Cause for Being

This has to be a record, even for me, Jim thought tiredly, watching Blair cheerfully bustle around the loft, getting ready for an evening out. Less than two weeks together, and he's already working himself up to dumping me.

Though Blair claimed that he was joining a group of friends from Rainier for a foreign film festival at their favorite art theater, Jim had seen him get ready for a date too many times not to know that he was taking too much care for a casual outing. Just as telling was that Blair was very vague as to exactly when he was getting home and where he would go besides the theater. Besides, Jim knew all too well from past experience how to read the signs that a woman had caught Blair's eye.

In the past he had stood back and watched Blair go through the whole process of chase, catch, and release girlfriends with something close to wry resignation, if not out-and-out amusement. It had all become so second nature to Blair that Jim thought it was possible he didn't consciously recognize what he was doing as he did it. Thanks, Jim supposed, to Naomi's example, at least in part.

Now Jim was the one who had been caught and was being released and it wasn't funny at all. He wanted to believe that Blair didn't know that he had already lost interest in him, that he wasn't hurting him deliberately. On the other hand, Blair had never been one for direct confrontations. He might be hoping that Jim would get the message and simply let their affair, such as it was, fade without a big, messy blowout of a verbal battle because Blair didn't think it was worth that much hassle.

Either way, Jim decided painfully, the ball was in his court. If Blair truly didn't want to be with him, it was up to Jim to gracefully let him go, keeping the heartache to a minimum for both of them so they could at least salvage their partnership out of the whole mess. On the other hand, if Blair was just running scared because of the whole commitment, new sexual orientation thing, letting him go without a hell of a fight was the wrong thing to do.

For the life of him, Jim didn't know what he should do.

Blair swept past in a rush, heading for the coat rack. "Don't wait up. We'll probably go to a pizza place or something after to make like Siskel & Eberts on the movies."

Turning off the television that he hadn't been paying the slightest bit of attention to anyway, Jim put down the remote and said without meaning to, "Do you honestly think I don't know what you're up to, Blair?" Apparently, some part of him couldn't just let go, then.

The use of his name instead of 'Chief' or some other nickname yanked Blair to a stop as nothing else could. Unsurprisingly, he recovered quickly, and said lightly, misleadingly, "Hey, it's no crime to hang out with the college crowd just because I'm persona non gratis on campus. Or because I'm working exclusively with the cops now."

"No, it's not, on both counts, but that's not what I'm talking about and you know it." Jim stood up slowly, not wanting to give even the slightest impression that he was angry or on the offensive.

With a laugh that would have sounded sincere if Jim hadn't caught the flash of panic in his heartbeat and scent, Blair said, "Want to let me in on it, then? Because I, like, have no clue here what you're talking about."

Walking toward him, not missing the tiny flinch backwards, as if Blair wanted to retreat, Jim gave an obvious sniff, and reached out to brush a finger over a freshly shaven jaw. "This isn't for my benefit. You haven't so much as kissed me in a week, and if you were going to change that now, you wouldn't be going out for the evening. Who is she?"

"You are *so* off base," Blair said, shaking his head, an amused smile plastered in place. "There's going to be at least six of us, a mixed bag, I'm not even sure who's going to show up."

Jim took another small step toward him, not to intimidate, but to remind him of how close they could be, should be. "No doubt that's the truth, except there is someone special you're really hoping is going to be there. You're probably telling yourself that it doesn't mean anything if you sit beside her, that just because she turns you on, doesn't mean you can't be friends, can't talk, can't spend time together. You'll probably tell yourself that right up until you kiss her."

Wondering if he looked as sad and weary as he felt, Jim shook his head. "Then you'll let yourself be swept away by the moment, or pretend you think that it's wrong to lead her on if you weren't going to go through with it. Afterwards, you'll insist to yourself that it was just a mistake that won't happen again, that there's no reason to make a big deal out of something so unimportant. I'm betting you'll be able to use that line on yourself at least twice more before you admit that what you're doing is screwing around on me."

The truth in Jim's words was a dark shadow at the back of Blair's eyes, but he still said dismissively, "You're turning a group get together into a full blown affair based on me showering up before going out. I know you're a detective, and it's your job to be suspicious and cynical about everything, but dragging it into our personal life is going way too far."

Not letting himself rise to the bait, Jim said mildly, "It doesn't take a detective to notice you haven't exactly denied that there is someone going that you're interested in."

Blair tried to wave the comment off, but when Jim didn't so much as blink at him, he said flatly, "So I'm human enough to notice a beautiful woman, maybe even have a few horny thoughts about her. That's a long way from cheating on you. Or do you think that because I'm with you now that I'm supposed to act like I'm blind, or that I've suddenly developed a revulsion for the opposite sex?"

"If that's the case, wouldn't staying away from temptation be the smart thing to do?" Jim could hear anger beginning to find its way to the surface for both of them, but couldn't think of a way to stop it.

Apparently picking up on it himself, Blair abruptly changed tactics. "Okay, so maybe I was planning on paying extra attention to Meredith, flirt a little, maybe try to get together for coffee or something, because I like her. If I'm going to be seen with women, it has to look real, and that just isn't going to happen if there isn't some chemistry there."

"Seen with women?" Jim asked, at a loss for where Blair's agile mind was taking their conversation.

"As in letting people think that I'm still dating so they won't come knocking on our door," Blair said impatiently. "You know, keep the brass at the PD from noticing that their best male team is sleeping together."

Almost disbelievingly, Jim said, "You want to keep us in the closet."

"Don't you?"

Aware that his jaw was locked so tight that he could hear his entire skull creak in protest, Jim ground out, "No, never crossed my mind. I'm not ashamed of loving you, and I don't particularly care what some self-righteous idiot has to say about my life. And frankly, I'm kind of surprised that it matters to you, all things considered."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Blair shot back, temper finally over-riding whatever caution he had been holding onto.

Trying to take a verbal step backwards before either of them could lose it, Jim said, "Just that as long as I've known you, you've gone your own way based on what you personally believe in, not on other people's opinions."

"Well, this is the first time that public opinion about my life could be deadly to someone important to me," Blair snapped.

The misery that flashed over his expressive features under the irritation was enough to tamp down Jim's ire. "Don't ask, don't tell works at the department, for the most part," he said as evenly as he could. "I should know." A sudden thought hit him and he added, "You're not getting hassled, are you?"

"No, no." Blair dragged his hand through his hair, and stared at the ground. "Some good-natured teasing way back when I first moved in with you, but with Major Crimes behind you...."

"Behind *us,*" Jim broke in.

Waving away the interruption, Blair went on. "...so solidly, it's never gone beyond that or the occasional smart ass remark when some uniform's feathers were ruffled." He turned away, facing the door, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, head hanging. "But that was when there wasn't anything for them to pick up on, no reason to go beyond the usual gossip and speculation."

"So you think you've suddenly got the word 'faggot' written in red on your forehead," Jim said, not surprised when Blair shot a glare over his shoulder that could have melted steel. Admitting that it was pointless to try to convince him otherwise and remembering all too well how obvious and exposed he'd felt when he'd finally crossed that particular line himself, he gentled his voice as much as he could and laid a careful hand on Blair's shoulder. "Look, if you want out of my bed, I'm not going to kick you out of the loft, let alone my life. I just don't want you lying to me - or yourself - about what's going on."

"That's not what I want!" Blair burst out. Jim didn't say anything, but waited patiently, and a moment later Blair muttered, "I think. I mean, I'm the one who changed things, all but forced it on you. It'd be wrong for me to walk away, just because of a few doubts."

"It would be better to stay with it when you're having them?" Jim gave a sympathetic squeeze, and backed off. "Look, we can't go back to the way things were, I'll be the first to admit that. But that doesn't mean we can't go forward from here."

"I'd feel like the world's biggest prick, staying here if we, uh, break up, knowing your feelings haven't changed." But Blair didn't turn back to look at him, to reassure him he just needed time to adjust.

"My... feelings weren't a problem for our partnership before we got together; why should that change just because I've had a taste?" Jim scrubbed at his face, not sure if he believed that line himself, but determined to try to make it the truth. "Look, I'd rather deal with a little unrequited lust than be constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. Or can you promise me that it won't?"

In a very, very small voice, Blair said, "No."

"So what other option do we have?" Wanting very badly to risk a hug, Jim forced himself to take yet another step away. "If you change your mind, you know where I sleep." Not giving him a chance to respond to that, he retreated to the kitchen to get an unwanted bottle of beer, not looking at Blair at all.

For a moment he stood motionless, and Jim could almost hear Blair's thoughts racing frantically around themselves, smell the confusion and guilt on him. Eventually, he said quietly, "So it's my call; you're putting it all on me."

Opening the beer and going to his usual place by the balcony doors, Jim said flatly, "Not by choice. I know what I want, but if you're not ready to commit to being with me, certain of what you want all the way down to the bone of you, there's no point in trying, is there?"

"You're trying to push me into marrying you, for all practical intents and purposes," Blair said, trying to work himself back up to anger from the sound of it.

"I'm not going to fight with you, give you the excuse you break it all off cold," Jim said, rolling the bottle between his palms. "Live with it, Chief. All I'm asking is that if you want to be more than partner and roomie, you give it everything you've got, just like you did to get that far in the first place. Is that really unreasonable?"

Blair didn't answer, and just when Jim thought he would leave without saying another word, he said tightly, "This sucks, big time. The last thing I want is to be the next heartbreak for you. But I can't *do* this, Jim. I just can't. Not right now, maybe not ever, and that hurts *me.*"

Against his will, beginning to feel like he was being led around by his heart, Jim asked, "What can I do to help, besides what I've already done?"

Finally opening the loft door, Blair said, "Nothing. Not a single fucking thing."

He left, slamming the door behind him with a crash, but Jim could hear him cursing himself as he ran down the stairs to his car. Jim watched from his vantage point as Blair peeled away, leaving tracks behind, then finally gave into his own anger and violently threw the beer bottle through the closed balcony doors. His senses slowed time down for him, letting him see every shard of glass as it tumbled and fell, hear the light tinkle as it broke free of its brethren to follow its own path. In an eerie way it was beautiful, and reminded Jim all too much of his own life. For all the bright flashes of loveliness and color, the edges were deadly and there were far more of them than there was beauty.

When all the flying pieces had come to rest, he swung away, suddenly desperate to be someplace that wasn't filled with Blair's presence. He couldn't turn off his emotions, he couldn't act on them or ignore them, but he could, by god, get as far away from the reminders of them as time and circumstances allowed. Rob still needed help at the gym, and Blair had never been there. With luck, Jim could wear himself into total exhaustion. That wasn't as effective as not having a heart at all, but it was better than nothing.

* * *

As plans went, staying too worn-out and used-up to feel was a skimpy one, though one that Jim had successfully used in the past. Usually, after a while, whatever sent him into over-drive either went away, or he found a way to not care anymore - or at least bury it deep enough that it was the same thing as. This time, however, no matter how he pushed himself, the moment he paused for anything, even a stoplight, it would all well up inside him. The frustration was bad, but not as bad as the bitter disappointment of coming so close to having what he needed, and that wasn't even a hint at how deep the longing and need went. His temper went from a short fuse to no fuse at all, but thankfully he managed to spill it where it would do good - into the job.

The only positive thing that came out of his insane schedule was that Blair quickly lost the hunted, preoccupied look that had shadowed his expression when he thought Jim wasn't looking. From his point of view, Jim supposed it looked like their lives were back to being the way they had been just before their little detour into a relationship, and he did his best to convince Blair that was the case. Only Simon got any hint that anything unusual was up with Jim, and only because he would let himself vent a tiny bit by growling at his captain and friend, positive if he went too far, Simon would slap him down without taking it personally.

Jim suspected that Rob knew something was up, as well, but the ex-cop knew better than to cross that line. The only thing he did insist on was paying Jim for the time and energy he was pouring into the gym, though that didn't go down without a near-fight between them. Between that and the overtime pay for the extra shifts he took as often as he could, and aided by the totally non-existent social life, Jim's bank accounts were the only part of his personal life that flourished.

The manic energy output couldn't last, he knew. The human body could only take so much before it protested by shutting down in one way or another, but every time, *every* time, he thought he had a handle on himself and took a breather, the internal rip currents would threaten to shred him into a thousand pieces. He would start pacing, rage trying to swamp his reason, or worse, begin shaking from a pain that didn't seem to have any boundaries. In the end, he would throw himself into something, anything that kept him moving.

Inevitably a night came when Simon wouldn't let him stay at his desk. Not an hour later, Rob threw him out of the gym because he came too close to losing it with a teenaged student who was just trying to prove how tough he was by seeing how far he could push his teacher. Jim's brother was out of town, as was his father, and Blair was out on yet another in his endless string of dates. Jim drove around aimlessly as long as he dared, but after a near miss with another vehicle caused by zoning on the reflection of taillights on the wet streets, he surrendered and went home, hoping to crawl into bed and fall dead asleep.

He made it as far as the closing the front door before the echoing emptiness of the loft hit him like a ton of bricks, and he sank down on his backside, back to the door, fists clenched on tense thighs. A part of him wanted to destroy; just start ripping and punching until nothing was left around him but tatters. A larger part wanted to scream and tear at his own flesh, as if the physical pain could provide some exit for the hurt devastating his heart and soul. From bitter experience he knew that getting drunk wouldn't help, and going out to find somebody to fuck would actually make matters worse. That left him with nothing to do but sit and shake until something internal gave and let him collapse into merciful unconsciousness.

