Endpoint

His head hurt, his head hurt, his head god-damned *hurt* and for far too long that was all Simon Banks could think about. He didn't know why, couldn't even bring himself to worry about the reason behind it. All he could do was try to survive the pain, and when darkness filtered through the abominable agony to take him, he embraced it willingly, forcefully stifling a part of himself howling that he was running away like a coward. It helped that a voice - familiar, trusted, compelling, confident - told him that everything was okay; that he should give into his body's demands.

His mother had told him that once, too; that the body knew what it needed to heal if he would only listen. She'd had many bits of wisdom to share with him during his boyhood, usually casually placed in front of him like a plate of cookies or peanut butter and jelly sandwich while he studied, and he wandered among those homey, powerful memories until he stumbled over the frequent regret that Daryl had never had that sort of stability in his life. Once his own son, his own failed family, swam into the darkness cradling him, Simon couldn't allow himself to hide any longer and reluctantly turned to face whatever had caused his retreat.

Surprisingly, the pain wasn't as bad when he resurfaced; in fact it had been pleasantly numbed by cold to the point that it could hardly be called pain at all. That bothered him, and Simon snapped all the way awake, instantly aware of the icy glass his head was resting against, relieving his hurt. With that came the memory of how he must have been injured: a car crash caused by a snow and ice-encrusted boulder breaking free of its mountain moorings to careen across the road in front of him. If the road hadn't been so slick with snow and ice from the winter storm he had been trying to beat to Cascade, he might have been able to stop in time or maneuver around it, but the departmental Expedition he driving had gone into an uncontrolled skid. His last coherent memory before pain was of caroming backwards down the steep embankment.

"Couldn't have been too bad a crash," Simon mused to himself, still feeling somewhat dazed and not willing to try to move yet for fear of reawakening the agony in his head. "I don't smell gas, and there's no cold, wet draft, so the Expedition's more or less intact. In fact, I'm pretty warm, so it can't have been that long since the accident."

That didn't add up for him, though, and he tried to figure out why, only to be distracted by an odd jostle and muffled sound that could only come from another person. He wasn't alone in the car! Of course not, he reminded himself irritably a split second later. Sandburg and Ellison were with him. In fact, the whole point of being in the car was for the three of them to get home after testifying at a Federal court hearing in Olympia.

Inwardly, Simon frowned. Ellison hadn't wanted to try to beat the storm. In fact, the partners hadn't wanted to ride home with him at all, and he'd been pretty irate about that, insisting as their commanding officer they come, pretty much leaving them no choice. His frown deepened. No, that wasn't right. Ellison had only given in after a significant look from Sandburg that had perversely made Simon all that much more determined for them to get on the road.

Despite that, they still hadn't gotten out of Olympia as fast as he'd wanted. Ellison had made a big deal out of needing a prolonged pit stop before starting, and Sandburg had simply disappeared far a while. Once underway he had begrudged every minute those two had wasted, to the point, Simon was ashamed to admit, even to himself, that he hadn't been driving as safely as he should have been. Resisting the urge to pinch at the bridge of his nose, he admitted he owed them an apology for not listening to Ellison when he knew damn good and well that the man was seldom wrong when it came to the senses thing.

Drifting away from awareness again, but not really caring, Simon imagined Jim accepting the apology with his usual casual brush off, only to find a way to rub his nose in it, hard, at some later date. Blair, of course, would babble non-stop, finding more ways to not say 'I told you so' than any man should have to listen to, hiding a grin under solemn sincerity. Probably the only thing stopping him at the moment was he didn't want to waste it on a semi-unconscious audience.

Or he was hurt. That thought popped into Simon's head, pulling him back to full awareness. He had no idea of either of them had been injured by his stupidity, and he was just sitting there worrying about his own sorry ass. Bracing himself for the physical complaints waiting for him, he turned in the direction he had heard the sound and opened his eyes, ready to give what first aid he could.

That was the plan, anyway. In truth, he couldn't move much of anything, though he was reassured when various body parts twitched in response to the commands he was blasting at them. His eyelids only lifted enough for him to catch glimpses of light and shadow before dropping again. Taking a second to think, Simon was able to interpret what he'd seen as snow covering the windshield, casting a brightness into the front seat that didn't really illuminate anything. The darkness on the far side was a tree trunk, he was pretty sure; there'd even been a hint of green at the edge of it, like a branch pinned against the passenger side glass.

