Exile

If Blair hadn't needed so desperately to be elsewhere, he would have been willing to consider his present circumstances an anthropologist's paradise. Dressed in a tux, hair tied back, he leaned against a high column in the ballroom of the best hotel in Cascade and watched the creme de le creme of the city's upper class mingle with the best and brightest of the police department. Or not, as the case may be, he admitted, since the two groups weren't exactly congenial with one another.

On the one side were the rich, with their carefully calculated interactions and subtle displays of wealth and influence, which was completely fascinating and not that far removed from what he'd seen in far more primitive cultures. On the other were the cops, ignoring the snobbish disdain aimed their way as they circulated through the crowd. Being on security detail wasn't stopping them from enjoying the situation in their own fashion - mostly by indulging in the lavish amounts of food and bemoaning the fact that the equally abundant booze was strictly off-limits for anyone on the clock.

Following his own analogy, Blair couldn't help but see the cops as a visiting tribe that the locals were uncertain of. Were they powerful enough that antagonizing them could have unforeseen consequences that would be a nuisance to deal with? Or should they assert their own superiority on general principal to keep mediocrity in its place? Neither group would find his observations particularly flattering, he was sure, but that didn't stop him from creating titles for imaginary papers, comparing and contrasting the two.

The absolute best part, as far as Blair was concerned, was how utterly confounded both parties were by his partner. Jim, in typical Detective Ellison alpha male fashion, paid no attention to the social lines drawn, crossing them with a confidence that was tinged with arrogance. Nor could either side deny his right to claim affiliation.

He wore his expensive tux better than any other man in the room, not just because of his build, but because it was clearly just another suit of clothing to him, as appropriate to the occasion as a swimsuit would be a beach. The food was to be enjoyed, but not particularly remarkable, and it was obvious he was completely at home in the subtly elegant locale. His greetings to acquaintances were casual, as if he was sure of his recognition as an equal.

At the same time, Jim spoke to his fellow officers with easy camaraderie, sharing their traditional gripes about extra duty and wasting time just so the mayor could impress the right people. The other cops responded in the same vein, accepting without qualms (but not without the ritual hazing) the intel Jim had to share with them concerning the people present, likely problems, and even the ingredients in some of the more esoteric hors d'oeuvres. In Blair's admittedly biased opinion, the open, honest respect the officers had for Jim caused more than one sidelong glance of surprise and suppressed envy from the 'local' tribe.

Not a few lustful looks were sent Jim's way, as well, though he seemed as oblivious to them as he was to the rest. Blair didn't think that was likely, given how instinctively aware the sentinel was of his environment. The sexual notice was probably dismissed as unimportant because the only attention Jim *cared* about was Blair's.

The urge to do a victory dance, fist pumping and chanting, 'mine, mine, mine,' charged through him, as it did every time he thought about Jim being his lover. Blair couldn’t stop a chuckle from surfacing, though that was all that escaped his poise. While both sides were tolerating him at the moment - one because he presented a harmless, possibly entertaining mystery, the other because they accepted his value to the department and to Jim - he had no doubt that anything but the most restrained behavior would get him escorted to the street.

Regardless of how quickly he killed his reaction, Jim must have picked up on it. He caught Blair's gaze from where he stood listening to some self-important somebody's monologue, a quirk of a smile appearing at the corner of his mouth. It was just a fraction of the happy, beaming smile that Jim usually bestowed on him in more private situations, but it still meant 'I love you,' to Blair.

Jim twirled his finger in a tiny circle near his chest to indicate it was time for them to switch places so Blair could take his turn at working the room his own unique way. "I hate this," he murmured for Jim to hear, unwillingly leaving his post. "Yes, I know, my idea, red herring for the last of the sentinel rumors, and, yes, I get a major charge that you can pull back from a zone when I say your name, no matter where I am in the general area. And that I can tell that you're going to zone, as long as I can see you. It's just that working *beside* you has always been one of the best perks of being your partner."

Before Jim reached him, Simon, Mayor Williams in tow, set an intercept course that caught Jim halfway across the ballroom. Something about the set of Simon's shoulders made Blair change direction, and he trailed the three of them to a small, sumptuously appointed conference room tucked discretely next to the service access for the wait staff. Police Commissioner John Franks, sweaty and nervous in his over-stuffed tux, was waiting for them, and he shifted from foot to foot as he opened to door to usher everyone inside. To Blair's surprise, Simon nodded his approval at Blair's presence when he brought up the rear, though Franks aborted a halting gesture that everyone else bluntly ignored.

To add to the oddity of the situation, Madeline Forrester, dowager prime of Cascade was already inside, seated at the head of the table, a small tray of refreshments at her elbow. She had such a regal presence and formidable reputation that Blair was tempted to genuflect, without the least bit of irony intended. From what he'd heard of her fondness for the unique and unexpected, as long as dignity was given its due, he thought she'd probably be amused at the deed.

As it was he had to fight the urge to squirm like a five-year-old being presented to his grandmother when she inspected him from head to foot, storm-gray eyes taking in every piece of lint or wrinkle in his suit. While she did, the Mayor performed introductions, apparently not put out at all at not having her full attention. Once Ms. Forrester made up her mind about him - and Blair had no idea if it was positive or not - she murmured polite greetings to every one except Jim.

To him she extended her hands, presenting a cheek for a kiss. "James. I can't think of a single thing to say that wouldn't sound clichéd or flirtatious."

With a chuckle, Jim kissed her as expected, and only when his broad shoulders nearly eclipsed her did Blair realized that that Ms. Forrester was a petite woman who probably stood only five feet tall, and that in three-inch heels. Somehow she gave the impression she was at least Jim's height, her perfect posture and attitude contributing to the image. Part of it had to be her age, though she only looked forty of the sixty-some years Blair knew she legitimately claimed, snow -white hair aside.

"Maddy, it would make my day if you would flirt. The challenge of keeping up with you would improve my skills after only a few minutes."