For a long, long time it seemed he wasn't going to be that lucky, and just when Jim thought he couldn't hold out another moment, a soft whine penetrated his misery. Confused, he looked for the source, found nothing, and began to vaguely wonder if he had finally gone insane. When he didn't move or stop trembling, the whine came again, louder, and he was able to track it to his upstairs bedroom. Without thinking, he focused on that area and met a wolf's Blair-blue eyes that were filled with an agony to match his own.

"Chief?" Jim asked in disbelief.

Blair's animal spirit whimpered and wiggled eagerly at the acknowledgment, but made no move to go to him.

"You shouldn't be here," Jim whispered. "I gave you back."

With an all-over shake, Chief denied that comment, and for a split second Jim was willing to swear the faint outline of his own spirit animal, Enquiri, overshadowed the wolf, as if they were a single entity. "That's right. Merged," Jim murmured to himself. "Blair and I share you two. So why did you show up and not the panther?"

The only answer he got was another whimper as Chief wiggled as close to the wire railing as he could without going past it, looking at him in what could only be called longing. Jim blinked at him stupidly, then asked uncertainly, "Do you want me to come up there?"

Chief yelped enthusiastically, bounding up on all fours.

"Well, that's a yes if I ever saw one." Jim looked down at his legs for a moment as if they weren't attached or of any particular importance to him, then somehow found the will to stagger to his feet. Chief barked his approval, and bounced to the top of the stairs to wait for him, yipping constantly as if to encourage Jim as he trudged up.

His antics were enough to bring a genuine smile to Jim's lips for the first time in a long while, and he reached out to ruffle Chief's fur. To his surprise, the wolf pulled away before he could pet him, then leaped back up the bed facing him, ducking his head down a little in apology. "No touching allowed this time around, huh?" Jim asked. "That's okay, I understand. To be truthful, I don't think I really want to. I'm not picking up on scent or heartbeat; you're probably pretty close to illusion." His smile turned grim. "Or delusion."

Growling a definite negative, Chief paced back and forth on the bed Blair himself had never graced before jumping down and going to the closet, silently pawing at the door as if to get it open. Getting the message, Jim opened it for him, and Chief nosed around the contents until he found whatever it was he wanted, chuffing to himself in satisfaction when he did. Mystified, Jim checked to see what it was, growing more baffled when he saw that Chief had unearthed the blueprints he'd had made up when he had first decided to buy the loft apartment next door and combine it with his.

They had sat there, more or less hidden from casual inspection inside an old poster, since Jim had decided to let Blair take the new apartment for his own, instead. Yet, Blair himself had never made any move toward taking occupancy, apparently preferring Jim's original plan. In the weeks since then, neither had done more than occasionally put things in the place, turning into an impromptu storage area. On Jim's part, it was because he wanted Blair to have the option of having his own space - an admitted ploy to keep him from moving away completely. He couldn't speak for why Blair hadn't used it, except to speculate that perhaps he was trying to reassure him that he *wasn't* going anyplace, and that they were solidly back on their old footing.

That thought was too depressing to face, and he made as if to shut the closet door, only to have Chief refuse to move until Jim picked up the blueprints. Once he did, the wolf ran toward the stairs, then back to him, back to the stairs, back to him, until Jim got the message and followed him. "Timmy didn't have this much trouble communicating with Lassie," Jim muttered sourly.

The look that Chief shot him was pure Sandburg at his best when dealing with a wiseass sentinel, lifting Jim's spirits a little in spite of himself. Once he let both of them into the other apartment, Chief went straight to where the camping gear from their last disastrous and wonderful camping trip was piled. He dug at the sleeping bag, grumbling softly, obviously wanting it undone, but Jim couldn't move.

The first time - and one of the very few times - he and Blair had made love had been in that sleeping bag, and he had never gotten around to cleaning it after they returned home. The scent of their night together still clung to the fabric, clear to him even from where he stood, taunting and teasing him with memories he'd tried to suppress and a gnawing hunger that had never gone away. "No," he said hoarsely. He couldn't touch the sleeping bag, couldn't unroll it and swamp the whole room, the whole building, with that fragrance. It was simply more than he could take without irrevocably destroying whatever sanity and self-control he had left.

Despite whimpering sympathetically, Chief didn't budge, but waited expectantly, stubbornly, until Jim lurched toward him, falling to his knees by the bedroll. "No," he repeated dully. "No, I can't."

With a very human sigh, Chief tilted his head to study him, then gingerly inched forward until he was just barely not touching. Despite his turmoil, it struck Jim as weird to not be able to feel any body heat or displacement of air by the motion, unpleasantly reminding him that he couldn't hear the wolf either, except for vocalizations. It grated on his nerves, and he would have moved away so that distance could let him pretend Chief was really there, but before he could act on that impulse, Chief put a paw over the place on Jim's chest where his print used to be.

He didn't quite make contact, but that spot flared to life again, tingling with the pleasant heat of a loving kiss. Whispering, "Oh," Jim covered it with a protective hand, eyes fluttering shut for a moment at the gentle burst of pleasure. His dick stirred sluggishly, called to action by the combination of sensation and the suddenly strong scent of Blair's arousal.

"You want me turned on," Jim murmured to the wolf, finally understanding. "Sex lowers the barriers between us; lets you actually talk to me. But how am I supposed to get a hardon when I can't touch you?"

For an answer Chief nudged the sleeping bag again, and Jim reluctantly unrolled it. "I don't think smell by itself is going to be enough to do it." Regardless, Jim sat on his heels in the middle of the bedding and undid his pants. Taking out his flaccid penis, he gave himself a few half-hearted tugs, and was almost ready to give it up for useless when Chief licked his cock.

Jim couldn't hold back a gasp as pure ecstasy tumbled over his nerves to collide in his gut, jerking and pulling in spasms so intense he thought he might climax from that single caress. Stroking himself more enthusiastically, Jim closed his eyes to concentrate on the need for relief building inside him. With sight gone, other senses took up the job of giving him Chief's presence. He could hear hungry pants and needy whimpers, and the punch of Blair's sex pheromones slammed into his libido. Groaning, fist flying over the column of his flesh, he lost himself in the sparse sense memories he had of making love with Blair: the taste of his sweet mouth and sturdy cock; the texture of lips, tongue, nipples; the sounds of his excitement and release.

Just as Jim was on the edge of coming, strong hands cupped his face, fingers cradling the back of his skull as lips brushed over his forehead. Instantly memories overshadowed his drive toward release, and he was all but reliving the conversation he'd had with Blair when his partner was persuading Jim to make love with him for the first time. His heart twisted once again at how hard it must have been for Blair to always be the outsider, the stranger that could be harassed, even to the point of rape, with no one to turn to. He'd had no one to depend on, no one to take strength from, except himself and his own image of himself.

Even as Jim tried to process why that was important enough for Chief to remind him of it, he was given another kiss, this time on the lips. Jim hardly felt it for the flood of emotion that poured into him - Blair's, he knew without any shadow of doubt - filling his heart and mind. Frantically, he tried to sort through it, finding guilt, shame, self-doubt, strong feelings of insecurity and helplessness. All of it was associated with him, along with a strong, strong yearning that echoed the one Jim lived with.

Jim wanted nothing more than to think, to understand what it all meant, but his body couldn't be denied. Against his will, all the information that Chief had given him took second place to the powerful spasms of his climax. He couldn't help but savor it; it had been weeks since he'd even had this much relief. Collapsing to his side as the last shocks faded, he turned his mind to Blair, their partnership, and the shambles of their relationship, mind clear and focused as if he were working out the details of a tricky case. Chief lay on his stomach beside him, ears at attention and tail wagging slowly, as if he could see Jim's brain working overtime.

Eventually, unable to deny the truth to himself any longer, he said ruefully, "You told me once that I loved bitterly, reluctantly because of the pain it always brought me. I thought I'd gotten over that; guess that was ego on my part, huh?"

Forcing himself to face the wolf as if he truly were Blair, Jim admitted, "I was so sure that he was going to hurt me, I didn't give him a chance to prove he wouldn't. And he's so filled with guilt and shame for 'making' me accept him into my bed that he's no sure himself that he won't. Instead of reassuring us both by coaxing him closer, I pushed him hard so he'd do what he always does when he doesn't want to get hurt - evade, elude, shimmy just beyond reach."

Nodding once, slowly, Chief encouraged him to keep talking, eyes filled with love and sympathy.

"Normally he doesn't let me get away with shoving him away, but he's so confused and upset...." Jim trailed off, hurting for Blair and hating himself for how he'd treated him. That wasn't going to help anybody or anything, though, and he mentally kicked himself in the backside, promising he'd do worse to himself as soon as possible. "So what do I do now to bring him back to me?"

With a triumphant little growl, Chief got to his feet and stood over the blueprints for the renovations to the lofts. "Our home," Jim murmured, hearing a longing in his own voice that matched what he knew was in Blair's heart. "Too soon to just ask him to help me start the renovations; he's done the same thing I have and filled his life with business. Trying not to make it worse for me, I think, by being around too much. Have to start somewhere smaller, more subtle, I think."

Chief wandered around the small apartment, muzzle almost to his chest, clearly deep in thought and just as clearly without a clue as to what might work. It was an odd sight, yet so much like Blair himself that Jim half-laughed and shakily stood, going to block the wolf's path. "I'll think of something, and soon. I promise. We've both suffered more than enough."

Sighing with what sounded like reluctance, Chief agreed with Jim, then turned his back to him, hunching in on himself as if in pain. "

Time to go?" Jim asked, understanding both the unwillingness and the hurt. He didn't want Chief to leave, either.

Chief shivered, then turned back to face him, but this time there was a darker shadow surrounding him, the shape subtly different from a wolf's. Like earlier, Enquiri was sharing the same space with Chief, and as the panther became the dominant form, it leaped, hitting Jim square in the chest. Unlike the other times that had happened, there was no jolt or shock; instead only thick, sweet comfort, like a warmed blanket tossed over a snow-chilled body.

Everything in Jim relaxed - muscles, senses, and spirit - leaving him a little lightheaded and ridiculously cheerful. It wasn't too late to fix things between him and Blair. If it had been, Chief wouldn't have been able to come. And even though he didn't know how he was going to do it, he was sure that he could for the simple reason that the longing from Blair that he had felt so powerfully had Jim's name all over.

He picked up the seriously soiled sleeping bag, trying not to mourn the loss of the wonderful mix of scents. Scooping up the blueprints as well, Jim tapped them thoughtfully against his leg, looking around the apartment. If it was to be their home, Blair should be able to give approval for any major changes. On the other hand, a hot tub had definitely been part of the plans before things had gotten messed up, so getting that done might be a good present when it came time to convince Blair of his sincerity in getting it right between them. With that much, at least, settled to his satisfaction, Jim went back to his own loft, mentally turning various ideas over and over.

In the end, the opportunity presented itself long before Jim came up with anything workable by himself. A few days after Chief's visit, he settled down for an evening of working on grants for Rob's gym, expecting Blair to be out until long after he'd gone to bed. Halfway through the first grant, though, Jim got so thoroughly bogged down in the labyrinth of paperwork, despite his years of experience in dealing with that bureaucratic beast, that he didn't even hear Blair come into the loft, let alone the building.

Wadding up his latest attempt, Jim growled silently and tossed it over his shoulder, not realizing that he was going to hit Blair with it until he saw him out of the corner of his eye, ducking. "Sorry, Chief," he said, chasing down the paper and its brothers that he had thrown earlier. "Didn't see you standing there."

"No shit," Blair said cheerfully, picking one of the balls up himself and straightening it enough to read. "Grant applications? No wonder. Those can twist your brain worse than any designer drug that ever came on the market."

"I think they decide how desperate you are for the money by how many paper loops you're willing to jump through," Jim agreed dryly. "I swear I read it through before starting, and I *still* keeping having to go back and rewrite or recalculate something that I didn't spot last time around."

Sitting down at the table with him, Blair picked up another form and looked it over. "So you thinking of going back to school?"

"These are for the gym," Jim said absently, reading through the instructions yet again.

"Rob's gym?"

"Yeah. Julie's taken over the books, and she's great with the scheduling and people contact stuff, but this had her ready to scream and rip her hair out. Since it was my idea to start with, I volunteered to take over, much to my regret."

"Man, can I sympathize with that. I do not miss having to deal with this for grad school." Blair put down the papers, and asked, "Your idea?"

"Trying to make the classes affordable and available for the kids who really need them." Jim picked up his pen, thought about it a second, and put it back down again, deciding that caution was definitely the better part of valor in this case. "You know, trying to reach the kids getting bullied to let them know they don't have to be a jock to be able to defend themselves. Or give the angry ones a way to express their frustration without hurting themselves or somebody else. I don't want a Columbine in Cascade, and early intervention is a good way to go on that."

"Stop 'em before they break the law and become your problem?"

Jim shot a hard look at him, but Blair was apparently engrossed in reading the form he held, so he said mildly, "Just doing the right thing."

Apparently somewhat startled by the answer, Blair glanced up at him, expression softening somehow. "Yeah, it is and I should have expected you to look at it that way, too. Sorry; sometimes my mother's words come out of my mouth without me ever meaning them to."

"Didn't someone say we're all destined to become our parents, whether we want to or not?" Jim said jokingly.

"Not if we get some early intervention," Blair said deadpan, then ruined it by grinning. "Want some help with these? By now, I'm a pro at it."

Gratefully, Jim pointed at the one that had confused him before he'd even gotten through the first page. "Whose body do I have to hide for payback?"