Worried about that without being sure why, Simon tried to open his eyes again, and this time was rewarded with the sight of Sandburg sitting astride Ellison's lap, face serene as his partner caressed it. Slamming his eyelids down, Simon fought off a wave of revulsion, letting it transmute to anger that the two of them would get intimate with him sitting right next to them, and right after an accident for God's sake. Mercifully, his common sense kicked in before he could open his mouth and put his foot in it. Jim would not act like that, no way, even if Blair was the dog that the ladies had made him out to be once upon a time.

Simon took another peek, absently noticing that anger made a good antidote for the heaviness that had been plaguing him, and this time understood what he saw. Jim's expression was distant, head tilted to one side as he probed delicately with the very tips of the fingers on his left hand at the huge bruise blooming across Blair's features, and despite the calm Blair projected, he couldn't hide the pain that tightened his lips as Jim used his touch to judge how severe his partner's injuries were. With a sigh, the sentinel gave way to the man, and Jim nodded to himself in satisfaction.

"Nothing broken, no concussion or serious damage, though I was worried about that eye for a moment. Pretty sure it looks worse than it is, but we make sure later, right? Ribs now."

More curious now than anything else, because he so seldom saw Jim use his abilities up close and personal, Simon unabashedly eavesdropped on the two of them, seeing no reason to distract Jim from his exam.

"Man, it's too cold," Blair protested, even as he hiked up his many layers of shirts to let Jim inspect the right side of his body, which was already showing the signs of a serious impact against something very hard. "I'm breathing okay."

"MMmmm," Jim agreed absently, indicating he'd already listened for that. "Have to make sure, Chief. Looks like Banks and I are going to be depending on you pretty heavily until we can get out of this tin can, and I won't have you hiding something because you know that and don't want to worry us. Now, anything else hurt?"

To Simon's vague surprise, Blair didn't deny that was exactly what he would do. With a wry shrug he said, "Nothing more than the usual aches and pains you'd expect. I am so not looking forward to the first time I wake up after this. It's going to feel like I went twenty rounds with King Kong."

One-handedly pulling his shirts back down for him, Jim grimaced. "Don't remind me." He moved restlessly, a throbbing jaw muscle the only indication that he was already in a world of hurt.

"Dial down," Blair said softly, awkwardly dragging the blanket that had been stored in the back of the Ford over the two of them and shifting until he was sitting between Jim's legs, his knees coming up as he planted his feet on the seat on the other side of Jim's hip. "You sure you want me up front with you? There's no way it won't hurt every time I so much as take a deep breath."

Head dropping tiredly onto the back of the bench seat, Jim said, "In the long run, conserving body heat is more important. Two bodies under two blankets is better, especially if we're in for a long stay here."

Reluctantly, Blair agreed with a nod. "If the DOT follows its usual plan, there won't be a plow on this road until the worst of the snow is over."

Tilting back his head as if he could see the sky through the roof of the car, Jim said, "Which will be hours yet. Not blizzard conditions, just lots of snow."

"So nap time all around, huh," Blair said with the wide grin that had made Simon suspect from the start that Jim had gotten way more than he had expected when he'd signed on to work with the grad student.

With a snort, Jim tucked the edges of the blanket around Blair's shoulders as he rested his head in the curve of Jim's neck. "Easy to say, hard to do for some of us. Rest, Chief. You're going to need it."

Once he was comfortable, Blair took a few deep breaths, fell into what seemed like a sound sleep. For some reason, that seemed like a good idea to Simon, too but before he could follow suit, Jim turned his head and unperturbedly caught Simon's gaze, despite the lowered lashes. "You want briefed now," he said softly, "or want to wait until the next time you come around? Unlike Sandburg, you do have a concussion, and I'm going to have to wake you periodically to check for cranial bleeding."

"Hospital?" Simon rumbled, relieved that he'd at least found his voice and grimacing at what it did to his the insides of his skull.

"It's miles to the nearest town. Lost the radio antenna on the way down, and cells can't get a signal in this ravine, so no calling for help. Staying put and riding out this storm is the best idea, since none of us have life-threatening injuries." Frowning, Jim shifted fractionally. "Not to say that a few aspirin wouldn't be appreciated."

Finding something resembling a smile, Simon said, "Amen. My head is killing me. Seems to be the only thing, though."

Without meaning to, he made the last a question, and Jim instantly said, "Your left wrist is broken, it's already been set, and there's a serious gash in your left calf. The worst part of it is that the wheel well on that side crumpled in around your lower leg and foot; you're pinned in there pretty tightly. Sandburg sacrificed several shirts and a chemical heat pad to make sure the area is warm enough for you, but let me know if it goes numb."