Her rich, full laugh rang through the room, and she waved Jim to a chair, clearly expecting everyone else to sit as well. "And that," she said to the room in general, "is why James is the only one who can see to this situation."

Tone turning implacable, she added, "I want to make one thing perfectly clear; I did not want James to be your inside man. I respect his life choices and am perfectly aware the personal cost to him this assignment will likely have. My preference was to choose another member of the department and polish them up to the standard necessary. Unfortunately, while several show promise, such as Detective Rafe or Mr. Sandburg here, there is simply not enough time to accomplish the level of refinement they will need. James, I *am* sincerely sorry."

Jaw muscle jumping, Jim said with surprising calm, "Maybe you had better start this on the ground floor." Turning to Simon, he added coldly, "Undercover assignment?"

Mayor Williams jumped into the conversation, probably, Blair thought snidely, to make points with Ms. Forrester. "Captain Banks hasn't been brought up to speed yet. We thought it advisable to wait to speak to the captains until all parties could be brought together without arousing notice."

"The security detail was bogus, wasn't it?" Simon's voice was a frigid as Jim's. "A ruse to see which of the detectives could pass your… inspection."

Brushing Simon's ire away, Williams added, "Ms. Forrester has become aware that a number of extremely difficult robberies with high dollar takes can be directly linked to her… her…" He stumbled, suddenly unsure of his choice of words.

"Services," Ms. Forrester put in dryly. "James is aware of my little past time, Mayor Williams. He has, on occasion, suggested a suitable person for clients with specific needs."

Simon spared Blair from asking the obvious. "Clients with specific needs?" While his voice was completely neutral, the suggestion of prostitution managed to insinuate itself, though underlined with astonishment.

Grinning cheekily, Ms. Forrester said, "Why, Captain Banks, surely you have some idea how difficult it is to find a suitable bodyguard for a nubile seventeen-year-old. Especially one who will not be tempted to step outside duty with said seventeen-year-old."

"You provide bodyguards," Commissioner Franks said, pudgy hand passing over his bald head as if the concept hurt.

"I'm a matchmaker," Ms. Forrester said with the same pride another person might admit to being a physician or quantum scientist. "A highly select one with highly select clients. A bodyguard sophisticated enough to *not* appear as one, intelligent, cultured escort for a presidential ball, traveling companion for an elderly woman who wants more than a servant or lackey, and yes, sometimes, a personable companion for an evening of entertainment."

"Matchmaker," Franks repeated, and Blair could see the man's political future going down the drain at the disbelief and faint scorn in the comment.

Ms. Forrester dismissed him with a deft shift of her chair that put him at her back as she addressed Jim directly. "Amanda Coulter's home was broken into while she was in the hospital for a mild heart attack; the young lady taking care of her menagerie of mongrels is one of my people. All that was taken were things that could be easily sold, with no sentimental value, and I am confident my employee is not responsible in any way, though I understand you need to question her yourself. In recent months, there have been two other robberies with similar, I believe you would say, M.O's. So far no one has been hurt, nothing irreplaceable has been taken, and no one else has made the connection between my services and the crimes."

"Maybe there isn't one." Jim was completely stone-faced, even the tell-tale muscle in his jaw not jumping.

"No evidence of break-in, no signs of searching for valuables, time frame for opportunity sometimes only minutes," Williams argued. "All the employees at each scene checked out, from alibi to background search. The only commonality besides crime is that Ms. Forrester has at least one, um, staff member in the household."

Commissioner Franks sealed his doom. "Some people have more than one, ah, of your, ah…"

"Mr. Franks," she said with a frigid civility that was a rebuke in and of itself, "You may not think the service I provide is one worthy of consideration, but I assure you, both my employees and my clients are very grateful that it exists. I strive not just to provide a warm body to fill a position, but to arrange an alliance which is *mutually suitable* on every level possible. Subsequently, I am rewarded with a very satisfying degree of respect, loyalty and friendship from both parties. This thief or informant or misguided individual is doing far more harm than simply relieving ridiculously wealthy snobs of a few baubles and petty cash. They are endangering the livelihood and reputation of some very good, very deserving people, and seriously impairing the quality of life for innocents who must already struggle to have even the semblance of an ordinary existence."

"In short," Jim said quietly, reaching to cover her hand, "This is hurting people you like and you want it to stop. I understand that, Maddy. But you're asking the impossible from me. First, I'll be recognized as a cop almost immediately; I've been in the media too often this past year."

Blair winced at the reminder of all the publicity from the diss and the additional outfall when they had chosen to fight to recover what Sid and Rainier had cost him. It had faded, becoming old news blessedly fast, but Jim was right. Cameras and gossip columnists were part and parcel of the group Jim was expected to infiltrate; a new face in the crowd would send them scrambling to identify him so they could broadcast their twisted view of his presence.

"We can use that to our advantage," Mayor Williams said thoughtfully. "Purloined letter - undercover in plain sight. Be a cop with good social connections using those connections to moonlight."

"You'd hardly be the only member of the force picking up a few 'consultant' hours," Simon agreed, reluctantly Blair thought. "Yeah, I know, against policy, but the union's put enough pressure on management to turn a blind eye to it. Even if you're accused out-right you'll have the case wrapped up before anything comes of it besides a 'disciplinary meeting' with me."

"You can't honestly expect me to run with the playboy set until all hours of the night, then come into work on time the next day? Or are all my vacation and sick days going up for grabs here?" It was obvious Jim was looking for an excuse to be belligerent.

To his credit, Williams quickly defused it. "We've been bouncing around the idea of doing splits shifts for one or two individuals in each department, both to have extra personnel at the busiest times and to allow flexibility for single parents and what not. We could institute it on a trial basis, making you one of the test cases as a reward for 'cop of the year,' and if the results are good, make it permanent policy."

Jim flicked a quick glance at Blair to warn him, then said tiredly, "On behalf of the officers who have been lobbying for that for two years, thank you. Regardless of the bribe, I have the right to refuse any case that I feel is against my best interests, and I am *not* going to do this."