"I think I like you owing me one better. That way you get to worry about the what and the when for a nice, long time." Blair waited expectantly for Jim's comeback, eyes bright.

Deciding not to disappoint him and delighted to see this part of his partner resurface after being missing for so long, Jim said dryly, "Sneaky way to get me to eat right, Sandburg. Give me an ulcer."

"Whatever works. Beats a heart attack, hands down."

"Then why do you keep trying to give me one on the job?" Jim shot back, and tackled the paperwork again, which didn't seem half so hideous with Blair verbally poking fun at him, the government, the department and everything else they mutually wandered across in their conversation. The hours went by very quickly, and it wasn't until they were nearly done that it occurred to Jim that Blair should have been on a date.

At the first opening, he asked casually, "So did you get stood up or was she that miserable a companion?"

"Never made it to the park. Somehow we got into this huge fight over food before we even got the car loaded, and she stormed off." Blair waved a free hand dismissively without taking his eyes off what he was writing. "I didn't feel like chasing her down and making up just so we could spend the rest of the evening trying to pretend it hadn't happened. So I came home. I'll drop by her job tomorrow and at least apologize for how things went."

Tapping a stack of finished forms, Jim said, "If you want to send flowers as a peace-keeping gesture, I'll foot the bill. Thanks to her, we've gotten the bulk of this done."

Pointing to one set aside, Blair said, "Except for that one. Change your mind about whether or not the gym could qualify for it?"

From habit, Jim almost brushed him off, but the decision to coax Blair closer was too recent for him to ignore a chance to prove that he still trusted Blair and believed in their relationship. Slowly, he said, "No, we could qualify, I'm just not sure how to go about getting funding for a women's shelter that doesn't officially exist."

"So have them go through the drill to become official," Blair said encouragingly. "This is a good reason. Self-defense skills go a long way toward rebuilding self-image, and I can quote chapter and verse on that, if they need it."

"Which is why I'm trying to include them; these women and children really need that kind of help. But I don't think there's ever going to be a good reason for the Shadow House to go public." Anybody else wouldn't have a clue what he was talking about, but Jim had no doubt that Blair probably had heard rumors of that particular shelter long before he became a member of the Victim's Advocacy program.

"You're telling me that it's not just wishful thinking? There really is a secret hiding place for the abused families of cops and political bigwigs?" Blair asked with an odd mixture of excitement and disbelief.

"How else can we save them?" Jim began putting papers into folders and files, automatically sorting where each belonged. "A cop or politician knows all the ins and outs of the system. Their wife goes missing, they know how to find the safe houses, who to talk to find out about recent arrivals, how to get to them no matter how good the security is. It's so bad, we usually move them to a different city altogether; none of the people in the Shadow House here are from Cascade."

"Just like their abusers know how to keep the bruises from showing and how to avoid creating the kind of evidence that would let a court of law act against them," Blair said grimly.

"I always know," Jim pointed out gently. "Even before the senses went completely back on line, I'd know, though I couldn't tell you how. That's how I got involved. Or as involved as I can be, anyway."

Blair nodded his understanding, pen tapping on the tabletop. "Big, buff cop who looks like he might think slapping the wife around a little is a husband's prerogative."

"Pretty much, yeah." Jim stood, automatically stretching to get some of the kinks out of his back from sitting for so long. "Usually, the whole thing is handled by a phone number on a business card that says it's for a hairdresser or Avon lady, slipped to the woman while she's in the lady's room. Or maybe it's a name whispered in the kitchen during a department get together. The biggest problem we've got is finding women to trust the information to, because when the husband goes looking, he's not going to care that the source was another cop or a cop's wife. Whoever it is has to be able to stand up to the pressure of not just keeping quiet, but pretending they don't know they have anything to keep quiet about."

"Tricky kind of undercover work," Blair murmured, looking into the distance as if considering all the ramifications of a cop deliberately choosing to not to arrest an abuser to protect a woman or child. "But the only way."

"Been thinking of talking to Mueller about being a contact. She's good with female victims, and tough as they come when it comes to standing her ground," Jim said.

Beginning to pack it in for the night himself, Blair said, "Not a good call. She thinks that women who don't have what it takes to get out of an abusive relationship - if not turning around and beating the hell out of the man who hit them - deserve what they get."

Stopping mid-reach for the stack of paperwork, Jim stared at him for a moment, then said questioningly, "I didn't know you'd been out with Mueller."

"Haven't. Came up when she came to talk to me about a case she's on." Blair shrugged dismissively. "Funny the things people will talk to you about if you're just willing to listen long enough."

Making up his mind faster than if he were dodging a bullet, and changing his mind a dozen times along the way, Jim leaned over just enough to brush a curl away from Blair's forehead and gently rap a knuckle on it. "That's one gift I've always envied; at least I get the benefit from it once in while. Thanks. You might have saved someone's life by telling me that before I opened my mouth to Mueller."

Backing off fast before Blair could think he was putting a move on him, Jim stretched again. "Bed for me. Night, Chief."

"Night, Jim," Blair said automatically.

When Jim climbed the stairs to his bedroom, Blair was still sitting at the table, smiling at nothing in particular and staring into space. That image gave him the best sleep he'd had in a while, and no dreams for once, for which he was particularly grateful. He counted himself lucky for the chance that brought Blair home when it did, and the next morning when he went downstairs to find him on the phone with the supervisor at the halfway house where Blair volunteered, luckier still.

Unashamedly listening in, he heard Joan Peters say persuasively, "I know your car is small, but there's no help for it. We'll just have to make multiple trips to get it all hauled to the picnic site. The only other two drivers we have either have smaller cars than you do, live too far out to get here in time, or are already carrying passengers. And once we get kids there, we've got to keep the number of chaperons up for safety's sake."

Tugging on hair that was already wild from sleep, Blair said, "I understand all that, I really do. I just can't guarantee my car will be able to make that many trips; it's one reason I wasn't taking on passengers myself."

"Well," Peters said doubtfully. "Maybe once we've got all the vehicles there we can find someone to make the last trips, but some of the food *has* to be there when the kids arrive or there will be chaos unlimited. Trust me, you don't let teens go hungry for more than five minutes unless you want a riot."

With a shudder, Blair said in a falsely cheerful voice, "So I've seen. We'll just have to..."

Before Blair could argue further, Jim went down the stairs. "We can use my truck, Sandburg, no problem."

Goggling at him, Blair said, "Hang on a minute, will you, Joan?" Putting a hand over the receiver, he said, "I thought one of your most adamant rules about the truck was that you were never, ever, under any circumstances becoming a hauling service just because you're the only person most people know who has a real truck."

"I owe you, remember? Bending that rule beats the hell out of something that you might come up with on your own."

Blair considered for all of a second before surrendering. "Man, I was looking forward to making you sweat for a while. But you volunteered, so it doesn't mean that we're even, just that I can't get too out there when I do ask for a favor."

"Come on, it's not like you can do this without going to a lot more trouble than you did last night to help me," Jim argued, but only for form's sake.

They debated it amicably while they got ready to go, but Blair conceded gracefully - and sheepishly - when he told Jim the number of places they needed to hit to pick up supplies. Though the picnic was potluck to some extent, local businesses had volunteered the bulk supplies like soda, ice and hotdogs. Jim didn't really mind all the driving around, though he grumbled cheerfully about it, which pleased Blair to no end for some reason. Any excuse to be with him was enough for Jim, raising his hopes that they really could get back to where they belonged.

They arrived at the park before anyone else except the two psychologists who volunteered their services at the halfway house. Between the four of them they got the truck unloaded in no time, Jim almost instinctively falling into the role of organizer, setting up supplies and cooking layout. Once that was done, he started the coals for the barbeque and iced the soda, working alone since the teens had started to come in by the carload, and Blair jumped into the challenge of keeping them busy and entertained. Anytime someone volunteered to take over his self-appointed task, Jim waved them off, preferring to watch because the kids were eyeing him with more than a little suspicion.

Blair noticed, of course, and dropped by frequently, claiming he needed to catch his breath, but really keeping Jim company and easing everyone's wariness by letting people know this was the partner he'd told them about. Surprisingly, he wasn't the only one; the counselor who had warmly introduced himself as 'Smitty' came by often too, casually chatting about nothings in the way all shrinks and their kin had. Jim put up with it, seeing that it made the teens mellow even more, though he couldn't for the life of him understand why.

It wasn't until Blair plopped into a chair next to the tubs that Jim was refilling with fresh ice and soda that he got a clue. "Has Smitty asked for a phone number yet?" Blair asked, grinning.

Jim shot him a look, expecting to get razzed but Blair was studiously keeping his gaze on his soda, his pose almost deliberately casual. Puzzled, because he could swear Blair was jealous, Jim glanced over at the slight man, hands weaving and bobbing as he described something to the other shrink. "He didn't ping my gaydar," he said for lack of anything better to say.

"Oh, come on, man. That's a stereotypical myth," Blair said laughingly.

"Not for me." Jim shrugged, giving Smitty the once over again, from his well-styled gray hair to his trendy shoes. "He's got the scent of cosmetics and female clinging to him, and he's not physically reacting to any of the men, including me. My guess is he's only trying to show the kids that I'm just another volunteer, not here to bust their chops or preach at them."

Turning his attention to preparing the burgers to cook, Jim added, "Most stereotypes have a nugget of truth at the core; that's the reason they start in the first place. In this case, I think observant or experienced people pick up some of the same sensory signals I do, at a much lower level, and that's what pings. But you can easily misread it, too, like in Smitty's case. If I absolutely had to put a name on it, I'd say he has a fondness for wearing women's clothes - and a lady who likes it."

"Most of what you read is pretty subtle," Blair said doubtfully, but he was looking directly at him, his air of relaxation now genuine. "Eye dilation, how long they look, where they look; not exactly the sort of thing most people do."

"How's it different from what a cop usually does to size up a suspect - how the man carries himself, what he doesn't talk about, how he makes eye contact?" Jim argued. "Learning to interpret the signs is part of the job for us, but to some extent or another everyone does it."

"Does what?" a scrawny boy of about fifteen asked, sniffing appreciatively at the cooking meat.

"Read body language," Jim answered easily, pointing to the hamburgers with a questioning eyebrow.

"Yeah, three of those, at *least.* You mean like smelling that you were a cop the instant I got here?" The teen leaned a hip on the nearest table, apparently unconcerned about anything but the food.

"Got it in one," Jim answered. "In your case, you've been hassled by the uniforms enough that your brain has started picking up on little things that say 'cop' to you."

"It's like knowing when a dealer's going to burn you, too, Speedboat," Blair offered. "Experience added to observation."

"Only when you've been doing business with him for a while," an older girl argued, coming to sit opposite the boy. "First couple of times, you're so nervous, you're sure you're going to get burned no matter what."

"Like Jim said, it's always possible to misread the signals." Without intending to, Jim was sure, Blair took on his teacher persona, all but donning his glasses to complete the image. "For instance, Chrissie, if you know someone who's bouncing madly one day, talking at full speed and eating constantly, but the next day is silently slumped in a dark corner acting like his best friend died, what's the first thing you think of?"

"Kid's got a serious crack habit," Speedboat said with a superior air, answering for her.

"Or he could be bipolar - manic depressive they used to call it," Blair corrected gently.

Chrissie said darkly, "The cops aren't going to think that."

Without a trace of irritation, Jim said, "We don't see as much of it as we do crackheads. That practice thing, again."

"Though that's one case where even an experienced doctor might make the same assumption," Blair put in.

The conversation took off after that, covering everything from the controversial Gait Identification Program to their personal experiences. Before long, most of the group was bunched around the grills, making their sandwiches and putting their two cents in, often with the kind of devastating honesty that only a teen with nothing left to lose would use. For the most part, Jim kept his mouth shut except for when he thought he could put in a comment that wouldn't get anyone's back up, but still get his point across.

By the time the burgers were mostly gone and the hot dogs were getting scarce too, Jim thought the kids were pretty comfortable with him, and he wanted to believe that they might have gotten a good look at how their lives looked from his side of the law. Blair seemed to think so, at least. He was all but beaming at him and had made an excuse to give an unnecessary hand at the grill, as if he wanted to make it clear he was on Jim's side as well as the kids.

Jim couldn't help but cherish each casual bump and teasing poke or nudge, making sure that any return volleys were equally offhand. Their behavior didn't raise any eyebrows, which told him he was doing the buddy thing pretty well, despite his ulterior motives. That helped him loosen up big time, in a way he didn't often allow himself while in Blair's company these days.

A wild game that looked like a bizarre combination of Frisbee, baseball, and freeze tag got started, somehow pulling everyone into it except the two of them, and Blair took the opportunity to say quietly, "You did good. There's a decent chance that the next time they have to deal with a cop, they'll cooperate instead of covering nerves with attitude."

"Most of them already have too much of an ingrained response for it to be that easy," Jim said, methodically stowing away uncooked leftovers. "Besides, the good cops can tell the difference between real guilt and simple nerves. It's one of the toughest calls, but not impossible."

"Maybe you can give them pointers, too," Blair joked, leaning into Jim as if to literally push him into the idea.

"That would go over about as well as if I suggested they use swords instead of guns. What they'd really be interested in is how to get through to the gutsy ones like your mom - terrified but burying it under sheer bravado and determination. Simon especially, 'cause he's got to deal with her when she's defending her cub." Distracted by the warm, sweet press of Blair along his side, Jim hardly heard what he'd said, only realizing that he might have put his foot in it when sudden stiffness flooded through the body against his.