"Huh. Doesn't feel like it's injured." Once his attention had been called to it, though, both calf and wrist began to complain, albeit in a dull, achy sort of way that was fairly easy to ignore.

"Wiggle your toes and flex as much as you can without aggravating the wound," Jim instructed, fingers finding their way to Simon's throat, though he hardly needed to feel for the pulse as Simon obeyed. "Nothing sharp or stabbing? Good. Every time you wake up, you do that so we can be sure of circulation, okay?"

Distracting himself from the queasy feeling moving caused, Simon asked, "What else do I need to know? How badly are you hurt?"

"The vehicle is pinned very securely in a small stand of trees; so well that we can't open any of the doors, front or back. Only way out is through the tailgate, which is a challenge because we're listing backwards about thirty degrees, in case you hadn't noticed. Tailpipe is clear, but the engine died and won't turn over. From the sound of it the whole ignition system is a goner. Luck was with us, though. None of the glass is broken, and the branches are providing natural shelter, so it's going to get chilly in here, but not to the point where it'll be dangerous. We've got supplies for being stranded - light sticks, chemical heat pads, reflective blankets, some food and drink. Not the best camping situation, but not the worse either. When I hear a plow coming, we can use the emergency lights and siren to get attention; Sandburg's already made sure that they're in the clear, though he'll have to check on that periodically until the snowfall stops."

Jim recited the facts in a clear, matter-of-fact way, like he was giving a briefing on their latest case, but that didn't stop Simon from noticing that he hadn't answered the question about what his injuries were. If Sandburg was doing the recon, they had to be fairly serious, and Simon couldn't help but wonder if Jim had used their personal relationship to convince Blair that they weren't a problem to prevent him from trying to make that dangerous hike to the nearest help.

Sternly, he repeated, "How badly are *you* hurt?"

Clearly holding in a sigh, Jim admitted, "My right leg's broken in two places, all clean, no compound, and we've got it in an inflatable splint. But I'm not going anywhere; it's going to take a lot of help for me to get out of this vehicle. Blair's the only one of the three of us that's still mobile, mostly due to the fact that he was asleep when that boulder smashed across the road."

"Asleep!"

"You know how he is before he… or maybe you don't remember. No matter. He doesn't sleep well before testifying, and because this was a federal case where he was a key player, it was worse than usual."

Again, Jim's tone was neutral, non-condemning in any way, shape or form, but Simon couldn't help a flinch that awakened the misery in his head. His vision grayed out around the edges, but when he would have fought to stay conscious, Jim rearranged the wad of fabric against his neck providing support and cushioning. "There's no point in staying awake if you don't have to."

On one level, Simon agreed with him, but there were a few things nagging at him, like since when were light sticks and reflective blankets standard issue for a police vehicle? Of course, it'd had been a long time since he'd driven standard issue; maybe the emergency supply kit had been upgraded. With inflatable splints, though?

Pondering pointlessly, Simon fell back asleep, and when he resurfaced some indeterminate time later, he felt much better, though stiffness was beginning to set in. Recalling Jim's orders, he stretched and wiggled as much as he could, barely killing a moan as muscle and bone complained. Either Jim had stayed on watch the entire time, or he awoke when Simon did. He tugged the blanket away from his face, careful to keep Sandburg covered, smoothing the fabric over his shoulders and back.

For the thousandth time since he'd sworn to himself that he was going to live and let live where those two were concerned, Simon had to kill his reaction at the casual contact between them. He wasn't fast enough. Jim's expression carefully faded out into the blank, polite mask he had worn for so long after Simon had learned about the change in his and Blair's relationship. He absolutely, completely hated that façade, as much because it had been the last thing he had expected from his friend as because he didn't know how to combat it.

From the beginning, once he'd realized how badly he'd handled the news, Simon had anticipated a return of the old Ellison, all belligerence and attitude. That he knew he could work with, could deal with in what would likely amount to a series of short, verbally harsh confrontations where, once temper and macho had been satisfied, he would have been able to talk to the man and reason with him. He had been convinced that he could make Jim see that he was having a bizarre mid-life crisis and overreacted to the sacrifice Blair had made for him.

Instead he had gotten the ultra-polite, ultra-correct Detective Ellison, who worked with his equally reticent and serious partner, Sandburg.