"For God's sake, why?" Franks burst out. "Beautiful women, lavish parties, generous expense account, all with the department's blessings. What more could you ask?"

"This isn't just putting on a tux and mingling at a few parties," Jim snapped. "I am going to have to live that life for months on end to get in deep enough to learn anything useful - and apparently do my regular job besides! Every second of my personal time will vanish in a heartbeat, and I'm not willing to give it up. I'm seeing someone special, not that it's any of your business, and I'm not going to risk losing out because I suddenly don't have any time or energy to spare!"

Tapping a finger against her chin, Maddy said, "Your father didn't mention that you were romantically involved at the moment."

The smile Jim gave her was an honestly sad one that softened her displeasure considerably. "Since when does my dad know much of anything important about me, even when I tell him?"

Seeing Ms. Forrester's sympathetic acceptance, Franks rounded on Simon, who was too experienced at hiding what he did or didn't know and didn't so much as blink. "Is he telling the truth?"

"It's not my business to keep track of my detectives' personal lives." Simon sat back in his chair, distancing himself from all of them. "And as Ellison mentioned, he's motivated to keep his more private than others. In any case, I'm not going to force anybody undercover if they don’t want to be there, no matter what their reasons. That's a recipe for dead cop, and don't tell me that's not likely when looking for high-class thieves. They're just as like to turn violent as any other kind."

Torn between delight that Jim would fight for them and terror that Williams or Franks would get back at him for their lost opportunity with Ms. Forrester, Blair murmured, "Maybe you should give Jim a chance to talk it over with his s.o, get an opinion from that quarter." At the shocked stares from the others, who had apparently forgotten he was in the room, exactly as he'd wanted, he shrugged.

Jim was as startled, though it had to be because he expected Blair to agree with him. "Sandburg…"

"Look, if you'd decided to do it, you would have been up front with it, right? Because of the press, if nothing else? And the two of you usually see eye-to-eye on what has to be done and what's just so much bullshit." If possible, Jim's face grew stonier, and Blair had to struggle to keep his tone level and cajoling, exactly like one partner trying to convince the other to be reasonable. "It can't hurt to make sure you both want the same thing here."

Only Jim could have heard the slight emphasis on 'want,' and he grudgingly acknowledged with a nod the one word Blair could use since they got together that was guaranteed to make Jim take a step back from whatever stand he had taken. "Fine. I'll bring it up. Tomorrow, then, sir?"

Good enough a politician to see when the opponent had the upper hand, Williams stood. "I'll be waiting for a call from Banks, one way or the other."

Franks waffled, obviously wanting to argue more, but Simon took the cue that he was dismissed. "Do I tell my people they're off the clock and can go home when they want?"

"Please," Ms. Forrester rose, taking Jim's gallantly extended arm. "Assure them they're welcome to stay as long as they wish, as well. The caterers are delighted that their efforts are being fully appreciated for once." She smiled welcomingly at Blair, obviously waiting for something, and on impulse he offered his elbow as well. "Thank you. A lady of my generation should never miss the opportunity to have a handsome man on either side of her."

"Ms. Forrester, any gentleman of any generation in his right mind would be grateful to have you on his arm."

Leading them out, she said, "Oh, my… yes, you have definite potential, Mr. Sandburg."

Once back in the ballroom, Jim made a graceful, albeit brief farewell, and began making the rounds to pass the news, as did Simon. Blair willingly danced attendance on Ms. Forrester, thoroughly enjoying her company, until he sensed Jim was ready to go. He took his leave as charmingly as possible, and Ms. Forrester gave him the ultimate compliment of permitting a kiss on the cheek goodbye. When he was close, she whispered, "I thought I had made sure James wasn't involved before entangling him in my problems, but he hid his romantic interests very, very well. Now I understand why."

"Ms. Forrester..."

"Maddy, please."

"It's Blair, then, Maddy."

"I do know what I'm asking of James," she said, taking one of his hands in hers. "Because of his mother, he was born into society's upper echelon, accepted immediately as heir to her line; as a child he excelled in the skills necessary to flourish because of his father's unceasing demands for perfection. When he turned his back on it all, many of our circle saw it as a personal condemnation of their life style, not an escape from an intolerable prison. Tongues will *not* be kind if he were to return, especially as an employee; even one of mine."

"Anyone who would look down on him for choosing what was right for him isn't worthy to carry his coat, let alone judge his actions," Blair said fiercely. "And in the long run, he'll have the last, best say when he turns his back on them again, after solving their petty problems for amusement's sake!"

She eyed him, not in disapproval, but as if she were evaluating him yet again. "It might not take that long, after all," she said, as if to herself. Before Blair could point out that he couldn't spare the time for *any* undercover job, Maddy roused herself. "Be sure you remind him of that frequently. That is, if you believe he should agree to the assignment."

Sparing a quick glimpse at Franks who was arguing heatedly with Banks in corner, Blair looked for and found Mayor Williams having a much quieter but equally as intense discussion with Saul Arly, head of I.A. "To be truthful, I don't think we have much choice. We're a bit over-extended in the 'owing a favor' currency that cops use for leverage with each other."

Following his line of sight, Maddy frowned prettily. "Because of last year's difficulties. Truly, I should not have meddled. I *am* sorry, but I do believe that sooner or later someone will be seriously hurt, if not killed."

"It's the nature of crime," Blair agreed wearily. He bent over her hand as if for a kiss and released it, already turning to leave. "Jim's waiting for me. Please tell me we'll see each other again under better circumstances."

Her 'rest assured' wafted after him as he hurried toward Jim, who was barely reining in a thunderous mood. Fully expecting him to fume all the way to the truck and most of the way home, Blair was surprised when he said gruffly at the elevator, "I'm thinking, Sandburg, I'm thinking. Leave it until we go in tomorrow. We can fight about it then."

"Done." Blair hid his satisfaction at the resulting double-take, and scooted inside the elevator, leaving Jim there, staring.

