his right hand. It was clenching and unclenching, almost on its own. Suddenly his memory sense kicked in and he was feeling Rankin's neck, the flesh bruising under his fingers--

Jim could hear the man's lungs constricting, fighting to bring in air, his hands on Jim's arms, gripping, tearing, his legs kicking up, uselessly-- "Jim?"

Jim moaned and let his fingers go lax, the memory of that voice stopping him from ending Rankin's life once again. He felt the moisture as it wound its way down his cheek and he found himself concentrating on it. The way the tear slid into each pore, the way the bead of salt water hit a whisker and changed course and finally as it touched his lip--

The French doors opened and Blair shuffled out. Jim heard him pause, then walk toward the windows. The older man almost held his breath. It was obvious that Blair didn't know he was still downstairs. Blair reached out and pulled up the shade, then opened the window out. He
stood quietly, the patter of the soft rain setting up a gentle rhythm.

Jim latched onto Blair's heartbeat and was relieved to find it slow and easy. Obviously it had not been a nightmare that brought Blair out. Jim stayed where he was, quiet, watching, listening, scenting, savoring.

At one point, Blair rested his forehead against the open window pane and sighed. The sound tore through Jim as if it had been the loudest scream in the world. They were only a few feet apart and yet--they might as well have been on different ends of the universe.

Eventually, Blair closed the window and pulled down the shade. He turned and froze.

"Sorry, Chief, I didn't want to scar--bother--you."

"That's--all right. Found that I couldn't sleep and when the rain started--well, just needed to--hear it, you know?"

"Yeah. Yeah."

Jim could feel the crack of his emotions widening. His body was being torn apart, his heart ripping in two--

"Blair, please--"

"Jim?"

Same sound. Same word. Same voice.

"Please--don't--leave--me."

The sob rose up and Jim leaned forward, into the pain, hoping to keep the sound stifled. It didn't work.

"Aw, God, Blair--"

Then he was shaking with them, his chest heaving, and he reached out a hand, trying to find something to anchor him--

"God, Jim--"

Blair was beside him, his own hand taking Jim's groping one and Jim was in Blair's arms, Blair's strong arms, one hand soothing him, moving over the back of his head and Jim let--go.


###########
Pain of Love

part 13

##########

Blair held Jim for what seemed like an eternity and at some point, he started rocking, his hand smoothing up and down Jim's back.

In three years, Blair had never seen this kind of emotion from the man, but as hard as Blair held on, as much as he calmed and soothed and whispered, he found that he couldn't *feel* Jim, and that scared him.

It was that whole--disconnected--thing again.

When Jim finally pulled away, he brought his hands up to hold Blair's face and Blair tried so hard to feel it, leaned into it, but there was -- nothing.

"Don't go, Chief. Please don't go."

Their faces were so close together and Blair could see the tracks of Jim's tears and his nose was slightly red. His eyelashes glistened and Blair found himself focused on them, thinking that Jim's lashes were indecently long--

"Chief?"

Eyes still fastened on the wet, dark lashes, Blair whispered, "It's better if I do. There's so much going on inside of you, Jim. Fears, guilt, you feel responsible for what happened to me, for the events that brought us here today--I think, *you* need time alone. Time to rediscover yourself, without -- me around. If I stay, we'll just compound everything. We'll slip back into the routine of the last weeks and that won't help you."

Jim's hands dropped to Blair's shoulders as the red-rimmed eyes widened. "Help--*me*? Blair, this isn't about helping me, this is about helping you--and us."

Blair shook his head, desperate now to convince Jim of the truth. "Jim, you have to decide--you have decisions to make. You've been in some kind of limbo since," he shifted his gaze from Jim and down to his hands, "you know. And we both know now, thanks to Sierra Verde, that if you
want to continue being a sentinel, you don't need anyone to do it. And if you don't--"

"Blair, Blair, Blair--"

Jim was shaking his head and actually smiling. "Listen to me, okay? Chief, you're right about one thing, we are screwed up."

Jim rose then and started to pace and Blair was fast getting dizzy watching him--not to mention--motion sickness?

"Look, let me start with--Lily. I--I realize now that I was subconsciously trying to alleviate my guilt over not being able to help Alex--by helping Lily." Jim stopped pacing long enough to give Blair a shamefaced grin. "You probably caught the--resemblance?"

Blair nodded, suddenly uncertain of where this was going. And wondering if he wanted to go there--

"Yeah, well--anyway. She and I talked a bit; actually, we talked a great deal. See, her brother is a gambler and he'd gone into," Jim stopped. "Okay, you don't need to know that. Anyway, she asked questions about you and as a result of those questions, I began to see that maybe--that you weren't able to live up to your full potential--because of your work with me--and the station."

Jim had started pacing again and Blair was about ready to puke when the older man stopped a second time. He ran his hand back through his hair, leaving it messy and standing up on end. Blair almost smiled.

"You've given up trips, and your life as an anthropologist, and your friends, and I realized it was because of me. So I started--cutting you back, letting you have more time at Rainier. And I--shut them off, Blair. I shut them off."

Blair blinked, cocked his head, then said, "Shut what off?"

"My senses. I haven't *been* a sentinel since I started spending time with Lily."