If the appearance of the first troubled him, the second ripped at him in ways Simon had not wanted to admit to. It took serious hurt to silence Sandburg, and he could see the shadow of it in every word spoken, every movement made in his presence. He had wanted to approach Sandburg to persuade him that Jim was making a huge mistake by pursuing more than friendship with him. Simon had had his arguments all lined up, rational and well-thought out, and had no qualms about playing on Sandburg's obsession with Jim's gifts and his equally obvious love for him.

Only to shove them all down where he wouldn't be tempted to use them to batter a man who was already bleeding. Simon did not believe that the ends justified the means, and he quickly decided he could ride out the latest twist in the sentinel thing. Either Ellison would come to his senses, so to speak, or Sandburg would be unable to resist making another conquest, and Simon could be there to help the pair of them patch up their partnership.

To this day Simon didn't understand why he got so angry when neither of those things happened. And his fury only grew every time he saw them exchange a significant look or tender gesture that everyone else in Major Crimes either didn't see or didn't care about or - damn them all - approved of. Not that he'd called it rage. No, he'd called the emotion rolling through him and ripping away his good sense moral outrage or righteous indignation or even ethical affront. His denial gave the anger no outlet until it was spilling out into his command, something he would have once sincerely believed was impossible.

Joel had stopped him from going on a tear that would have destroyed him as a Captain simply by standing in front of him, mournful eyes calm and nonjudgmental, and asking him why he was so angry at two people who had done nothing but dare love without his approval. A great many very ugly words had swarmed up at Joel's soft question, but Simon had been unable to spew them into the face of a man he considered one of the most decent and upstanding human beings he'd ever known. He'd shaken his head, not to excuse himself, but to let Joel know that he didn't have an answer.

Thankfully the anger had mostly died under that solemn regard and quiet encouragement, and Simon had worked hard since then to make sure it stayed down to the occasional twinge. The reward had been a slow rejuvenation of his working relationship with Ellison and Sandburg, and maybe a bit of thawing on the personal front. Because that was more than worth it to him, he didn't take Jim's withdrawal as a slight.

Instead he asked mildly, "Was I out long?"

"Three hours or so, sir," Jim said with the same deceptive blandness. "It'll be getting dark soon."

Without thinking, Simon said, "I miss you calling me 'Simon.'"

Obviously startled at the honesty, Jim looked away, jaw muscle jumping. For a moment Simon thought he would ignore the comment, then he said slowly, "I miss be able to call you that."

The silence got very awkward after that, to the point that Simon almost wished Sandburg was awake to dispel it with some quip or off-the-wall cultural observation. It was his turn to be surprised when Jim said out of nowhere, "You know you're still important to me, don't you? For the sake of the past, I'd parachute into the jungle again to search for you." He managed something resembling a smile. "I might have to think about it a minute instead of just grabbing my chute, but I'd do it."

"Considering the gruff I've given you in the not so distant past, I wouldn't be surprised if you made me sweat a long while before showing up."

"I'm not going to say you weren't a problem. You were, and you were out of line, besides." Not giving Simon a chance to flare up at that, Jim went on. "You stopped and that's what counts. Given the way you were accidentally blindsided, I can't say I would have handled it any better if I'd been in your shoes. In fact, it's pretty much guaranteed my reaction would have been pure asshole. We all know how well I like radical changes."

All the arguments about the radical one Jim had made for Blair that Simon had held in reserve flew to the tip of his tongue, but before he could oh-so-casually present the first one, Jim smiled down on the barely visible curls peeking out of the edge of the blanket. It held a rueful sort of self-mockery, along with pure adoration that Simon finally accepted could not be reasoned with. Love like that simply didn't hear any truth except its own.

Despite that, he had to say something. "Is that why you settled in with Sandburg; it was good so why change it? What about family, Jim? Why did you marry Caroline if you didn't want one or think one was important?"

Jim looked at him, really *looked* at him, and Simon couldn't help but wonder what the man saw when he gave all his attention to someone that way. Obviously choosing his words with care, Jim said, "I have a family, Simon, and I'm not talking about the one I share blood with. My father hasn't spoken to me since he realized he wasn't going to be able to talk me into kicking Blair out and suing him for slander or whatever, and I can't honestly say I miss him. Things are better with my brother, but we're never going to be close.

"But there isn't a person in Major Crimes that I wouldn't willingly give a bed at my place if they had nowhere to go, or happily hand over my last dollar if they needed it. Maybe it hasn't always been like that, but it is now, and I'm grateful they were willing to include one socially dysfunctional rogue cop when it started to come together for them."