The 'God damn, I love him' smile blossomed, and Jim visibly fought to shift gears from angry partner to happily bemused lover as he jumped past the closing door. After a few floors he said, "It's the tux, isn't it? You're holding off on the marathon 'change Jim's mind' dialogue, which is really more of a soliloquy, because you're hoping to get me in a good mood so that I'll let you peel me out of this monkey suit."

Propping one foot on the wall, Blair deliberately ran his gaze over Jim, lingering on his mouth, shoulders, and package. "Can you blame me? It's like, you see this expensively wrapped present at your birthday party, and you arrow in on it, because you know it's going to be the best thing in the pile. And it's your birthday, so it's all yours, to do what you want with. You're lucky I didn't drag you off to a closet, hell, the nearest dark corner, and have my way with you."

"Thank you for your restraint," Jim said laughingly, leaning a shoulder on the opposite wall, putting space between him and temptation.

"Hey, it boiled down to pure selfishness. If I'd started something there, someone might have thought they could horn in on the action."

"What makes you think I'd put up with that?" Jim shot back.

"Well, you wouldn't, would you?" Blair tilted his head to one side, regarding Jim as if seriously thinking about the possibilities. "All the macho that goes with wearing that suit so well would practically guarantee you'd throw me over your shoulder and carry me off to your lair, sneering at any puny rival who dared come near what's yours."

"This your way of sharing one of your perversions with me, Chief?"

"Kink, not perversion," Blair said in a mock-lecturing tone. "A kink pushes a few buttons that make things a bit spicier in the bedroom. A perversion gets you locked away for a long, long time. And no, having you act like a character out of a bad romance novel isn't my idea of a sexual fantasy."

"Good, 'cause light you aren't, Scarlet."

"No, I'm not. Good thing your kink is brainy all-but-the-doctorate grad students."

"Gorgeous, mouthy, brainy grad students, I'll have you know," Jim said so solemnly that Blair lost it and cracked up.

They kept up both the necessary socially acceptable distance and the semi-teasing patter until they were nearly back to the loft, pushing away the last hour or so of the party until they had to deal with it. As soon as the door was safely closed behind them, Jim pulled Blair into a tight embrace, burying his nose in Blair's curls and breathing deeply. It was a habit he'd started after their first night together, almost as if full contact were simultaneously a reward for maintaining his 'partner' distance all day, and a release from that same behavior so he could be Blair's lover.

Most days the hug faded naturally into whatever they had going on that evening, but sometimes it evolved into fantastic, melt-down-of-all-brain-cells sex. Tonight Blair expected Jim to need time to decompress, but instead he followed up with a lingering, thorough claiming of his lips that made Blair's knees weak. Breaking away to dust tiny, pecking kisses over his forehead, Jim murmured, "Want to hear what I've been thinking all evening?"

Hooking a leg over Jim's hip to hold him closer, Blair said distractedly, "What?"

"That in a crowd of polished, toned, and tanned to perfection people wearing pure silks, rare gems and metal, and no-preservative, no additive scents, you stood out like the only living person in a room filled with mannequins. Your beauty is as natural and honest and powerful as a flutter of butterflies in a meadow, or a snow-covered mountain range rising out the desert."

Jim took advantage of Blair's open-mouthed astonishment to slip his tongue in for a deep, raw kiss that was as unexpected as the flowery words. For once Jim didn't seem to have to ease past the part of his libido that was straight, but was as ready for Blair as Blair was for him.

Desire clenched low and hard in Blair's belly, and he moaned, locking his arms around Jim's neck with everything he had. With an inarticulate noise, Jim cupped Blair's backside in both hands and lifted, dragging him up his front, his hardon burning a swathe over Blair's torso along the way. On impulse Blair wrapped his other leg around Jim's waist, hanging onto him with all four limbs, bottom rubbing against the head of Jim's cock through their clothes.

Another violent bolt of need hit him, and for a moment Blair worried that he might cream in his pants. Then he decided he didn't care if he did. He had never seen Jim so lost in arousal, and loved the idea of focusing all of his attention on him to make their love-making the best Jim had ever had. Writhing against him, Blair gave himself over to rising urgency, losing awareness of everything but Jim's solid heat and devouring kiss.

To Blair's disappointment, Jim tore his mouth away, head dropping back to prevent Blair from simply taking it again. "Wait. Bed."

Whimpering, Blair bit at Jim's suit covered shoulder, but held still, waiting to be put down. Instead Jim took a careful step, muscles flexing powerfully, then another. "Oh, damn, you're going to carry me?" Blair swallowed, dick throbbing dangerously. "Oh, fuck…oh…" Each step sent a ripple through Jim's body, subtly caressing the length of Blair's dick where it was digging into Jim's abdomen. He wanted to press harder into Jim, grind himself against him, but their balance was so precarious, all he could do was hold on.

Finally they were in Blair's old bedroom, and Jim surprised him again by sitting down on the futon, helping Blair arrange himself so that he was astride Jim's lap, knees planted beside Jim's hips. "Skin," Jim muttered and fumbled at the jeweled button at the collar of Blair's tux shirt.

Hoping that Jim was finally going to fuck him, and frantically wishing he had the courage to ask for it if he wasn't, Blair tugged at Jim's bow tie with his teeth, fingers already busy with buttons. Despite trembling clumsiness, Blair was soon naked from the waist up. Jim managed to get out of his jacket, but gave up on the shirt, apparently willing to settle for letting it hang open in the front.

Blair knelt up to give Jim better access to his belt and zipper, and Jim latched onto a nipple with his mouth, sucking hard as he freed Blair's hardon from his slacks. Shouting, Blair held Jim's head to his tit, pumping into the hand encircling his cock. He groaned a protest when Jim released the aching peak, then nearly screamed when the other was given the same treatment as the first.

"Coming," Blair mumbled both in warning and relief.

"Shit, yeah. Do it. Send us over," Jim murmured against Blair swollen flesh, and went back to his suckling, using the fingers of his free hand on the other nipple.