Slowly and with some difficulty, Blair stood. "I see." He found that he couldn't look at Jim at that moment, could only stare at the floor, at his socked feet. He wiggled a toe. "I see. So you're--you--I was--right. I am right. I've kind of thought that maybe--since, Alex, that maybe
you, well actually, before Alex, that you really didn't want to be a sentinel, that somehow--because I--forc--"

Blair couldn't say it.

Couldn't say the word.

He started taking in air--too much air--not enough air--and his lungs were heaving, and he looked around frantically, he needed air--

Blair stumbled to the windows, yanked at the blinds, they came down in his hand and he threw them backwards, then grappled with the windows til he could push them open. He stepped out into the rain and tried to bring air into his tortured lungs but even now, in the fresh air he couldn't. He vaguely heard his name being called and someone--running--maybe? But the edges of his world were going dark--

--arms around him, a soft voice telling him to breathe, a bag around his lips and nose and he breathed--

"That's it, in and out, in and out, you got it, babe, slow and easy--"

Blair grabbed at Jim's arms and started shaking his head, frantic that Jim should hear him--

"f-for you--f-for--you to be--something you--didn't want--to be...I -- for--forced--you."
_________

Jim heard the words, saw the agonized expression on his partner's face and he thought his heart would break again. He felt the tears for a second time that night as this time--he took Blair into his arms.

"No, no, you didn't. You didn't force me, Blair. No one could ever force me to do anything I really didn't want to do. Or be. My dad couldn't do it, the Army couldn't do it, no one could. I *chose* to be a sentinel. I chose not once, not twice, not three times. Blair," Jim brought Blair's
head up until their eyes were fixed on each other, "I chose *four* times. The last time was--a few hours ago, in your bedroom. And it was completely natural.

"Surrounded by you, your possessions, your scent and your--blood--I became a sentinel again. This time--forever. You never forced anything, Blair. But you're a damn fine--nudger."

"You--you're--a sentinel now?"

Jim nodded, a gentle smile on his face. "How do you think I found you in that alley tonight? How do you think I heard you and in hearing you say my name, managed to stop from killing Rankin? And God, Blair, I wanted to kill him so much."

The gentle rain started to come down a bit harder and Jim looked up at the sky, then back at Blair. "I think we should go in, get warm, and get into--bed. Come on, Chief. Warm now, talk later."

He helped Blair up and together they walked back inside. Jim paused long enough to close the window again. Then he glanced over at the shades--on the floor.

"They're dead, Chief."

"S-s-orry."

"God, your teeth are chattering. Come on. And I hated those. We'll get new ones next weekend."

He led him into the bathroom and without a thought, easily stripped Blair down, then himself. He got the shower on, checked the temperature, then got them both in and the curtain pulled. Jim never really saw the bruises or the bites because, for Blair's sake, he chose not to. But he
made sure to block the majority of the spray.

Jim washed him tenderly, then himself. He washed Blair's hair, then his own, stopping long enough to take some shampoo and plop it on Blair's nose. He was rewarded with a shaky smile.

He got them rinsed off, then out and dry. He watched with satisfaction as Blair put on his own robe and Jim then did the same.

"You want to dry your hair?"

Blair, looking suddenly vague, shook his head.

"Okay, then we'll get the ends semi-dry and hit the sheets."

He took another towel and for the next few minutes, gently worked Blair's ends. When he was satisfied, he put all the towels into the hamper and led Blair out.

Again, without thought, he guided Blair upstairs, and into his bed. Remaining in his robe as well, he crawled in after him. Pillows were bunched, blankets were settled, positions found. Neither man gave it a thought when Jim dropped his arm across Blair's hip.

Just as Jim was about to drift off, he murmured, "you'll stay?"

"i--i'll stay."

In less than five minutes--they were both asleep.
_____________

"You were supposed to stay put."

"I don't have to."

"But you were supposed to."

"But I didn't *have* to."

"I'm the cop."

"And I'm the doctor."

"I'm the one with the gun."

"Yippee. I'm the one with the stethoscope."

"Koby?"

Charles shrugged. "Hey, it was the best I could come up with."

Dean pulled his partner into his arms, then yanked the blanket back up. "Look, if we were giving medical aid to someone, I'd do *exactly* what you told me to do. So if we're in the middle of cop stuff, isn't it fair that you do what *I* tell you to do?"

Charles shoved his hips back. "I hate logic. I'm giving you a new nickname--Detective *Spock*."

Grinning into Charlie's neck, Dean did a little shoving of his own as he said, "Beam me up, Scotty."

"In your dreams, Spock. Now if you were Captain Pike--"
_______________

Dean's head rested over Charlie's heart. They were coming down, their bodies slick with sweat. As Dean ran his hand over Charlie's hip, he asked, "Will they make it, Koby?"

"They're both special, Deano. Couldn't you feel it?"

Dean lifted his head and peered at his lover. "Is that some oriental thing you've got going?"

"Nah, just good doctor stuff. There's something between them and I'm thinking if they'll just--let it guide them? Yeah, they'll make it. Big time."

Dean put his head back down and smiled. "It's an oriental thing."
____________

The moon sent a silver streak down on the bed and Blair watched it, followed it on its path to Jim. It spread out and highlighted Jim's cheek, his right temple, his jaw. He glanced down at the pale hand covering his own. He -- felt it.

Blair smiled.

There was no darkness, no sense of suffocation, only a kind of peace. A kind of --connectedness.

It wasn't over, and he'd follow Charlie's advice by calling Monique in the morning, but in the meantime -- he was connected to Jim Ellison.



The End