"That's not the same," Simon protested. "Yeah, you get close with your team, count on each other in ways that go beyond the job, but they're going to move on, get promoted, switch to a different department, even burn out and turn civilian. New people will come in, and some of them aren't going to be as involved with the old crew as their predecessors were, or fit in as well."

Some emotion that Simon didn't want to define flickered briefly in Jim's eyes, but all he did was shake his head. "Do you honestly think it's going to make a bit of difference to me if say, Rafe quit and became a professional model? As long as he makes the effort to keep the connection, or puts up with my fumbling attempts at it, he'll stay a part of Major Crimes, as far as I'm concerned, and I don't doubt Brown, Taggart, hell, even Rhonda feel the same. And, for the record, tell me that's not how it is with biological family, too. Come on, we both know people who have brothers and sisters and have no idea where they are or what they're doing."

Unable to argue with that, though he had always thought it a terrible shame that families could simply wither away, Simon played his trump card. "What about children? Families need the next generation to continue themselves; that's a big part of what family is really about. Our immortality, our continuation past our own lives."

A hit, a serious hit, Simon said to himself triumphantly when Jim winced. Jaw muscle tightening, Jim unconsciously shifted position, apparently to make Sandburg more comfortable and to ease some ache of his own that clearly had nothing to do with the conversation. Halfway anticipating being stone-walled, Simon lost his sense of achievement when Jim shook his head again, apparently reluctant to speak his mind but determined to finally have it out with him.

"I had a vasectomy before Blair and I got together. He's had one, too, years ago."

Simon gaped at him, intelligent thought stopping dead in its tracks.

Jim kept talking, possibly to give Simon a chance to recover himself. "For Blair it was the best method of birth control - he didn't want to risk leaving a child behind that he had no idea about. He kept some wigglers in storage in case he ever wants to go that route. Me, I've always had my doubts about being able to be a decent father, and when the senses kicked in, that cemented it. I will not father a child who might carry this curse, any more than I'd father one if I knew I was a carrier for a lethal genetic disease."

For the life of him, Simon could not kick his brain out of stasis, and Jim seemed to take that for granted. "It's still coming down steadily, but if they do send a plow out, it's quiet enough that anyone would hear it for miles. Wake me if you need anything." Not giving him a chance to respond, Jim pulled the blanket back up over his head, and if he stayed awake, Simon had no desire to learn different.

With way too much to come to grips with, Simon closed his own eyes, not expecting to sleep. It came as a surprise to him when he jolted awake to find Sandburg kneeling awkwardly next to him, backlit by a light stick trying to fight off the night. "Hey, hi," he said softly. "Hate to do this to you, but you know the drill. Who, what, where? And make sure you wiggle those toes and feet."

"Sandburg, you've been hanging out with Ellison too long if you're acting like a medic. I don’t see two of you, thank goodness, I don't want to move because it makes my stomach churn, and it's too cold in this truck to worry about a knock on the head."

Grinning, Blair produced a penlight. "As often as my partner is the one on the wrong end of the punch, picking up some medical stuff is practically ordained." With an unexpected expertise, Blair flashed the light in Simon's eyes, nodding to himself in satisfaction. "Equal and reactive. Other than the headache, any complaints?"

Eyeing him grimly, Simon said, "Okay, it actually sounds as if you've practiced saying that. Either the concussion is worse than I thought, or I'm wandering into Jim's famous 'Sandburg Zone.'"

Returning his regard with a shrew assessment that made Simon wonder if Ellison had had a chance to talk to his partner about their little discussion Blair said, "The thing is, Jim and I have been working toward our EMT certification. Yeah, most of the time when we're on the scene, we need to be doing the cop thing, but there are too many times when having the right pair of hands with the right knowledge can make a huge difference. We've even made a habit of carrying a kit in whatever car we're driving; made it part of our luggage."

As obfuscation went, it was beautiful, but Simon could see the reality under Blair's blithe rationalization. It hadn't been bluff. He and Jim would have resigned if Simon hadn't backed down about them riding together. He could have lost his best friends, his best team, and he hadn't really believed that it could happen.

"Why?" Simon asked thickly, as shocked as he'd been by Jim's confession of deliberately sterilizing himself. "Why come back, why put up with the shit I put you through? Is the sentinel thing so important to the pair of you that you'll deal with whatever you have to as long as Jim can do his job his way?"