It was as much the fact that Jim was balanced on the brink of climax with him as the extra stimulation that sent Blair into his finish. He seed bubbled out as his brain filled with all-encompassing euphoria. Belatedly he felt Jim rocking against him, but even as he assembled enough energy to reach between them to help, he realized Jim's crotch was damp.

Whispering, "Love you," over and over, Blair stroked the hair at the back of Jim's head, coaxing him through the aftershocks.

Eventually Jim nuzzled at his throat, sighing. "What were you saying about bad romance novels and being carried?"

"Who knew?" Blair said happily. "Maybe I should read a few just for pointers, you know?"

"I'd love to hear you explain that bit of research to anybody who catches you with one - and can't wait for you to test the results on me."

"Mmmmm." Sleep was beckoning, and Blair unwound from him, luring Jim into following him with a tender kiss. In short order they were tidied up and upstairs in their bed, spooned together. Blair could feel a faint wariness between them as Jim waited for him to press the issue on the robberies, but Blair saw no reason not to wait, giving Jim a chance to keep his promise.

Patience paid off, and the next morning after stopping for coffee, Jim pulled over, sipping at his as if that were the reason he delayed the trip to the station. They shared a few moments of companionable silence before he said unexpectedly, "Give me one good reason why I should take the case."

Instantly abandoning all the lead-up conversation he had planned, Blair said as directly as he'd been asked, "Simon and the guys in Major Crimes."

Jim stared at him over the rim of his cup, but it wasn't an angry or stubborn stare, so Blair went on quietly, "Not only is Simon constantly covering us for the sentinel thing *and* for the personal thing, but when we went to Simon and let him know that I wanted my damned Ph.D, he put everything he had into working with my mom, you, and everybody else who was on my side, into convincing the powers that be at Rainier they made a mistake kicking me out. When the dust cleared from that, and we told him that I still wanted to be your official, if unpaid, partner, he and the entire department, right down to Rhonda, got behind me and made it happen."

"We owe them all, big, but I don’t see how this job goes toward payback."

Fiddling with the top on his own cup, Blair said, "Political cache doesn’t necessarily carry from one new administration to another, and Williams isn't giving Banks, or any of the other captains, for that fact, much advanced good will. Franks is an idiot, and *any* leverage against him can only be a good thing in the long run." A snort told him Jim agreed, at least with his assessment of Franks. "Add to that Simon distributing your case load so some of the higher profile stuff goes to say, Rafe, which gets him a chance at polishing some brass, and I can't help but see this as an opportunity to settle up a little."

He let Jim think that over for a minute then asked, "Can you give me one good reason why you shouldn't do the job?"

Jim reached across to tug at a lock of hair that had strayed from Blair's ponytail. "Well, it's not my pride. You were right; I *would* be getting the last laugh, and the first laugh, and all the rest of the available chuckles. If I went in, I'd act like I was slumming, trying to decide if there was anything worthwhile in rejoining that crowd and getting some quality time with Maddy as a bonus."

Not at all surprised Jim had heard that bit of conversation, Blair grinned. "So?"

Winding the curl around his finger, Jim kept his eyes on the action as if that was all that was on his mind. "Believe it or not, I meant what I said about not wanting to give up my private life trying to catch a thief who isn't hurting his victims in any way."

"Doesn't make what he's doing right."

"No, but the potential cost outweighs the value of the objective as far as I'm concerned." Jim released his captive, and set aside his coffee to put the truck in gear. "Maddy's crew lives in the same building so they have easy access to each other and her, Chief. They're more an extended family than co-workers, sharing the same clients on differing schedules for maximum flexibility all the way around. I'll have to do the same, just to gain their confidence, not to mention I need that kind of access to them if I'm going to have any chance of finding a connection to the robberies."

"Oookay," Blair said reluctantly. "I hadn't thought about how you were going to check them out if you're busy being a bodyguard or escort. Like Franks, I guess I saw you coming to work, heading for home to dress up for your 'date' or whatever, schmoozing to pump people for info, then getting back in time to go to bed with me."

"The hours I'll have to keep, even with the adjusted schedule at work - there's a reason most of the idle rich don't get their shit together before noon. They were up until 4am, partying for one reason or another from dinner time on." Stopping for a light, Jim rubbed at his eyes. "Dammit, the only time I'd get to see you is when we're on the job together, and, unless you've changed your mind about being out, it will have to be strictly business between us."

"Definitely liking this less and less." Blair took an unwanted sip of his coffee, running the ramifications of what Jim had told him through his mind. "Realistically, I can't even ask you for a time table on that, can I?"

"Takes as long as it takes," Jim agreed. He seemed ready to drop the conversation, then abruptly said, "Of course, it would free up more time for you to meet the impossible deadlines your committee set for you." "

Not impossible; challenging though, waaay challenging," Blair said absently, still preoccupied with weighing no-Jim-for-God-knows-how-long against major-good-for-people-he-seriously-owed.

"You wouldn't be wasting valuable writing time on bullshit stakeouts or security details like last night," Jim said, mostly to himself.

"Hey, that wasn't a waste of time. I've got a dozen potential papers mentally lined up from watching two of tightest closed cultures known to man go toe-to-toe," Blair said laughingly, expecting Jim to match his tone. "Not to mention I got to meet Maddy, who I really like."

"She'd expect me to take road trips on the weekends, to places like L.A. and Hawaii," Jim said, dead serious, fingers tapping at the wheel as he looked both ways before entering an intersection. "You're my partner, and, as far as anyone else would know, the tenant of my condo. I could bring you along on the good trips on one pretext or another. Maddy would approve, maybe even foot the bill."

"Hawaii," Blair said weakly, visions of warm sunshine and magnificent beaches taking over for a second.

"When you couldn't go out of town with me, maybe it'd free up enough hours so you could have something resembling a social life again. Right now all you do is work and write and try to get enough sleep between the two to do more of the same."