"Mom's terrified of cops?" Blair blurted in a mixture of outrage and surprise.

Yanking his attention back, Jim said carefully, "I can see why you didn't know. She's got it buried so deep, I'm not even sure she realizes it's still there. But this isn't cop hunch; it's sentinel sure. Scent, heart rate, tremors she probably chalks up to outrage... it's unmistakable."

"That's why you didn't come down on her for her part in that whole mess with Sid and the diss," Blair accused.

"No - maybe. Hell, I don't know." Jim tried to ease away from Blair, but he wouldn't let go. Unwillingly Jim admitted, "Whatever it was had to have been really bad, and considering who she is and some of the things she's been into in the past, I could come up with ideas pretty easily. I guess I just didn't have it in me to drag it up or add to it."

Obviously deep in thought, Blair murmured, "It would explain a lot, I think." He leaned into him a little more, sighing heavily before giving Jim a strong one-armed hug. "It'd never occurred to her to thank you for it, but believe me, I appreciated it, then and now."

Battening down all the guilt and pain from how badly he had acted then because he'd been so positive that Blair was all but gone for sure, Jim focused on how good it felt to simply hold him. Without meaning to, he turned so that Blair's curls were drifting over his face, carried by a light breeze, closing his eyes to enjoy the fragrance and that tantalizing touch. It was the closest to a caress he'd had from him in what felt like forever, and before Jim could suppress the reaction, a flush of desire rose in him.

Pulling away almost as soon as he felt it, trying for total nonchalance, Jim picked up a spatula, not exactly sure what he intended to do with it, but needing something to distance him from Blair. Not that it worked. Blair stopped him with a hand on his forearm, eyes wide and wary. "You still want me."

"Of course," Jim said, not looking at him. Abruptly he changed his mind about avoiding the topic of his desire and swung around, lightly touching Blair's chin to be sure he was really listening to him. "I'm not Samantha, playing the angles and using my body to get what I want, and I'm not Naomi, always looking for the next thrill, always chasing that first exciting rush of discovery and novelty to override whatever demons are harrying me.

"Maybe it's hardwired into my programming, or maybe it's just because I've lost anyone I've ever given a damn about, but I need the promise of the long haul. I crave a lover who knows exactly how to please me, when to ask me, what to just give me, what to let me take, and who I'm so in tune with I know all the same things about him. You and I already fit together so damn well in every other department, I know you're that person, so I'm not going to stop wanting you just because that part of our life is over."

He backed off before Blair could get spooked, tossing down the spatula, deciding that someone else could do the cleanup. "You should know by now that I don't have any problem keeping it in my pants where you're concerned, so I don't see where it should be an issue now."

"I didn't say it was," Blair started, but Jim didn't want them to get into a serious conversation about sex just yet.

Looking at his watch as if he'd been keeping track of time, he cut in. "I've got classes this evening, so I need to be heading back to the loft to get ready. You want to come with me to get the Volvo, or would you rather catch a ride from someone here?"

Catching a handful of hair that was being blown across his face, Blair said, "A ride's no problem, but..."

"Then I'll see you when you get home from your date tonight." Not waiting to hear more and deliberately not listening to anything that might be muttered behind his back, Jim went to his truck and left, not sure if he'd made matters better or worse between them.

Halfway expecting Blair to make himself scarce again for a while, Jim was surprised when he asked to go with him the next time he went to Rob's gym. Blair said that he had an idea he wanted to run past all of them and playfully refused to give Jim any details, giving them both another excuse for bantering. Not particularly caring what it was since Blair was so clearly forgiving him for his slip at the picnic, Jim agreed with only the mildest of qualms about what that fertile mind of his had come up with. Rob and Julie were pretty tolerant; at worst they'd politely say no.

Still he couldn't help mentally bracing himself when he introduced them, despite enjoying Blair's hidden, startled reaction to the couple. Robert Chu was of mixed ancestry, though he claimed to be mostly Hawaiian, and Hawaiian royalty, at that. His size, at least, backed him up; he was over 6'6" and built like a svelte sumo wrestler. It didn't probably didn't help that Blair knew from casual conversation that Rob was a former Green Beret who still taught self-defense at the police academy part time.

Julie was a perfect match for him, being tall for a woman and built like an Olympic female body builder for the Swedish team. One on steroids. After a sex change operation. Her long, white-blonde hair, usually worn upswept on top of her head, and pale blue eyes were the most feminine thing about her, aside from graceful, elegant hands.

The pair of them looked intimidating even when smiling genially because everything about them said that they didn't suffer fools gladly. Jim tried to remember if he'd ever had a reason to mention to Blair that Rob had a reputation for never using his size against smaller opponents unless circumstances pushed him against a wall. Or that Julie was so gentle she'd put a spider outside rather than crush it.

Despite his eyes widening ever so slightly and a punch in his vitals, Blair sailed through the introductions with the aplomb that he always used meeting people, as if he expected to be welcomed and liked. Within minutes of settling into chairs in the tiny office, he had launched into his idea of offering internships to P.E. students at Rainier, trading free labor for educational credits. He also very diplomatically suggested that grad students doing research on self-confidence, self-image, or any other youth-related field would be willing to help if allowed to use their work in their research.

The couple listened attentively, pretty much as Jim had expected, though Jim himself let his thoughts drift, picking up only on key phrases. It was their decision after all, and he would support Blair no matter what, anyway. Leaning on the doorframe, arms crossed, he simply enjoyed watching Blair's contagious enthusiasm and flushed beauty while he patiently answered each of Rob and Julie's very thoughtful questions.

Finally Julie turned, apparently to ask Jim something, but she hesitated, studying him pensively. Before either Blair or her husband could notice the hesitation, she asked, "What do you think, Jim?"

"It's got good points and bad points," he said honestly, shrugging. "You'll have to check with your lawyer on legal liability issues, and I'm pretty sure that you'll have to be upfront with parents about where your teaching assistants come from. On the other hand, you could finally do something about that pet project of yours of reaching out to kids vulnerable to being forcibly recruited into gangs. I know you've already gotten some of the churches in those areas to volunteer space if you can get the teachers."

"You checked with the gang task force on that one already?" Blair asked. "They could be a big help, and Jim and I have some contacts there."

Nodding, still seeming a little distracted, Julie nodded. "So do Rob and I, but the more the merrier in this case." She and Rob exchanged a 'married and don't have to discuss things out loud' look, and added, "We're going to have to talk about this for a while, and do the legal check. Insurance, too, I bet. That could be a problem in of and of itself, but it *is* a good idea, Blair."

Rob leaned back in his chair, making it creak ominously. "Not enough room here really to do much more. Not ready to expand to another location, either." Grinning, he waved at the room, including Jim in it. "Not enough management, you know?"

Laughing, Blair said, "Good help is so hard to find; no wonder you put up with Jim."

Making as if to swat at him, Jim grinned. "I think it's out of pity for how bad he beats up on me during our practice sessions."

"Keep telling you not to hold back, man," Rob rumbled. "Yeah, yeah, I know all about that Ranger training and reflex to go for the jugular. Been there, done that. Which is the whole point of working with me to tame it. Ain't going to happen if you don't let go."

At Blair's raised eyebrow and quick glance at Jim, Rob said, "Military skills don't necessarily go well with cop training. Soldiers kill; cops don't. Not unless they have to, anyway."

"Explains why he's always ending up taking such a beating when he has to go toe-to-toe with a suspect," Blair murmured, more to himself than anyone else.

Jim started to make another joke about it, but Rob and Julie exchanged another one of those looks, and she stood. "Want to see the facility to give you some idea of what we've got to work with?"

Sensing that she wanted to derail the conversation, Blair jumped up. "I'd love a tour. Jim's said a couple of times that you managed to squeeze a hell of lot into a weird-shaped space."

"Managed to make it work for us," Julie said, not without a little pride in her voice.

Jim started to follow them, but Rob shook his head and waited until they were out of earshot before he said, "She wants a chance to size him up, personally. We do this, he's going to be a key player, acting as a go-between for the students and us. At first, anyway. You know Julie. If God himself said a body was okay, she'd still want to make up her own mind."

"Thought she was going to dissect me and peer into my skull first time we met," Jim confessed with a broad smile. He watched the two of them through the windows of the office. "Don't know why she didn't toss me out, knowing how she feels about you keeping up with your buddies in the department."

Not looking the least perturbed at being accused of letting his wife run his life, Rob said, "She was right. I had gotten in with the wrong crowd. Ashamed to say I was walking a thin line between loyalty to my buddies and loyalty to the badge. She was also right when she said you were one of the good ones."

"Pity we lost you before it got cleaned up," Jim said absently, tempted to focus in on Blair and Julie with his senses. His partner was laughing hard, one of Jim's favorite sounds, and he loved the flashing brightness of Blair's eyes when he did. Rob said something else to him, which he didn't really hear, lost as he was in the memory of a happy, well-laid Blair laughing up at him at some silly remark.

A large, meaty hand landed on his shoulder, startling Jim, and he hastily half-turned to find Rob glowering at him. "Heard rumors, but dismissed them as so much envious bullshit. You need to be telling me anything, Ellison?"

"Don't ask for what you don't really need to hear," Jim said softly, not flinching or letting the least amount of battle readiness show in his muscles.

"I got kids coming in here to worry about," Rob said with frightening softness, looming over him. "Some of 'em pretty fucking vulnerable."

"If you thought I was the kind of man to take advantage of that, let alone the kind to make the moves on *any* kid, you wouldn't have ever let me through the door," Jim said, just as softly, but with no emotion in his voice at all, burying deep his weary acceptance of losing another friend. "Nothing's changed that. Nothing."

There was some surprise in Rob now, as if he were confused by Jim's lack of concern for his threatening stance. "This is my business, my reputation. Wrong kind of teacher can ruin both."

"Or make both, depending on the rep you want, what you do about it." Not looking away, wearing the bland, tell-nothing expression that he had perfected when he was just a kid, Jim shrugged. "We've got good practices in place to protect both ourselves and the students: never alone with them, never behind a closed door, never first name basis or showing favoritism. No reason for any parent to complain, no matter what rumors they hear, either."

"And how am I supposed to handle those rumors? Or if they attract the wrong kind of student?" Rob demanded angrily.

For the first time Jim felt something besides sorrow at losing a friend: disgust. It didn't show, he made damned sure of that, but he suddenly wondered if he wanted to keep up his pose of unconcern. Maybe anger answering anger was the best thing here; make a clean break before it could go beyond veiled threats and innuendos.

Before he could act, a draft of air and feel of another person coming up behind him warned him that Blair and Julie had come back. Blair's fear and worry was a heat radiating off of him, but Julie was a cool breeze that confused Jim. She slipped around him, coming up on her husband's side and punching him solidly in the arm.

Rob didn't so much as flinch, though Jim could tell he'd been hit hard enough to raise a bruise. Quietly, but with no trace of compromise, Julie said, "Think. Now. Is this really what you want to be thinking or what you've been told you should be thinking?"

Rumbling like an avalanche about to fall, Rob didn't budge. "Stay out of this, Beautiful. You don't know the cause."

Glancing at Blair, who was close enough to Jim for them to feel each other breathe, she said tartly, "Like hell I don't. I'm not blind, I'm not stupid, and I'm not a bigot. I thought you weren't either. You going to prove me wrong, now, after we've tried so hard?"

That got through to him, and Rob jerked around to stare at her. She met it with one of her own that was just as hard and stubborn as his. He snorted, once, then looked back at Jim. "I've got some thinking to do."

"Let me know if you want me to come back," Jim said levelly, making the only peace offering he had to give.

Without answering him, Rob lumbered off, not looking back once, even at his wife. When he was out of sight, Jim sighed. "I'm sorry, Julie. You didn't have to revisit the bad times just because of me; I was willing to let it go."

"I wasn't," Julie said flatly. She tried for a smile, found enough of one to reassure Jim a little. "We've got a deal that's been working for us pretty well. I can challenge him on anything, once. After he's thought about it, he either decides to do something about it or decides he doesn't want to change it. Then it's up to me to decide whether or not I can live with his decision."

She made a face, but went on. "Thank whatever he's a good and honest man at heart. Most of the time, once he's really looked at whatever I'm fighting with him about, that part comes shining through. So far the exceptions have been things I can live with."

With a sadness that Jim couldn't help but understand and respect, she added, "Maybe even this. I'm sorry, Jim."

"Don't be," Blair said gently. "It's not like you shouldn't find ways to live with your differences with each other. You've got a daughter and obviously a lot of love for each other. That's worth some compromise."

"Providing one person isn't doing all the compromising." Julie visibly shook herself out of her funk. "I'll call as soon as we know if we're going to try the student intern idea."

It was clearly a dismissal, and Jim took it gracefully, giving a single wave goodbye as he left the office. Unsurprisingly, Blair was right behind him, but very surprisingly he had a hand locked onto Jim's upper arm, as if he were afraid that he were going to leave without him. They weren't halfway to the truck before he stammered, "I'm sorry, I don't know what I did to tip him off."

Stopping dead in his tracks, Jim said tightly, "You did nothing! Rob is the one being an asshole, and frankly, I'd rather know now that he's not the friend I thought he was than find out when I was counting on him."

That shut Blair up long enough for Jim to get in the truck and get the engine started. Almost timidly Blair asked, "Will he make trouble for you at the department?"