The same emotion that he'd picked up in Ellison earlier touched Blair, and, like his partner, he quickly hid it. "Simon, like I've said before, we're the same Jim and Blair we've always been. The only thing that changed is how we express our connection to each other. The Only Thing. If you were our friend before you found out about that difference, you were our friend after, as far as we're concerned. And a friend deserves the chance to get his act back together when things unexpectedly get rough."

"No, you have changed. I know Ellison, know how he reacts. He should have walked. You're the reason he didn't." By the bitterness of truth in that, Simon knew that the true source of his anger was surfacing, and God help him, he didn't know if he had the strength and courage to face it.

Hesitating, Blair said, "All I did was what I would have done with anybody in the same situation. I talked him out of acting on his first impulse, and to not make any irrevocable decisions. You've done the same with him, and for the same reasons."

"Tell me another one. Ellison isn't the first man to be led around by his dick," Simon said with deliberate crudity to end the conversation. "I just never expected it would be another man that would take his balls. Is the sex really that good?"

Sadly, Blair said, "It was never about that." He cautiously made his way back to Jim, squirming under the blanket held up for him, but this time he sat with his back to Simon, curled into Jim in such a tight ball that he all but vanished against his partner's greater bulk.

Dead silence reigned for several excruciating minutes, then Blair added softly, voice barely heard even in the snow-softened quiet of the car, "It's about love, about belonging, about being more together than we could be apart, in any way." His tone firmed up, becoming uncompromising. "Why are you acting like one of those men that assume that a gay man has nothing on his mind but having sex, and he'll fuck you against your will if nothing else is available? I certainly can't believe you're the kind of bigot that believes his way is the only way and anybody who doesn't agree with him should be put to death rather than accidentally prove that maybe he could be wrong."

"Thank you for that sterling assessment of my character and motives," Simon snarled. "What next? A sing along of "Give Peace a Chance? Or maybe a circle jerk?"

"Captain," Jim broke in coldly, "You do not want to insult the faggot Jew boy we are counting on to save our ass."

Mind going blank, Simon jerked, but before he could even curse the pain, he thought, *Touche. Good way to make sure I'm the one to shut up before I say something idiotic none of us wants to hear.* Letting the moment draw itself out for a second, he finally said aloud, "Well, Jimbo, you know how dumb us coons are."

To his relief, Blair snickered, and a heartbeat later, Jim did, too. *Tension defused again,* Simon thought in satisfaction. *This time we didn't even need to depend on Sandburg to do it.* It felt good to think that, and he faded into sleep again.

Simon roused on his own, expecting to be groggy from so much sleep, injury or not, but found his mind crystal sharp and racing along paths that he'd stubbornly ignored for far too long. Steeling himself for honesty, he made no effort to direct his thoughts, letting them come as they would and trying not to cringe. Not surprisingly, they mostly ran in circles, taking him through endless repetitions of shock, hurt, fury, shame and confusion until he was ready to hit himself in the head again just to get some peace.

He was actually relieved when Jim muttered indistinctly, a deep frown marring his sleeping features. "Pain's stirring up nightmares," Simon said to himself. "Like he warned me that time. Huh, was the first time I actually saw the real Jim Ellison. The night we were on that endless stakeout, taking turns catching naps, and he had to tell me about not getting close to him when he was having a nightmare. Why had he worried? Oh, yeah, the bust that went down so bad that it necessitated the stake out in the first place. Just cracked ribs, but enough to make sharing that shoddy hotel room with him a reaaaaal pleasure."

Shaking his head, Simon debated waking Jim before the dream could go too far, but it was already too late. Head tossing, Jim's unintelligible words filled with anger, and Simon instinctively reached for Blair to pull him to safety. To his astonishment, before he could, Blair shrugged off blankets until he could cup Jim's cheek and nuzzle against his throat, mumbling reassuringly. Almost instantly Jim went completely still, then sighed and dropped back into deep sleep, automatically covering Blair as he adjusted the covers for himself.

"Neither one of them woke up completely," Simon thought, slowly pulling back his hand. "Neither one. My God, how close do you have to be to someone's soul to be able to respond to need and comfort without conscious thought?"

Throat tight, he admitted unhappily, "I've never even had the chance of that, much as I've hoped for it all my life." Peevishly tugging and fussing with the radiant blanket covering him, Simon froze as he felt the familiar fury rising, for the first time aware that it was born from envy. For all his moral posturing, he was outraged because two gay men had what he needed.