"It's only for a while longer," Blair reminded him, and summoned a leering grin to reassure him. "And sleep isn't the only thing we do in the bed."

"After which you often have to get up and go back downstairs to your office again."

Blair wanted to bristle at what could have been regarded as a criticism of his post-coital etiquette, but Jim's tone was too worried, too thoughtful for him to take offense. "I don't want to, you know that."

"Yeah, but maybe this way you don't have to. I'd have to make excuses to be at the loft if I wanted to be with you, but that's not anything I couldn't manage." Jim sounded vaguely repulsed by that possibility, but not dissuaded.

"Hey, that can add to the excitement," Blair argued almost automatically. In the next breath his mouth caught up with his brain. "You just talked yourself into taking the case, didn't you?"

"You still think I should?"

"I…."

Blair fell silent and spent the rest of the trip to the station looking at the whole situation all over again, from all angles. Before they got out of the truck, he caught Jim's hand, holding it on the bench seat, thumb massaging over the knuckles. "There was one thing that didn't come up - one of us messing around on the other. You as part of your cover, me out of loneliness or maybe stupidity because you're living the good life and I'm drudging through that stupid dissertation."

"Not going to happen," Jim said calmly, fingers curled trustingly in Blair's palm. So calmly that Blair didn't have to ask if he'd worried about the possibility; he knew Jim hadn't.

"It's not going to be fun, but we *can* handle what this is going to do to our relationship. So, yes, I still feel we really need to do this job." Blair gave a last squeeze, but when he would have moved away, Jim tightened his grip, though he didn't speak.

Eventually Jim said, "If you're sure this is what you want, then I'll tell Simon to get the ball rolling and call Maddy myself."

Ignoring a quiver in his gut that made him queasy, Blair said, "Let's do it."

***

Three weeks later, Blair could have kicked himself in the ass to hell and back for not listening to his instincts and backing out when they had the chance. Head bent over a report that didn't need written yet for a case so open and shut a five-year-old could have solved it, like all of theirs were lately, he listened to Jim exchanging mock-insults and playfully sour greetings as he worked his way to their desk. From the sound of the comments, word had percolated around that Jim had taken advantage of his new schedule to land a few 'consulting' hours. The tone was semi-envious and semi-proud, the way it had been from the time the change had been announced, with the usual bitching thrown in about a cop's salary.

How much longer Jim was going to be able to enjoy that 'golden boy' shine before the inevitable resentment and mutters of favoritism began, Blair had no idea. He could already see Jim's reputation as a good, hard-working cop fading in the face of puzzled gossip that tried valiantly to point out Jim deserved a chance to coast a little; the last few years had been hard and a little burn-out was normal. If only the talk about Jim's personal life was as kind.

Blair put his pen down, took off his glasses, and buried his hands in his hair, giving up all pretense at work, acting as if he didn't see the commiserating looks shot his way. Those who had reason to suspect he and Jim were together were solidly on Blair's side, believing that Jim was abandoning him for glitter and gold. Those who saw them only as partners were solidly on Blair's side because they thought Jim was dumping all the work on him, forcing Blair to cover for him with Simon.

It could only get worse until Jim solved the robberies. Then everyone would have the explanation they needed for Jim's behavior to make sense, and, hopefully, there wouldn't be any lasting repercussions. With another painful tug at his head, Blair thought, //Why didn't it occur to either of us that it would have to be deep cover, so deep the rest of the bullpen has to be in the dark about the case?//

Jim finished his saunter across the bullpen and dropped gracefully into his chair. "Hey, partner, anything interesting on our plate?"

Not looking up, Blair shook his head. //He even has to stay in character when he's with me! I feel like I'm partners with a total stranger; one I don't particularly like.//

Aloud, he said, "Not much. How'd the watch on the soon-to-be-ex Mrs. Harrison go?"

Taking out a tennis ball, Jim tossed it in the air repeatedly. "Can't decide if she wanted me for the job because of my badge so she can feel safe or because of my looks so her husband chews out his heart from jealousy. He is one ugly toad. Play was good, though."

"Yeah?"

Leaning back, most of his focus supposedly on the ball, Jim gave a surprisingly thoughtful critique of the performance and writing, adding bits and pieces about the people he'd seen or chatted with before, at intermission, and after. It was the sort of social chatter that Jim loathed, and Blair usually automatically filtered through, though he could tell a few people in the bullpen were eavesdropping. Just when Blair thought he would bang his head into the desk, begging Jim to shut up and show some interest in the job, Jim abruptly dropped both feet to the ground.

"Got your planner? Need to run some dates by you." Jim took out his recently acquired, ostentatiously large and expensive date book, and opened it, scooting next to Blair so they could both read it.

"You know," Blair said quietly so only Jim could hear and trying to inch away without being obvious about it, "This might be carrying the hiding in plain sight tactic too far. I mean, anybody from either job could get curious enough to sneak a peek, and the code you're using could make them suspicious."

"That's why the key is right up front for them to read, and my real notes are in yours," Jim said absently, surreptitiously switching planners. "Even if they get suspicious of me, they won't go after yours until they've taken a shot at mine, at the very least, which I'll know almost as soon as it happens. Plenty of warning and a good way to tag at least one potential suspect; something I'm seriously short of right now." "Hard to argue with that." Blair flipped through pages, stopping at random, as if he and Jim were discussing dates. "I guess...."

"Ellison! Sandburg. My office, now!"

Standing, Blair muttered, "Whoa, sounds as if he's really pissed. Want to bet that Franks has been at him again?" Nonplussed when Jim shrugged instead of joining the ritualistic griping, Blair followed him into Banks' office, wondering when he had taken over Jim's part as the grumpy cop.

Once inside Jim slouched into a chair, lazy indifference oozing out of every pore. Banks took one look at him and stood straighter, shoulders a taut line of challenge. "Thank you for honoring me with your presence!"

Before Jim could react, Blair put a hand on his forearm, shooting a glare at Simon to hold him at bay, and said quietly, "Jim, man... it's just us, for now."