"He's got no more proof than anybody else who's accused me in the past. It'll blow over with a few jokes and a 'yeah, sure, whatever' attitude from me," Jim said dismissively, far more worried at how Blair would handle it if the accusation was leveled at him, and vowing that Rob would suffer if he did cross that line.

"You've had to deal with this before?" Before Jim could answer, he said, "Stupid, of course you have. I guess what I really wanted to ask is how bad has it gotten."

Jim debated for a moment, then answered honestly. "I'm no stranger to gay bashing, Blair, even the deadly kind." At Blair's unspoken question, asked with a defensively hunched shoulder and look of horror, Jim admitted, "Put me in the hospital once. Fortunately, I was on leave and managed to convince my C.O. that I'd gotten beaten up for being American." He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, remembering more than he wanted to. "The damnable part of it is that I hadn't done anything yet. Wasn't sure if it was what I really wanted or if it just part of doing anything that would piss the old man off."

Grimacing and shrugging off the past, Jim said, "At least I was smart enough to know that could have been what was going on in my head back then."

"A beating didn't stop you from going for what you wanted, once you were sure," Blair whispered, for some reason smelling ashamed.

Wondering if Blair was feeling guilty because he had wanted them in the closet when they were together, Jim said as off-handedly as he could muster, "I was repressing a huge part of myself back then. I guess there just wasn't anything left over for denying what I wanted sexually. That meant facing the consequences, so I looked around until I saw how other people handled the rednecks and fundamentalists until I picked up on what would work for me."

When Blair just sat silently, not looking at him or anything else, Jim bit down a sigh, wishing he knew what Blair needed to hear. After a moment, he added, "I don't think there's anything wrong with wanting or needing to be completely in the closet, except for the narrow-mindedness that makes lying like that a necessity sometimes."

That didn't seem to help, so Jim fumbled for a way to change the subject and almost instinctively hit on the one topic Blair couldn't keep away from. "I bet most of Naomi's gay friends are so far out of the closet, they don't remember what it looked like."

It worked. With a muffled snort, Blair said, "Except for this one guy who catapulted out, then whirled around and nailed it shut like he expected it to try to gobble him back up again like a starving tiger." Latching onto the topic as if it were a lifeline, he spiraled away into a series of descriptions of various gay men his mother had known. By the time they arrived back at the loft, the uneasy moment had passed into the normal give and take of their conversations, with Jim sharing a few of the more colorful characters he had encountered during his career. No matter how hard he tried, though, the whole incident was stayed in the back of his mind, dragging at his footsteps as he climbed up to bed.

He couldn't escape the thought that maybe Blair had been right to break it off between them. It was one thing to accept being gay when there wasn't any other way a man could live with himself; it was another entirely to deliberately choose that lifestyle for the sake of one person and be heaped with scorn and disgust because of it. What right did he have to ever even hope that Blair would be able to accept a love that came with that kind of price tag?

Wearily sitting on the bed, Jim pulled his shirt off and sat staring at the crumpled fabric in his hands, listening to Blair putter around below, getting ready for bed himself. Uneasily, painfully, he considered the possibility they truly couldn't be lovers, and maybe shouldn't be partners, either. The picnic had shown him that he couldn't keep his desire to himself. If he relaxed so much as an inch, it would slip out, putting Blair in the unpleasant position of having to reject him yet again, which hurt Blair as much as it hurt him, though it wasn't his fault at all.

What was it you said, Chief? Jim thought, suddenly throwing the shirt away violently. No matter what you do, it's wrong? Stay with me and get treated like shit by the rest of the world; keep me at arm's length like you should and spend your days constantly on guard and uncertain. That's no way to live. I just don't know what to do to fix things. You can't or won't leave, and I could never make you, not after what happened with Alex, not after the promises I made never to do it again.

Looking around his bedroom, letting every familiar crack and crevice slide past his sight, cataloguing each well-known sound and scent, he clenched his hands into fists. God help me, I don't think I can leave either. Leaving my home, leaving you, would be like tearing myself in half. I've tried once to live with the pain of losing you; I couldn't have survived it.

With nothing else to do, Jim crawled under the blankets and curled into a tight knot. Maybe we really are damned. What are we going to do, Blair? What the hell are we going to do?

Praying for the oblivion of sleep, Jim turned out the light, put in his white noise generators, and put on a sleep mask. Dampening those two senses helped, and he began to drift off, unexpectedly lingering in the no-man's land between sleep and wakefulness. It was oddly relaxing, almost hypnotic, and when a four-footed weight climbed up to lie beside him, fur brushing teasingly along his bare arm and shoulder, he accepted it without question.

Hey, Chief, he thought dreamily. What're you doing out running around?

For an answer, the wolf cuddled in closer, giving Jim's throat a nipping kiss. Shivering, Jim angled his head to ask for more, not caring that the touch wasn't quite right because there was no warmth or moisture in it. Chief obliged him, creating a line of tingling caresses down to where his chest was covered by blankets.

Restlessly throwing them off and turning to his stomach, Jim sighed and waited to see what Chief would do with the unspoken offer. With a quiet growl that was almost a whimper, Chief took him up on it, creeping onto his back to cover him with a softly furred weight that was neither human nor wolf. It didn't matter to Jim one way or another.

The scent of Blair's arousal was rich in the room, almost a flavor in and of itself on his tongue, and Jim was quickly lost in the growing morass of his own need. Moaning, he reached for the railing at the head of his bed and locked his hands around it to anchor himself. Spreading his legs wide, as aroused as he had ever been in his life, Jim marveled that there was no urgency, just an anticipation as sweet as the lips mapping every muscle in his back.

Chief scooted down as he kissed, shaggy hair following, sensuously flowing over skin already sensitized by tongue and mouth. When he reached Jim's bottom, he lifted away reluctantly, all his weight on the mattress between Jim's thighs, but with one hand still in the small of Jim's back to reassure him.

"You look so fucking hot," Blair whispered roughly. "Hungry and needy and wanton and a thousand other things that make me wish I could do you until we both can't remember what it's like *not* to have my cock in your ass."

"Yes," Jim murmured, bringing his knees up under himself to offer himself up. "God, yes, Blair."

"Oh, oh, I want to, Beautiful, how I want," Blair groaned. "But I can't. I can't." Tears dropped onto Jim's back, but before he could react, a broad lick covered his opening, then darted inside, banishing every thought but the need for more. The sensitive folds of his pucker were teased and stroked, and he couldn't help but back into the forceful tongue-fucking.

With sight and hearing taken away, all his attention was on touch, specifically on his ass, and Jim realized with a start that he was going to come. Just from this, just from Chief's agile rimming and enthusiastic moans. He wouldn't have thought it possible, but there was no denying the exquisite pressure snaking through his middle, needing only the right trigger to send it bursting out of him.

But it didn't happen, and it didn't happen, and it didn't *happen* and Jim finally pleaded, "Chief! I need... God, I *need*...."

As if that was what he had been waiting for, Blair moaned and came himself. That wonderful, erotic sound and the scent of his seed, bitter and fresh, was the last straw for Jim. Biting his pillow to keep from screaming, he bucked and thrashed, grinding back onto Chief's tongue with an abandon that would have astonished him if he'd had two cells left to care.

His finish faded into sharp, tight jerks, leaving him panting and whispering, "Love you, Blair. Love you, love you," over and over until he slid from ecstasy straight into an exhausted sleep.

Blair's voice followed him into his dreams, speaking so softly that Jim had no way of knowing if it was wishful imagination on his part or reality of some kind. "Don't let go of us. Please, please, please, don't let go of us."

Jim woke the next morning to twisted sheets and sticky skin, and simply lay there a while, staring at the ceiling. Below him he could hear Blair's breathy snores, sounding content and snug, from a room that his partner had seemingly never found too small or cluttered to want or need to move out of, even though he had a better alternative right next door. Maybe, just maybe he wasn't staying out of guilt or obligation, the way Jim half-believed he was. Maybe last night's visit was more than just an answer to the never-ending hunger Jim felt for him. Maybe it was a sign that by some miracle, Blair still had hope they could be together, if not as lovers, then as partners so close that nothing could come between them - even a failed attempt at intimacy.

If Blair still had hope, Jim had no choice but to try to hang in there himself. It wasn't as if he didn't have the ability - or the belief - to keep trying, no matter what. Ranger creed aside, he honestly didn't think he had it in him to ever give up. Even when he'd thought he was dying, he had wanted to go down fighting rather than waste away mindless in a hospital bed somewhere.

As for the pain of needing to touch what could never be his again - well, people coped with horrible, agonizing diseases every day. He could learn to deal. To lock it up and hide it away. He could. He had to.

***

It took Jim the better part of three weeks to find a shaky balance between having a normal life and coping with what he privately thought of as his Blair addiction. He could pal around with him, doing all the things friends and partners were supposed to do, never showing a hint of feeling of anything more than that. When the need crept too high, threatening to slip the chains he had on it, he would simply leave for a while.

Since Rob hadn't called, Jim spent more and more of his free time working on the apartment next door, doing what he could himself, learning from books how to accomplish what he wanted. When he got stumped, he would either find a fellow cop who had the skill or talk his brother Stephen into introducing him to a contractor who would let him trade muscle work for answering questions or teaching him a thing or two.

As lives went, it sucked, but at least Jim could look back at the end of each day and not be disgusted at himself or depressed at the futility of it all. Once, thinking about the floor he'd laid himself in preparation for putting together the hot tub he had already had delivered, there was even something resembling satisfaction. Laughingly he considered giving up the badge to become a professional handyman, relishing the imagined expression on his father's face when he found out.

He had wanted to share the joke with Blair, but couldn't, and that had killed his momentary flash of humor. But it had existed, giving him the hope that he really could have a life worth remembering when he was on his deathbed. Contrarily, Blair seemed more and more pensive each time Jim went away to catch his breath, though he always blossomed quickly once Jim returned. Jim puzzled over it, but in the end decided that, as always, it was useless to worry about it until Blair was ready to explain himself.

Pondering the most recent bout of moody thoughtfulness, Jim let himself into the loft after his shift, then mentally pulled himself up short before he crossed the threshold. Someone was inside: someone whose scent he didn't know and who carried the smell of guns and gunpowder on him. Whoever it was, their heartbeat was fast, but not frantic, in the way Jim had learned meant a person was ready for action and confident of being the winner.

As quickly as he assessed the danger, Jim ran through the possible responses, trying for the one that would mean the least amount of risk to all concerned. Snapping his fingers as if he forgot something and spinning on his heel to leave could give him the chance to get downstairs to call backup. It might also get him a bullet in the back. Going through with his own gun out wasn't an option because the intruder had positioned himself where he couldn't be seen from the door, but he could see anyone coming in. That just left going on in, which also had the benefit of satisfying his curiosity as to who it was and why he was lying in wait.

Since he would have an edge too, because the surprise wasn't really going to be one, Jim crossed the threshold without a visible pause, decision made. As if he were unaware of company, he tossed his keys onto the table and turned to hang his coat, hitting the speed dial on the cell phone in the pocket as he did, then muting the incoming sound. Almost whimsically he made a bet with himself whether or not he would be given time to put away his gun or if the intruder would take the pleasure of taking it away from Jim in a not-so subtle show of dominance.

He came down on the side of dominance and won. Before he could turn back to face the room, a male voice said calmly from the kitchen, "Freeze. Hands up. You know the drill."

Faking a start of surprise, Jim slowly lifted his hands where they could be seen, saying with what he hoped was the right air of self-assurance, "Hey, I'm a cop. You might want to check with your captain to make sure you're bringing down the right bust."

"Oh, I'm pretty sure I've got the right piece of shit in my sights, Detective Ellison." The title was said with a faint sneer, and the intruder ordered in a pleased tone, "Left hand, take the gun out of your back holster and put in down on the floor behind you, then assume the position."

"You've been busted a time or two too many if you're sounding like a cop," Jim said mildly, carefully doing as told. "So you have to know what happens to cop killers. If you need to talk, you don't need the gun. If you're going to kill me, might as well get it over with and quit wasting my time."

"Oh, you were right the first time," the other man said with more of a bite in his voice. "I am a cop. You're the one who doesn't deserve to wear a badge."

It was the clue Jim needed to know who he was dealing with, and the calm of a solider facing a deadly battle settled over him, leaving his expression neutral and his body alert. While he couldn't possibly know every officer in the Cascade PD, no one in the department would be reckless enough to try to take him in his own home. It was too easy to arrange a 'meeting' on the streets where there would be no problem hiding who was responsible. The intruder had to be an outsider, which could only mean he was after one of the women hiding at Shadow House.

"You got a beef with me you can't go to IA with," Jim said blandly, calmly keeping up his pretense. "You come to me face-to-face, like a man. Not ambush me in my own fucking house like some cocky hired gun or street punk. So don't give me any speeches about who's entitled to wear the badge."

Jim had all his senses trained on the intruder, including ones that had no name and were as much instinct as anything else. He felt the waver in confidence at his apparent lack of concern or fear, tasted the pang of alarm that came with it, and mentally nodded to himself in satisfaction. He had the intruder's number now.

There were any number of excuses given for spousal abuse, but this man - this man did it to feel strong and powerful. That's what the badge was for, too. No desire to protect and serve, just a basic thirst for control that hid a deep cowardice he probably fervently refuted.

As if to prove Jim's theory, the intruder said arrogantly, "No games. We both know this is personal. I'm not going to give any of your buddies a chance to come up behind me while we're taking care of business."