Mentally backpedaling from that, he began to justify his reaction, but Blair roused again, coming out of hiding to restlessly shift his position in Jim's arms. It left him with his face half-burrowed into Jim's shoulder, creating a profile of pale, pale white against a darker surface that reminded Simon suddenly of the last time he'd seen Blair that cold and fragile looking. It had been at the side of a fountain, and he had truly thought his young friend gone, lost to them forever. That memory put a stop to his return to self-deception.

"How much do you have to love to come back from the dead for the sake of your partner?" he thought wonderingly. "How much do you have to love to chase them over to the other side to bring them back? Have you seen *anyone* love like that before in your life, Banks? Are you even capable of it yourself? And if you had that, how could you not hold it close, no matter how wrong you may have believed it to be? Even if Jim and Blair denied the physical connection, no wife, no family could touch that."

Accepting that to the bone of himself, Simon was caught off guard when an aching sorrow rose to take the place of his rage and jealousy. It was as if he was grieving, and a moment after he named the emotion that been hiding under anger, he knew it to be for the loss of the special place he had believed he had had in Jim and Blair's lives. On some level he had seen himself as a vital, important part of them, above and beyond the sentinel thing. With the two of them bonded as mates, he was on the outside, looking in at the unique, important role they played for the department and for the city he loved himself.

"How dog in manger is that?" Simon asked himself, trying to kill off the self-pity and bitterness.

***and man, are you ever wrong*** whispered across his mind, not his voice, not his thought, and Simon jerked to stare at the obviously sleeping partners.

He would have dismissed it as a result of a concussion and too many deep, painful insights in the small hours of the morning, but before he could, his own memory supplied him with every word that had been spoken between him and the other two since the crash. "They could be anywhere else, doing a dozen other things that would use Jim's abilities to benefit his 'tribe,' and they're still with the department, after all I did to them. They still want to work with me, not just for me."

Sudden inspiration hit him, and he held up the corner of the radiant blanket to study it, adding up Jim's bathroom break with Blair's absence and emergency supplies geared toward being stranded in a blizzard. "My, God, they came with me to be backup if something did happen because of the weather. Jim stalled while Blair got supplies, taking guff from me to do it. That's not something anyone would do for just a boss."

Unexpectedly, he remembered listening to Blair talk with Rhonda while Simon had hidden in his office, embarrassed beyond belief that a subordinate was worrying about him to the point she was trying to mend fences for him. And the act of friendship Jim had performed for him by setting up a getaway without alerting those two to their audience. At the time he'd dismissed it as tit for tat: he'd been trying to be a partner to Jim him when Blair had mysteriously gone AWOL from those duties.

"Why were you doing that?" Simon asked himself suddenly, and he liked that question much better than the haunting one that Joel had posed for him. "If you truly had wanted the opportunity to drive a wedge between them, there was a golden one, right in your hands."

He liked the answer even better. "Because the heart knew what the head couldn't see yet because of injured pride. You are important to them, an essential part of the effort to keep a sentinel alive and well in a world that has no clue how to deal with one. They need a friend who understands who and what Jim is, someone they can both confide in when they can't go to their partner for whatever reason. Who can protect them when they're giving so much to the job, they can't protect themselves. They weren't blowing smoke up your ass to keep their jobs and partnership. You really did make them possible from the start."

A wonderful rush of success and accomplishment that came with that admission, not unlike the one he'd felt the first time he held his badge in his hand in the privacy of his home. With it came the steadying sense of humility. He had come very close to truly losing what he wanted as badly as he wanted his badge: first by letting unreasoning panic speak for him when his friends had trusted him with the truth, and then by insisting on them returning with him despite the storm and Jim's warnings about it. With his eyes freshly opened, Simon understood that he had needed to mend the bridges with them, and that was why he'd wanted them to travel with him. But with the hurt unacknowledged, every instance where Jim and Blair showed any sign of the closeness between them had been a salt in a wound, making him want to get away from them as quickly as possible.

"It's a wonder I didn't kill us all," Simon thought tiredly.

"Guilt will get you nowhere," Jim said softly.

Simon jumped, and yelped both at the incredible soreness in every muscle in his body and the pinch from where his leg was pinned. It reminded him to stretch, and he did as best he could, grateful for the excuse to swear.

"And which sense, exactly, do you use to determine that's how I'm feeling?" Simon said irritably.