Looking away, jaw muscle jumping, Jim fought some emotion Blair didn't understand, but he gradually relaxed, producing a rueful smile. He took a deep breath and scrubbed his hand over his face. "I know, Chief. It's just hard to step away from the role."

"Which I should have remembered and made allowances for." Simon moved to his coffee machine, lifting a cup questioningly. When Jim and Blair nodded, he filled mugs for them, then pulled a chair over to sit next to them. "I don't know what this blend is, but I've told my brother-in-law to put me in for a standing order."

Sipping appreciatively, Jim said, "Beats that weird raspberry stuff he tried to convince you was the latest big trend." Hands cradling his mug, he sat forward. "Now that the apology's been given and accepted on both sides, you want to get down to business?"

"Actually, I wouldn't mind if all we talked about was the Jags and where to find the best java in town." Simon pinched at the bridge of his nose, and sat back tiredly. "Feels like a lot longer than three weeks since we've spent more than two minutes in each other's company that wasn't work-related."

"Tell you what… after this is over you bring a case of decent beer and a bag of Wonder burgers to the loft, and we'll armchair ref whatever games we can find on the tube until Sandburg throws us both out so he can write."

"You making progress on that?" Simon asked Blair with real interest.

Dismissively, Blair said, "Enough that my committee can't find fault."

"Not that they're not trying their best," Jim said irritably, making Blair relax. Jim-the-Blessed Protector was back. "Stoddard's keeping them honest, but not by much."

"I think they're in shock that he's actually stayed completely neutral. Not easy for an academic." Blair smiled into his cup, content to flow with the conversation, mildly amused he was the basis of it.

When the coffee was gone and cop instincts warned that they'd stayed in Simon's office as long as they could without arousing suspicion, Jim stood, sighing. "You call me in here about the robberies?"

Reluctantly gathering the mugs, Simon went behind his desk and became the captain again. "Anything new?"

"Nothing that will make Franks and Williams happy." Jim kneaded the back of his neck. "It wasn't three robberies, it was six, as far as I've been able to determine, and there's no connection between Maddy and the ones I found. The first was only an attempt: set up crew for a party came earlier than expected and scared the thieves off without their goodies."

For a second Blair could see a deep frustration and pain in his partner, but before he could react to it, Jim schooled himself to complete impassiveness. "The second was reported, but the mutual loathing between the primary on it and the self-important big shot vic pretty much guaranteed it was barely investigated. The last… it was blamed on one of the help. She was fired and charged with the theft, but it didn't hold in court. Good reason; she didn't do it. Her boss is a racist blue-blood who wouldn't have believed her if he'd caught the real culprits in the act, so he's been mouthing off about the corrupt system that favors minorities."

"Great, just great." Simon picked up a pen. "Names?"

After they were written down, Simon said, "One last thing." He handed Blair a file. "This one is right up your alley, Sandburg. Meeting at a Buddhist monastery on the south edge of the Winston Development; they're having problems with vandalism, harassment, petty theft. It seems more the juvenile delinquent sort of activity rather than hate crimes level, not that we've been able to do anything about it. Apparently the monks there take the stand that pressing charges is a form of violence, and are being less than cooperative."

Quickly scanning the reports and Simon's note with time and location for the meet, Blair said, "I know the place. It's on the list of good resources for basic cultural research for Anthro 101 and 102 students because the monks are very friendly and willing to be observed or questioned. The grounds are huge and absolutely gorgeous, too."

"So good that there's some tourist activity going on," Banks agreed. "Another reason to stop the problem before it grows."

"How far is the department willing to go to persuade the monks to work with us on it?" Blair glanced up at Jim, expecting him to be reading over his shoulder, and had to blink away a pang. Jim had reverted back to Maddy's socialite prodigal, James, and was leaning insouciantly against the doorframe, waiting for Blair and Simon to be done.

"Anything short of police protection or doing nothing at all. Find a solution and fast." Simon picked up his pen, waving it in dismissal, apparently already absorbed in his next task.

Thinking maybe Simon didn't like facing Jim's change any more than he did, Blair abruptly decided that going straight to the source would be more productive than reading the file. He went to their desk long enough to grab his backpack and jacket, Jim trailing after him as if he couldn't think of anything better to do. "Your truck or my car?"

"I could meet you there."

"I don't think so," Blair ground out nearly silently, bypassing the elevator in favor of the stairs. "I'm not going to waste the few opportunities we have to be together in relative privacy."

"Blair..."

Braking to a sudden stop at a landing, Blair spun on his heel and stabbed a finger into his partner's chest. "Or is James unwilling to be seen with his scruffy, neo-hippie civilian co-worker and tenant?"

Expecting a gruff denial, Blair's incipient anger died when Jim caught his hand and held it over his own heart. "You know better. You know you're more to me than even partner, no matter what guise I'm wearing or what I might have to say for cover." Abruptly he released Blair and brushed past to continue down the steps. "You're the one who acts as if you're betraying the proletariat by associating with a member of the capitalist class."

Blair stared after him for as long as it took for Jim to reach the next landing, then raced after him, leaping from the bottom step. To judge by the shock on Jim's face as he reflexively turned to catch him, it was the last thing he expected, but it didn't stop him from hugging Blair tightly. He concentrated with his senses for a moment, probably to make sure they were alone and secure, and bent his head to rest on the curve of Blair's shoulder.

"This is what's wrong, you idiot," Blair muttered, squeezing hard. "James feels like he's five million miles away from me, not caring about the distance at all."

Running his hands soothingly over Blair's back, Jim said, "I've never known a little thing like space to stop you from going after what you want. Is James that much of a jerk?"

"God, no! James is a major find: well-traveled, erudite, dry wit and drier attitude. I wouldn't mind him as a playmate and party pal," Blair reassured him quickly, pulling away despite an unwillingness to be separated from Jim.