That told Jim the intruder probably had a following of like-minded cronies who covered for him regularly; another tidbit Jim could use to his own advantage. Silently prompting, Keep talking, asshole, give me more to work with, he said aloud with just the right note of derision, "How could I have something personal with you when I don't have a clue who you are, except the kind of pussy that hides behind his gun?"

"You trying to level the playing field by insulting me into putting down the piece?" the intruder asked in mock amusement. "I don't think so. I've run into your type before. You think that because you work out a little, got some muscles to impress the women with, nobody's going to mess with you. So you've got some stupid idea about charging me. Not going to happen. We need to ... talk... and that means I have to make sure you keep your distance for now."

The way he said 'talk' was nasty, intending to hint at pain and humiliation, and if Jim didn't have other things on his mind, he would have grinned ferally. This guy had to be the world's worst cop if he hadn't bothered to do his homework and find out what he was up against. That or he didn't factor in that a ex cov-op Ranger would have had a drill sergeant or two in boot camp who did worse on a daily basis than a crooked cop could dream up on his best day.

"Don't have anything to say to you," Jim said easily, confidently. Testing the intruder's nerve, he turned very, very slowly and looked him up and down as if he were an insect, not surprised when the other man unintentionally backed off a step. "You're not one of ours."

The intruder let him get away with making the first move, probably telling himself he wanted to be able to sneer into Jim's face. In truth, he didn't know how to force Jim to turn back around without coming off as if he'd lost control of the situation. A fact that was slowly beginning to penetrate his smug air, unless Jim was reading the signs wrong.

As if to compensate, the intruder said snidely, "I wouldn't lower myself to work with the likes of you. What kind of man sticks his nose in another cop's private business? I thought maybe you were some kind of bleedin' heart faggot, especially when I saw that hippie you call a partner. But he really is just a roommate, huh? Can't make it on that pathetic salary the public deigns to give the men who keep their asses safe, huh, and don't have the smarts to take advantage of what comes your way to pad the old retirement account."

Turning to ice on the inside at the hint the loft had been searched before he got home, Jim viciously thought, Keep burying yourself - go on, let's see how deep you can go. Letting an edge of impatience show, he said, "I don't have a fucking clue what you're babbling about. Are you a psycho? Or just dumb enough not to know you've got the wrong guy for whatever problem you think you have?"

Flushing with anger, the intruder moved forward, bringing up the gun as if to fire. "Oh, I've got the right guy. I knew that faithless bitch would run sooner or later, so I trained my kid early on that he had to call me first chance he got, if he knew what was good for him. He's not the brightest, but he gave me enough to be able to track them this far. After all, how many big, buff cops are there who teach in a martial arts studio run by a hell of a fat chinaman?"

Tired of the farce, Jim lowered his hands and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning casually on the doorframe and not missing the flash of disconcertment in the intruder's expression. "No idea, but it's a big city. It's not my problem you can't keep your domestic life under control."

Snarling, the intruder said, "It became your problem when you helped her run away from where she belongs, taking my kid with her, then were dumb enough to think you could hide her from me. From *me!*"

"I'm going to say this one more time," Jim said as if he were speaking to a particularly dense drunk. "I don't know what you're talking about. What's more, I don't give a shit, either. So either shoot me and get it done with, or get the hell out of my house."

Surprised, the intruder just stared at Jim for a minute, but then managed to bluster, "Oh, I'm going to shoot you. In fact, you'll beg me to before it's all over. Like I said; we've got some talking to do."

This time Jim did grin. "You must have some serious dirt on your captain if you haven't been kicked off the force for being incompetent and careless. Do you honestly think I'm going to be a good little boy and let you tie me up so you can get your jollies roughing me up, then kill me anyway because you can't afford to have any potential witnesses?"

He straightened threateningly, flexing his hands as he dropped them to his sides, pleased when the other man flinched, but didn't brandish the gun again. "Better make sure the first shot gets me in the head; otherwise I'm going to have time to get over there and feed you that gun. Then you had better run fast and far because *my* cop buddies are the real deal and *will* be able to find you. Or are you really stupid enough to think that you can clean up so good there won't be any trace evidence, that the neighbors won't see something, hear something. You ass, you're not even wearing gloves, not to mention my building has a security camera on it because of morons like you who think they can just waltz in here and take a cop. Or do you think you'll have time to take care of all that before someone reports shots fired at a cop's residence?"

For a moment Jim thought the intruder might die of stroke before he could ever think to pull the trigger. The mix of rage, frustration, and fear that chased over his face looked painful, and all his vitals shot through the roof in a matter of seconds. Despite the move toward him, he said, "You're bluffing. I know your kind. All talk and swagger."

Taking a slow, deliberate step, Jim said quietly, calmly, "You have no idea who I am or you wouldn't still be standing there."

The intruder tightened his grip on the gun, sweat beading up on his forehead. His aim was for Jim's chest; a bullet that Jim knew could be turned from lethal to damaging with a twist of the torso the moment he saw the trigger finger flex. "Stop!" the intruder ordered, a faint tremor hiding under the words. "Now. Don't think I won't shoot you." He tried for a superior smile and produced a sickly facsimile of one. "Come on, try it. You'll be dead, and I'll just wait until your roomie finally gets home from whoring around. You've bound to let something slip to him that I can use."

Jim had no name for the demonic thing that prowled up through him, taking command of his body and mind when his mate was threatened. But he didn't care about that, didn't worry about what would happen later. All that mattered to him was making sure that this insignificant son of bitch standing in front of him never got within a mile of Blair.

"If you so much as breathe on one of his curls," Jim whispered, hearing death drench every sound escaping his lips, "I will make you suffer until the agony and degradation breaks your mind. Then I will stuff you in an insane asylum and pay the orderlies to make sure that you spend the rest of your life with a size eleven asshole from servicing any and all comers."

Horrified by what he saw in front of him, the intruder shrank in on himself as Jim loomed over him without so much as moving. "I lived eighteen months in the jungles of South America," Jim all but purred. "The natives have lots interesting ways to discourage people from trespassing on their territory." He inched forward, moving so smoothly that it must have looked as if he had magically grown bigger. "I haven't been able to practice what they taught me for a while now. Are you volunteering to help me with that?"

Swallowing on a throat that sounded desert dry, the intruder husked out, "Stop right there." He tried to adjust his aim for Jim's head, finally believing that he was in more danger than his supposed victim was, and lost his only chance to win when his gun dipped slightly from sweat slick hands.

Seeing it instantly, Jim shot across the small gap that remained between them, his fist connecting as a wild shot went off. The intruder staggered, frantically trying to steady himself for another shot, but Jim's next blow hit him solidly in the solar plexis. Air gone, he went to one knee and Jim had no compunctions about kicking him solidly in the balls, twisting the gun out of nerveless fingers as he did. The accumulated pain was too much; the intruder collapsed on his side, out cold.

Not even breathing hard, Jim stood over him for a moment, enjoying the rush of power. Coldly, logically, he considered whether or not to finish the job; a twist could break the cretin's neck and the body position would let him claim it happened when he fell. Dead, the intruder could never be a danger to his mate again. Alive, he might be the sort to strike back in revenge, thinking he was clever enough to hide that he was behind it.

The scent of fresh urine hit Jim's nose, and he chuckled wickedly. The bastard had wet himself. No, he was broken. Once he was arrested and put in jail, he'd crumple completely and wind up some con's best girl, provided he wasn't killed for just being a cop.

Decision made, the more rational part of Jim tried to call back the violence owning him, but it didn't want to obey. For endless weeks he had been beating down, suppressing, muffling enough frustration, anger, and lust to fuel a killing spree worthy of Hitler's SS. Now that it had an outlet, it was not going to simply fade as if he were merely irritated. His only saving grace was that he wasn't sure precisely what to do next.

Thankfully, the distant shrill of police sirens racing in his direction pulled him back toward sanity enough that he was able to walk over to his coat and take out his cell phone. "You get all that?" he asked Blair conversationally.

"Every word right up until he said he'd go after me if you didn't cooperate," Blair answered, unexpectedly sounding equally composed. "Then you were too far away from the cell for us to make out what you said, though he came through loud and clear."

"Us?"

"Simon's with me, listening in as best he can. We're not that far away and backup is even closer, though it sounds like you won't be needing it." There was a pause and in the background he could hear Blair and Simon arguing about something, though he couldn't tell what because the phone at that end seemed to be moving around erratically, to gauge by how the quality of the sound kept changing.

Wondering if they were fighting for control of the phone, he waited as patiently as he could until Blair finally said, "Simon wants to know if an ambulance is needed. We heard a shot go off."

"Missed, but he's unconscious, so you better get the paramedics here just to cover the department's legal ass." Dredging up humor from somewhere, Jim added, "I'm going to be doing paperwork on this for years to come, aren't I?"

"Busting a cop from another city? You'll probably be working on it when you reach the Pearly Gates," Blair answered lightly. At another rumble from Simon he added, "You got any idea at all who he is?"

"Not a one," Jim said with complete honesty. He made a point of never learning anything but first names from the women he helped or taught.

Distantly he heard Simon mutter, "This is going to be fun," but all Jim's attention was on his partner who was taking long sips of air, as if to fight off a scream or panic attack.

Suddenly he knew exactly what he wanted to do with all the excess energy surging through him and before he could give into it, Jim said with false casualness, "Uniforms are on the stairs. No need for you two to be here; might as well go back and wait until this mess gets moved to the station."

"We'll be there in two minutes," Blair said shortly and hung up.

Swearing, Jim opened the door and stood at the threshold until the officers arrived so he could claim that he hadn't had time to tamper with the crime scene. After that it was a case of standing to one side and letting procedure take its natural course: give his statement and answer questions as more and more people swirled through the loft. Simon and Blair arrived just as it was starting, but there were enough bodies and distraction that Jim could avoid being too close to him, despite Blair's determined efforts to attach himself to his side.

Too soon for Jim's wishes, but actually some hours later, the intruder (one Theodore L. Wright, according to his I.D, how stupid was that, carrying I.D. to a murder) was handcuffed to a gurney and taken away. The Crime Scenes Unit had done their thing - finding the point of entry, the bullet hole, and all the rest of it - and the detectives that had been called in were done with their questions for the time being. That left him, Blair and Simon standing at the door, exchanging the sort of meaningless banter that men used to keep deep feelings from finding voice, and then even that was gone. With a pointed comment about Jim giving his official statement first thing next morning, Simon went home, trailing cigar smoke and mumbled imprecations about detectives that got into trouble during off-duty hours.

The door had barely shut behind him before Jim retreated as far as he could, going out onto the balcony, heedless of the early winter chill. It didn't make much difference as far as his senses went; he was ultra aware of every breath Blair took, every whisper of air moving over his form. He knew he should run, get as far away from him as he could, but the will to do so just wasn't strong enough to fight off the imperative to be near enough to have that much contact, at least.

Unsurprisingly Blair followed him out, hovering just beyond reach, as if he sensed on some level that Jim was dangerous to him. "Want to tell me what's wrong?"

"I would think that's obvious," Jim said, keeping his tone mild by some force of will he had never known he had.

"This isn't the first time we've had a home invasion; you didn't react like this, then," Blair argued quietly. "Is it Shadow House? You worried about this getting back to them somehow?"

It was a good question despite being the farthest thing from his mind. "Even if I.A. tries to pressure me about the wife, I can get around their questions without perjuring myself, thanks to how the conversation went with people listening. Going to have to break with them now that my name has been connected, however remotely. Remind me to call Rob though. He needs to know what went down here in case someone decides he might be connected, too."

It obviously wasn't the reaction that Blair expected, and he said hesitantly, "Jim...."

Dropping his head to his chest and grabbing for the edge of the balcony wall, Jim said tightly, "Maybe you'd better give me some space for a while."

"Not until you tell me what's wrong!" Blair half-reached for him, but aborted the motion when Jim couldn't help but flinch. "God, Jim, you're wound so tight you're practically vibrating. Everyone who's come into the loft in the past few hours has been treating you like you're nitroglycerine teetering on the edge of a table, and instead of growling at them like you usually do when people start 'handling you,' you acted like you didn't even notice!"

The truth was, he hadn't, not really, and Jim shook his head in mute refusal to talk, not sure that he was capable any longer. Blair's body heat was blossoming along his side nearest to him, seductive and beguiling as a come-hither smile and beckoning finger. All he wanted in all the world was to answer that summons; to drag Blair to the floor and bury himself in his body until they were both screaming in release. He hung onto the wall grimly, hoping that Blair's instinct for self-preservation would kick in and get him out of there before Jim lost it completely.

Either that instinct was on vacation or Blair simply wasn't listening. He inched close enough to place his hand in the small of Jim's back. "What's *happening* with you?"

Lust ripped straight though Jim from where Blair's palm rested, destroying what restraint he had left. Turning sharply on his heel to bury his fingers in the curls at the back of Blair's head to hold him still, he knotted the others into his shirt at the waist. "This," he said, and kissed him.

For whatever reason Blair didn't fight him off, but he didn't respond, either, refusing to open his mouth to Jim's gentle nibbling. His arms came up between them, creating a barrier, but not pushing him away. It was a mixed message that Jim didn't have the wits left to decipher. For him nothing mattered but the sweet taste of Blair's lips and his vibrant presence in his arms.

The flutter of a cold breeze lifted Blair's curls to tease and tantalize, but Blair himself shivered. Too in tune with him not to be aware of that discomfort, Jim nudged him backwards into the loft. On impulse, he didn't stop until he had Blair backed up against the kitchen table. With a deft shove and pivot of his hips, he got his legs between Blair's thighs, pressing their groins together so closely he could feel each throb of Blair's cock as it hardened.