"It's too early in the morning to have your game face on, Simon. And too early to be paying too much attention to whatever's going on in your head. For some reason, the most idiotic things make perfect sense at 3 a.m."

Letting his head drop onto the back of his seat, Simon admitted, "Maybe that's true, but this time around, I think I'm finally seeing what's really idiotic. You know, I've never said I was sorry - not for getting us into this mess, not for any of it from the time you and Blair vanished without a trace, only to show up at my doorstep twenty-four hours later. I don't even have a good excuse, just that I was so angry I couldn't stop."

Jaw muscle jumping, Jim said cautiously, "I won't say that I'm not glad to hear you say it, but we need more than that, hard as it was to give that much."

A part of him wanted to bristle and stomp away, at least metaphorically, but Simon was through letting his pride determine his actions. Besides, Jim was right. "Retribution or restitution?"

"Neither. Acceptance." Jim stared at the windshield, as if he could see through it to find the words he needed. "I'm not saying give up your principles or change your mind about what's right and wrong. I'm saying if you can't be in our company without your insides clenching up every time you think Blair and I have crossed some imaginary line between what you consider socially polite and unacceptable public displays of affection, sooner or later you're going to lose it again."

He turned his head to face Simon squarely, all warrior and sentinel. "You don't get to hurt him like that twice. I'll take you down as soon as you open your mouth." Visibly reining himself in, Jim shut his eyes, and when they opened again, he was just wary. "Our past together is the only reason it didn't happen the first time. If we can't trust you not to let history repeat itself, it's better we let things slide between us. We've got a good working relationship going; maybe that's how we ought to let things stand."

Simon swallowed down an automatic objection that they didn't get to dictate his feelings and reactions. The innate sense of justice and integrity that made him a cop rose up and insisted on it after being shoved down for far too long. What Jim was asking for was only fair. They always acted professionally at the job - and he had been looking for any slips to use as ammunition against them - but they had the right to behave the way any lovers would in the company of…family. Not that Jim was the type to do more when he had an audience than play with one of Blair's curls or get in Blair's personal space. It was the freedom to do so without hidden grimaces or buried distaste that Jim could sense and his too-perceptive lover would pick up on.

Taking his turn at studying nothing in particular, Simon said, "Can you give me some time? You and Sandburg told me you were taking the changes between slowly. Can you give me the opportunity to do the same? We could consider the apology a beginning."

Typically, Jim gave his request serious thought before nodding his agreement. "If there's anything we can do to help…"

"I can not even imagine asking," Simon broke in hastily.

And damn him, Ellison gave *that* serious thought, too, before finally letting Simon off the hook by grinning. "We'll work it out, Simon, one way or another."

Obviously as tired of wading through the emotional stuff as he was, Jim stretched cautiously, reluctantly unwinding himself from his blankets. "The snow stopped a while ago; it won't be long until a snow plow comes up this mountain. Time to get sleeping beauty up, here."

"I changed my mind about rescuing you two," Blair said, voice muffled from inside his cocoon. "I'm going to hibernate here for the rest of the winter."

"You just don't want to move, not that I can blame you. How bad is it?" Jim asked, hands already carefully at work on Blair's shoulders.

Groaning, Blair slowly sat up straight, pain etching fine lines around his mouth and eyes. "Well, getting shot hurt worse…"

"But that was only your thigh," Jim finished for him, wryly. "This is *everywhere,* right?" At Blair's nod, he added, "Stretch out as best you can, and I'll work on your legs for you."

"Not enough room."

"There is if you scoot back into me," Simon volunteered, not knowing until he did that he was going to offer. "I can prop you up until Jim's got the kinks hammered out."

Thankfully Blair didn't hesitate, but creakily turned in place and braced himself against Simon's side. It felt weird to have him that close; Daryl was literally the only male who had been in his personal space since his father had passed away. But it was Sandburg, and he had his eyes scrunched up, softly mumbling 'ouch' as Jim awkwardly pummeled away at thighs and calves, wearing away the weird in Simon with pure sympathy for how much he had to hurt.

It was, Simon admitted in the farthest corner of his mind, the smallest of steps to get back to where he wanted to be with Jim and Blair. Where he needed to be, if he were going to truly honest, and simply acknowledging that took a weight off his heart that made the trip seem possible. He smiled at the tenderness in Jim's eyes as he encouraged Blair through the massage, at the way Blair was hamming up his 'ow, ow, ow' to downplay the pain for his sentinel's sake, and at himself as he silently amended, "Where I should be."


finis