Steady pressure forward gave Blair the choice of either leaning back, arms behind him for support, or hanging onto Jim. To Jim's moaned delight, he chose the latter, giving a little hitch to be able to sit on the table's edge. At the same time Blair deepened their kiss, allowing Jim into his mouth, sucking in the rhythm all humans know. His hips quickly followed that lead, crushing his erection into Jim's as he keened at the first touch.

It was good, oh, so good, but not anywhere near enough to satisfy the clamoring of Jim's senses. Frantically, he tugged on Blair's shirts to get them out of the way so he could savor bare skin. Blair lay back, taking Jim down with him, and he let him, pillowing the back of Blair's head in one palm. Hooking his heels into the back of Jim's knees, Blair arched under the combination of Jim's weight and exploring hand, insanely trying to get closer.

Or maybe not so insane, Jim thought dazedly. They could be closer, much closer. Whimpering at the loss, he lifted away and quickly stripped both he and Blair to the waist, then Blair blindly pulled him back on top of him. The wealth of sensation was overwhelming, sending Jim into a frenzy of writhing as each hair on Blair's chest bestowed its individual caress on him. Almost instantly his nipples tightened up to throbbing points that sent spiraling currents of pleasure into his cock.

He endured it as long as it could, but didn't want to come in his pants. He wanted - needed - to fill Blair with his seed, to possess him as thoroughly as he possessed Jim's senses. Pulling away actually hurt, but he did, smoothing a palm down Blair's front to soothe his cries of distress. When he reached his belt, Blair yelped and jerked, not in pleasure, but fear, his eyes flying open to meet Jim's gaze. For all the lust glowing in that velvet blue, there was something huge and powerful dimly coloring the depths that had nothing to do with desire.

As abruptly as a gun shot breaking the silence of three a.m., Jim's passion died, leaving him frozen in place. Despite whatever it was that was haunting Blair, he still reached for Jim, body straining toward him. Jim couldn't ignore the disparity any longer, much as the bestial side of him wanted to. Planting his fists on either side of Blair's waist so he wouldn't be tempted to touch and be lost again, he said in a voice so raw it hurt, "If you're going to say 'no,' now is the time."

"Huh?"

Waiting until Blair focused on him, Jim asked, "Do you want this? No regrets, no accusations in the morning, no jerking me around once we're done."

"I...." Blair looked away, face closing down, scrubbing hair away from his face. "I...." Pounding on the table once, he sat up. "No. No, I don't."

He seemed about to say something else, but Jim cut him off with a sharp chopping gesture. Eyes closing tightly as a huge shudder shook him, he stumbled back a step, then another, then turned his back to him. "Okay." Taking a deep breath he tried to stand taller, straightening his shoulders. "Right."

Fumbling for something to say to keep Blair from talking to him, Jim literally just opened his mouth to let whatever would come, come, and amazingly, it was coherent. "Might as well go in and get started in writing up my reports, maybe stop by the gym for a while. Probably get back in late and go straight to bed. See you in the morning."

Unable to look back, Jim left, barely remembering to scoop up his keys and grab a jacket to cover his bare torso before going. Once in the truck, though, he changed his mind about where to go; the last thing he wanted to do was run into someone he knew and have to explain why he looked like a madman. A flash of neon caught his attention, and he mindlessly drove toward it, remotely relieved when it turned out to be an all-night greasy spoon. He went in and ordered a cup of coffee, then sat and watched it get cold. Periodically the waitress would come over and take it away to give him a fresh cup, not remarking on the fact he wasn't drinking it, as if she were used to having people do exactly what Jim was doing.

When that thought occurred to Jim, he snorted in self-derision. She probably had. He could hardly be the only person in Cascade to have the kind of problems that would drive a sane person out of their own home, unwilling to go back and face whatever was waiting for them. In his case, he didn't know what that was, precisely, which kept him in his seat as much as anything else, head down and mind as blank as he could make it.

Fatigue claimed the wild energy of thwarted lust eventually, and his eyes started to hurt from staring so much. Whether he liked it or not, it was time to go home. If he were lucky, Blair had left to burn off his own sexual frustration in some willing woman and would be out long enough for Jim to get to sleep.

As he parked his truck, Jim dropped his head onto the steering wheel, trying to find the strength to go inside. He could hear Blair in the loft, though it was dark except for the flicker of candlelight, and silent, without even the hiss of CD player being used with headphones. Meditating, then. He could work with that; slip by without disturbing him.

When Jim was halfway up the stairs to his bedroom, Blair said softly "Guess I should have listened to you when you asked me to give you some space, huh?"

Holding down a sigh, Jim turned and sat on a step, elbows on his knees and hands loosely clasped between them. "That asshole threatened you, and the only way to convince my senses that you were safe was to have you in my arms. It's not the first time I've had to fight that off, but it was the first time since I've made love to you. It was... stronger, and I wasn't prepared for that. I won't apologize for fucking up again, 'cause I know that's pretty meaningless, but I can promise you that there won't be a repeat of this particular screw-up." Finding a real smile in the love vibrating across unsteady nerves, he said, "I'd be a big help if you *would* listen next time I ask you to back off. It's not like I'm telling you to stay in the truck!"

Not responding to the flash of humor, Blair snuffed the candle closest to him. "That's just not right. It's not fair you have to hold in that kind of need just because your hormones are obsessed with the wrong person."

Still don't believe in love, Chief? Jim thought tiredly. Lifting his hands to spread them apart and dropping them again, he said, "Not much in life is fair. I learned to live with that a long time ago." At Blair's disgusted 'humph,' he added, "Good people get cancer, earthquakes wipe out homes in a heartbeat, babies are born with birth defects. You pick up your feet, do the next thing that needs to be done, and try to make fair the things you *can* influence. The only other option is to crawl under a rock and hide there."

Putting out another candle with an angry snap of his fingers, Blair said, "And it *still* just sucks. No matter what you say, it isn't right!" He pinned Jim with a glare. "And don't you tell me your feelings aren't my problem."

"So I won't," Jim snapped back. "Which doesn't change the fact it's the truth!" Grabbing onto his control, he moderated for his tone, trying for reasonable. "Look, this is one situation where you're going to have to take care of yourself first, and leave me alone to do the same. It's not like I'm complaining about my life, here!" A sudden thought hit him, and he asked sharply, "You're not staying out of pity, are you? Being here *is* what *you* want, right?"

"Yes," Blair said with such simplicity Jim had to believe him. "There's no place else I want to be, nothing else I want to do with my life. I guess I just think the 'rent' is too high."

"I don't," Jim said gently. "Doesn't that count?" He hesitated, and added, "Will it help if I promise I'll tell you if that changes?"

"No sucking it up because you think life isn't fair, no 'real men don't cry over a bad break' bullshit?" Blair asked suspiciously.

"My word on it."

For the first time since he came home, Blair smiled. "Then I promise to back off if you ask for space."

"Done!" Jim stood and began to climb the rest of the way up the stairs. Hoping it would reassure Blair things were back to normal yet again, he said, "You better think about getting some sleep. No doubt an I.A. shooting review board will be laying in wait for us when we go in, and it's better to deal with them with a clear mind."

"Especially since you can't deal with them with an uzi, which I know you'd prefer," Blair said dryly.

"I keep hoping to talk Simon into to at least letting me give that a try," Jim reported. At Blair's chuckle, he said, "Sleep well."

A full laugh followed Jim up to his bed, erasing the last of the tension between them, once again putting them back on the easy footing of their partnership. As he fell asleep, his last hazy thought was he had that much at least, and it wasn't half bad, not half bad at all.

***

Like a powerful storm can clear out a dirty city so that it feels new and fresh, that night seemed to clean away most of the disquiet that had skulked around the edges of their lives. In Jim's opinion, that alone made the physical frustration more than worthwhile, and it seemed Blair had found peace as well. If Jim's dreams were bitter and lonely, haunted by the mournful wailing of a wolf, he ignored them in favor of living some of the best days he'd known.

He knew it was too good to last; that sooner or later something would drag the whole unrequited lust thing back up. And hopefully it would be put right back to rest again, too. Consoling himself that all couples - even ones as unorthodox and unusual as he and Blair were - had their reoccurring fights, he refused to worry about it and just enjoyed what he had.

The last thing he expected was to walk into the loft on a late Tuesday afternoon to pick up a forgotten file and find Blair wrapped in Katie's arms, kissing her. Whether it was because Blair had tried so hard for so long to keep his affairs under Jim's radar, sense-wise, or because it was Katie, the one person Blair had ever considered marrying, the sight of them hit Jim hard. Literally staggering back as from a blow, he fumbled the door open behind him, then whirled through it, fighting to get air into lungs that were suddenly constricted with steel bands.

Too shocked to think, training kicked in. When wounded, find a defensible place to retreat to and wait for help while doing your best to treat your injuries. The door behind him was enemy territory, but there was another door not too far away that opened onto a temporary safe haven.

Jim lurched forward, bright spots beginning to swim in front of his eyes. Mercifully, he'd been in and out of the new apartment so many times the keys came to his hand without any direction from him, and he scrabbled to let himself in. By the time he got the door and lock to cooperate, blackness was narrowing his range of vision, and he half-fell, half-crawled onto the pile of bedding he'd laid out as a place to rest when he was working on the place. Burrowing into the promise of warmth, Jim tried to hide himself, still obeying the imperative to protect himself against the source of his agony, though he no longer remembered what it was. The pain was too pervasive, and the darkness had taken his sight. Mere heartbeats later it took his consciousness.

Clinging stubbornly to oblivion, Jim mindlessly fought listening to a voice calling him back, refusing to acknowledge the fear and worry in it. It took the sharp teeth of a wolf clamping around his wrist and dragging on it painfully to bring him back to reality, and he opened his eyes to find the animal's teeth were Blair's fingers digging into his flesh. Yet the hand cupping his face was gentle, as was the expression on Blair's face.

With no idea of what to say or do, Jim just stared at him, and Blair silently stared back until the weight of his regard made him think Blair already knew why Jim had blacked out and couldn't bring himself to do any more damage. Reminding himself blackly that he'd sworn to himself to love Blair the way he deserved to be loved, Jim finally smiled, putting all his heart into it. "So did she say 'yes' this time?"

To his astonishment, Blair jerked back as if he'd been struck, fingers flying to his mouth to stop a cry. Scrambling to his feet, he looked around wildly, as if seeking a direction to run, but didn't move, though he was trembling violently with some emotion. Just when Jim thought he would shake apart, Blair snatched up a two-by-four board left over from the shelving Jim was building, and slammed it into the brick wall, putting all his strength into it. Splinters and dust flew, but it obviously wasn't enough. He hammered at the wall again and again, wordlessly shouting as the blows fell.

Terrified for him, Jim clumsily went to all fours, but as he did, the board gave way, shattering into pieces. Blair swung around, searching something else to use as a club, and without thinking Jim grabbed another board up and offered it to him. Gaping at it, then at him, Blair dropped the battered fragment he still held. Knocking away the one Jim had, Blair flung himself at him, bowling him over until they wound up on their sides, Blair's limbs tightly wrapped around him and face buried in his shoulder. Not knowing what else to do, Jim hung on, automatically shifting to make them both comfortable.

"I honestly don't know who I hate more right now," Blair said bitterly, trying to hang on even tighter. "Me or you."

"Hate? There's no hate in you," Jim said flatly, daring Blair to contradict him. "And nothing about yourself for anyone, even yourself, to hate."

"That's not the way it feels." Before Jim could argue, Blair covered Jim's lips with his fingers. "You know what's been going on today? Katie called me, said she needed to talk, and my first thought was, hey, been there, done that, don't need a review of that particular life lesson. I tried to hedge, tell her that she was right to break if off with me, but she was nearly crying, all but begging, so I gave in, mad at myself for doing it. She asked to meet me at the loft, said she wanted the privacy and Rachel was home, so we couldn't meet at her place."

"Sounds to me like a man sparing a little compassion for someone that once meant a lot to him. No monster there, Chief."

Thumping him hard on the upper arm, Blair said, "Will you just listen!" Not waiting for a reply, he went on. "So I guessed maybe she wanted to get back together, and maybe it's human to feel a bit triumphant, a little mean because she put me through the wringer, and now it's her turn. I can forgive myself for that.

"What I can't stand is that I listened to her tell me how lonely she was, how tired she was of doing it on her own, of never having anybody to lean on, and all I could think of was, 'I'm sorry for you, but what's any of that got to do with me? I'm not lonely, or alone, or trying to do it all on my own. I've got Jim.' God, how selfish and cold and...."

He broke off, beating on Jim's biceps with his fists and pressing his head almost painfully into him. "It was like she read my mind. She cuddled up to me, reminding me how good it had been for us in bed, and telling me she could keep me happy. The worst, the *worst* thing is, that was exactly why I considered marrying her in the first place. I liked her, liked the idea of being a father, liked that she was too busy with Rachel and her own life to make too many demands on my time with you. I didn't want to become one of those pathetic old farts with a bad comb-over chasing everything in skirts in hopes that I'd score a pity fuck. I'd have the best of all possible worlds; you and a warm body to screw."

"If you were that aloof, that uninvolved, why did it hurt so much when she broke it off?" Jim asked, choosing his words carefully and aching for the guilt and sorrow Blair had been carrying alone.

Laughing humorlessly, Blair shook his head. "Ultimate irony, man. I'd been telling myself that love was just a word, and that being kind, caring and compassionate to my bedmate was all that mattered. And here was Katie telling me it *wasn't* enough, that she wanted and deserved more, and I wasn't able to give it to her. That I didn't have it in me to give it to anybody, even if real love did exist. That I was just as shallow and superficial as my mom is, though I swore, I swore, that I'd never be like her."

"That's just not true," Jim said, rubbing soothing circles into Blair's back between his shoulder blades. "Your whole life since I've known you is proof that you're anything but. Think about all the people we've helped, even when I dragged my feet, not wanting to get involved. And you wouldn't have hurt so badly for me if you were as heartless as you think you are."

Jim hesitated, then said what had to be said, worried how well Blair could accept it. "What do you think Chief is but the embodiment of your love for me? I've believed that from the start and have never had a reason to doubt it. I don't doubt that you care for me; it's just not a physical, romantic kind of love, that's all."

Blair made an odd noise that was a whimper of pain and moan of need mixed together. "He still comes to you, doesn't he? I watched once, you know. When you were masked and had the sound generators on, so you didn't know I was there, though I have to admit, I don't think you were aware of anything except Chief."

Swallowing hard, not sure if he was humiliated or aroused, Jim made some sound to encourage Blair, and he kept talking. "It was so hot! And beautiful, you were so beautiful. I wanted you so much, still do. That's why I didn't try to fight you off the other night. I was hoping you'd just do me, let me have you just one more time, then we could apologize to each other and pretend things had gotten out of hand and wouldn't ever again."

For the life of him Jim couldn't stop a grimace at the thought of how agonizing that would have been, and Blair tried to pull away, head hanging so he couldn't see into his eyes. Jim refused to let go, and Blair spat, "You wonder why I think I could hate you! God! I was almost ready to kill someone once because I thought he was abusing you, and it turns out I'm the real culprit. And you're letting me! You're letting me do something that I would despise in any other human being, and you keep coming back for more! Why do you do that, Jim? Why in the world would anybody in their right mind endure that kind of pain?"

"How else am I ever going to prove to you that there is truly forever love if I don't keep hanging on?" Jim asked quietly. "Look, when I snap and snarl at you, you shrug it off and come back for more, don't you?"

"You don't mean it," Blair said almost automatically. "You're hurting and that's the only way you have of letting it out."

"So don't you think I can see that you're hurting now, and forgive you for it?" Unable to resist the temptation, Jim kissed the top of Blair's head, then his temple. "You stuck with me when I went over the deep end with Alex, gave up the career you'd worked so hard to have to protect me, you take all my guff and you still don't believe you love me when I'm so sure you do? Why? Don't tell me it's the gay thing, not with you wanting me the way you do. Or the bashing thing; you've got more courage than that. Tell me, please. Why refuse to love, convince yourself that you're only a user, when you're the most loving, generous, giving, nurturing soul I've ever met?"

Blair somehow managed to huddle in on himself without leaving the safety of Jim's arms, and Jim heard him dry swallow against tears. The never-ending urge to protect would have had Jim kissing them away, kissing the need for them away until Blair was smiling up at him again, if the answers hadn't been important to that very cause.

Intuition told Jim that if he waited patiently, very patiently, for long enough, Blair would answer him, so he did just that, nuzzling and dropping pecking kisses here and there. Bit by bit Blair relaxed into him, his body heavy against Jim's, until they were all but melted together. Twilight began to creep into the room, and in that near gloom Blair said in a small, child-like voice, "I think... No, it's time to stop lying to myself. I've always known that if I did love, that I wouldn't be able to hold back in any way. My lover would be everything to me. *Everything.* Not just my life and body, but my heart and soul, too."

"Are you afraid that I won't love you the same way?" Jim murmured into his ear.

Sighing and turning his head enough to be able to kiss Jim's throat, Blair said, "No, you already do." He chuckled weakly. "The past few months would have proved it to me if I'd had any doubts on that score."

He fell silent, but it was actually easier for Jim this time to wait until Blair was ready to talk. Eventually, Blair whispered, "Nothing is forever. People change, life changes. What will I have left when you're gone? Dead or just carried away from me by circumstances beyond our control. Don't tell me it can't happen. Even if you didn't carry a badge, nothing is guaranteed *except* change. You'll be gone, I'll be alone and empty and desperately hungry for something I'll never, ever have again. I'd rather live with the ache of not having than with the devastation of losing."

Choosing his words as if they had the potential to be deadly, Jim said, "I can't argue with you on this. I *could* die tomorrow, and you're the only one who can judge whether the risk of that kind of loss is worth the pain or not. But just because my body is gone, it doesn't mean I will be." He touched Blair's chest, just over his heart. "You have a piece of me in here, remember? That stayed with you when you tried to leave, stayed when you were fighting to keep chaos and people between us, stayed when I thought I was dying. What makes you believe that anything can change *that?*"

He could feel the arguments rising up in Blair, and quickly side-stepped what couldn't be proven to what was real and tangible. "And if you don't want to pin your hopes on a spirit animal that you can only see when one of us is close to death, take a look around. A good look. What do you see?"

Slowly Bair pulled away from the safe haven of Jim's arms and did as asked, the beginnings of a smile appearing as he saw the hot tub they had picked out together during better days, the tiled floor under it, the book-shelf room dividers around it for privacy. "Just like we talked about."

"Not my home, not your home, our home," Jim said, quoting Blair from what seemed like an eternity ago. "That's something that can't be taken away from you even if the place burns to the ground. All the memories we'll make, all the things we'll share, the friends who will come and go here, leaving the echo of themselves behind to anyone who knows how to listen - you'll have all that if I go first. It will sustain you until we can be together again, and I have absolutely no doubt that we will be. This is the forever I've always believed in."

Blair turned pensive, idly drawing meaningless patterns on Jim's chest with a fingertip. "Would you get mad or think I was crazy if I said I rather go with you; let Enquiri lead me to wherever you are that's after now?"

"I..." Jim choked, torn almost in half by conflicting needs: keep Blair with him, no matter what; keep Blair safe, no matter what. He forced himself to take a deep breath and say honestly, "I'd probably follow you if you went first."

Blair snorted in amusement. "You did follow me once. And dragged me back."

"Somehow I don't think that's an option we'll get again."

Touching his lips to Jim's, Blair murmured, "I guess it's all a moot point, anyway. I can't bullshit myself any longer into believing that a physical distance means there's an emotional one. That if I'm not making love to you, then I can't be in love with you. That it was just sex when it *was* making love when we were together."

"You felt it?" Jim asked, trying not to hope.

"Yes." Blair breathed the word into Jim's mouth and followed the teasing wisp of air with the tip of his tongue, barely tagging Jim's. Clutching Jim's shirt, he drew away far enough to be able to say, "From the first kiss, and I couldn't admit it, had to rationalize it away a thousand different ways. That's why I ran back to chasing women. But no one has smelt right, or felt right, or tasted right ever since."

Speechless under the passion slowly rising through the gaze holding him immobile, Jim nodded his understanding, trying to encourage Blair to go on.

Lips just against his, Blair whispered, "The truth of it is that I've pretty much given up on sex with women all together. All I can think about is you."

"Oh," Jim whimpered against his will at the twist of feeling in his heart at that simple declaration.

"The panther has never come to me in my dreams or fantasies to ease my wanting for you, you know. It's always been you as Enquiri, as the sentinel warrior. Touching and being touched, tasting and being tasted, taken...." Blair released a soft, sighing moan. "And being taken."

"OH!" This time the twist was in his gut, and Jim felt his dick twitch in response. Mindful of Blair's love of delicacy, he threaded his fingers into the hair at the back of Blair's head and tenderly kissed him, barely using enough pressure to make it perceptible. Drawing away, he ran his thumbs over Blair's cheeks and lips, still barely touching. "May I?"

"Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes...."

It was impossible to say whose cock jerked at that plea, they were pressed so close together. "Do you feel that?" Jim crooned. "Do you feel the heat of my body becoming yours, feel me growing ready for you? No? Concentrate. Right there, where my cock is tucked up against yours. There. Feel the thrum, the lazy stretching?"

Eyes dazed, Blair said thickly, "The denim's too heavy."

"No, it's not. You just have to really put your mind to it. I'm all hard now; so are you. Your cock is pushing against your jeans, trying to get to me, to what I have for it."

With a low moan, Blair asked, "What do you have?"

"Pleasure. Mouth, hand, ass. Whatever. Wet, tight, taking you all in."

"Just that? Just for my cock?"

"Much more than that." Jim licked Blair's lips, barely moistening them. "There, too. Taste me? Taste my hunger, taste how good it's going to be?"

Blair licked his own lips, eyes sliding shut. "Almost, almost."

"You can. Just like you can hear me. My voice, a rough velvet in your ears, my heartbeat echoing through your body, my breath rushing along with yours, sounding like urgency and necessity." Daringly, Jim slid his hands down to cover Blair's throat, fingers smoothing erotic patterns down to the oh-so-sensitive hollow of his throat.

"Yes," Jim murmured when Blair shivered under the caress. "You've got it now, don't you? Every little hum, every little zing."

"More?"

"Open your eyes."

Blair's eyelids slid up slowly, as if he were drugged, showing unbelievable desire.

"Good, that's good," Jim praised sweetly. "I'm going to undress you now, and I want you to watch me while I do. Watch how my hands adore you, how my eyes can't leave that incredible body of yours." Jim rolled far enough away to be able to match actions to words, lingering over every revealed line with nearly insubstantial sweeps of palms and fingertips. Blair made no move to help him, obeying the order to watch and whispering a never-ending litany of endearments. When he was naked, Jim hastily took off his own clothes and went to his back, tugging Blair along so that he lay on top of him.

Their erections met, matched, glided over each other in the wetness leaking from their excitement, and Jim locked his hands over Blair's hips, holding him in place for that slick friction. "Spread you legs over mine, yes, just like that. Good, isn't it? That pulse you feel? That's me, waiting to come. You say when, you say how."

"Like this, just like this." Blair took a kiss, slowly drawing his knees up so they were on either side of Jim's waist, his cock throbbing dangerously as he rocked against Jim's stomach.

Palming Blair's ass cheeks, Jim spread them apart enough to trail a questing finger down to the hidden center between them, alert for any sign of rejection but wanting to show him just how incredible he could make him feel. Blair only widened his stance slightly, inviting more, and Jim probed gingerly at the frail folds of tissue, unabashedly relieved when his lover murmured approvingly, the guardian muscle relaxed and welcoming. He teased him with light circling caresses, not trying to penetrate at first, until Blair was on the edge of coming.

Only then did he fumble for the nearby backpack and the sunscreen kept there, hastily spilling a puddle and dipping his fingers it for lube. Blair was so lost in his excitement he didn't notice Jim's momentary distraction, which was just how he wanted him. For the first time Jim thrust up, picking up their pace and encouraging Blair to grind against him harder, pressing his middle finger over Blair's opening so that the next time he shifted back, the tip slipped into him.

Blair accepted the intrusion with a hesitation so slight Jim barely perceived it, but the sound he made was one of pleasure, giving permission for more. Before Jim could act on it, though, Blair locked his elbows and half-sat, driving the invader all the way in. Gasping, he went still, and Jim would have taken his finger away completely, but Blair gripped it gingerly with his inner muscles to stop him.

"Like it," Blair said hoarsely. "More than... oh... I thought I would."

"Gets better," Jim panted, the expression of surprised delight on Blair's wreaking havoc with his self-imposed restraint.

"Oh, man..." Blair whispered, and swallowed hard. "If this is good, maybe..." Not giving Jim a chance to worry what he might want, Blair reached between them and swirled his fingers over the crown of his own cock, gathering up the moisture there. Blair placed them over Jim's lips, and held his gaze as Jim sucked them into his mouth, eyelids sliding down to half-mast as he savored the flavor of precum.

Trembling, Blair reclaimed his fingers, and repeated his actions, this time on Jim's cock and tasting the liquid himself. The sight of his hesitant lick send a thrill through Jim that couldn't be denied, and he groaned, pushing his groin into Blair, trying to find the friction he needed to sate the need digging into him. Blair went with it, working Jim's finger deeper into himself and dropping back onto his chest to kiss him hungrily.

The combined taste of himself and Blair on his lover's tongue undid Jim, and he twisted under him, encouraging him to hump, or fuck, or do something, anything, to give them both relief. Blair did his best, but seemed too turned on to know exactly what to do, despite being as frantic for release as Jim was. Rubbing himself erratically all over Jim, he tore his mouth away, muttering disjointedly as he peppered kisses over Jim's face, neck and shoulders.

More by accident than design, Blair planted an open-mouthed, sucking kiss in the center of Jim's chest, and it was as if that one spot had a direct connection to Jim's cock. With a barely stifled scream, he bucked up, back arching and eyes rolling into the back of his head as his climax tore through him. Ecstasy claimed every part of him, all but pouring from his skin in a shimmer of brilliance, and through that glorious veil, he saw Blair throw back his head, mouth open in a silent howl, as the light claimed him as well.

The radiance collapsed, coalesced, leaving the tremulous aftermath of bliss shivering over Jim's nerves and a single tingling, shining patch over his breast bone in the shape of a wolf's paw. A sob escaped him, and he would have touched that imprint, but Blair beat him to it, even as his own hand reverently traced the glowing outlines of a panther's claw marks on himself. Both marks faded nearly instantly, and Blair collapsed into Jim's welcoming arms, his tears of joy joining the ones already dampening Jim's cheeks.