Aching from the loss of contact, he buried the rest of his opinion about the bored rich and headed for the ground floor. "I don't know how to play it, as far as James is concerned. Old friend hanging on to better days? Special resource to be tucked away unless needed? Ex with a lot of history behind us? Don't tell me it doesn't matter; covers get blown on the slightest misstep, a single wrong word in the wrong place. I'm not..."

"Going to worry about it," Jim broke in firmly. "What I...." He stopped, jaw muscle jumping, then went on tightly, "What's important to me is that we stay the same, with you treating me the way you always do. I'd like to feel like I could go home at any time and crawl into bed with you as if I've never been away. That's the foundation I'm standing on; the grounding I'm using to get through this bullshit case."

"I hear you." And Blair did; probably far more than Jim meant for him to hear. Pushing away his own loneliness and the pain of the Jim-sized emptiness in his life, Blair stole a quick, hungry kiss. "Thanks for helping me find my footing. Not only is status quo the easiest way to go, but when things are wrapped up, people can save face by claiming they knew all along that you were putting on an act."

An emotion Blair couldn't decipher flickered across Jim's face, but they were at the exit to the lobby, and anyone could decide to use the stairs at any moment. Choosing his words for their ambiguity, he asked, "You adjusting okay to the new place and Maddy's crew?"

Opening the door, Jim guided Blair toward the street with a palm in the small of his back. "About what you'd expect on both counts. Have to admit, most of the staff are leery of me, and not just because of the badge. Maddy's known me all my life, and she doesn't bother to hide how happy she is she talked me into giving her a hand. They worry about favoritism, the possibility of me spying on them for her or the police, that sort of thing."

"Rough, huh?"

"Nothing I haven't handled before, and not that long ago." Jim stopped in front of a Benz sports car, opening the locks with a remote. "Most of the 'tests' aren't as clever as the ones thrown my way by the bullpen and other people at the department when they were debunking the sentinel thing for themselves."

As Blair got in, Jim walked around to the other side, giving Blair a chance to hide his shock at the new ride. They buckled in, and he said, "You dialing down on your senses then, to make sure they stay a non-topic?"

"Not much choice, and the techniques we worked out when we were fighting the rumors at the station are doing the trick," Jim said dismissively.

Blair shot back, "What are you doing to decompress, and don't give me attitude for asking. That's part of status quo."

Grinning at him, Jim said, "So's giving you a hard time before surrendering and answering honestly."

"Then quit with evasion tactic number eight: changing the subject."

"Maybe switch to number eleven, ignoring the whole thing?"

Despite the seriousness behind the question, Blair laughed. They argued good-naturedly all the way across town to where the stop lights and four lane boulevards gave way to winding roads and a gradual climb into the mountains. The temple was located at the edge of Cascade's last hurrah of city landscape: a series of upscale condos separated by strip malls and gas stations. High stone walls separated it from its more urbane neighbors, enclosing a few dozen or so well-manicured acres of forest and gardens.

Despite the fence, the gate was open, and Jim reported that all the ones he could see were as well. There were a number of them spaced around the perimeter, and he shook his head at the lack of a single lock, let alone any other form of security. Acting like tourists, they went in and wandered along the immaculate trails, genuinely impressed with the beauty and serenity of the place. Here and there Blair pointed out plants, naming them and their medicinal use, while Jim identified the signs of passing animals or repaired damage: a flowerbed that had been replanted, a rock garden with minute traces of spray paint left.

They were hardly the only people on the grounds, but the winding path gave the illusion of solitude, as did the hush created by the natural buffer of stone, tree, and vine. Before long Jim draped an arm over Blair's shoulder, pulling him into his side, and Blair slipped a hand into one of his back pockets, effortlessly matching his step so they could stay close. Between Jim's warmth seeping into him, the quiet, and the understated splendor of their surroundings, Blair relaxed for the first time in months, forgetting unreasonable deadlines; demanding, skeptical cops; and the closet he and Jim were supposed to be sharing.

Eventually they found the small shelter with a pagoda roof where they were scheduled to meet with the monks running the temple. It was built into a rock face with a miniature waterfall tumbling over it, delicate flowered vines trailing down, half-hiding the cascade of water. The floor was a bed of fine sand with sweeping curves raked into it, and though there were benches on either side, they stopped in the very center of it to watch twilight creep into the day. Jim stood behind Blair, arms around his waist, cheek against his curls, seemingly happy to stay that way until they were forced to move.

Before the last of the light was gone, an elderly Chinese gentleman, bald pate and flowing robes marking him as one of the monks, bowed before them, beaming paternally. "Perhaps you would care to join me for tea?" he asked in perfect, unaccented English.

With a suppressed sigh that Blair felt, marking the return to duty, Jim stepped to one side and bowed in return, much more deeply. Matching him, Blair said, "We'd be delighted, honored elder."

Smiling slightly, but obviously pleased, the monk said, "I am Hai Ping, chosen by my brothers to speak with the police on the matter of the acts of destruction violating the tranquility of our home. You are the gentlemen I was expecting?" "

Detective Jim Ellison, my civilian partner and the department's special consultant, Blair Sandburg. We would like to assist you in resolving the problem, hopefully to our mutual satisfaction."

Looking decidedly more pleased, Hai Ping gestured toward a low table at the front of the shelter, already being set by other monks with a teapot, cups, flower arrangement, and several lit candles. "To this point, I would have said that the police were determined to do so to *their* satisfaction."

Moving to the table and waiting until Hai Ping seated himself, Jim and Blair sat on plump cushions opposite him. "Forgive me, Elder," Blair said, folding his hands in his lap for the moment. "I can't remember if it's more polite to wait until you serve yourself first, or to offer to serve for you."

"Does it matter? All is forgiven if the spirit of learning is apparent, as it is with you."

The answer was exactly along the lines that Blair expected, and the next few hours were spent in a leisurely exchange of custom, information, ideas, and plans. If Jim was impatient with the pace, it didn't show at all, and Blair was willing to bet that his partner enjoyed the conversation every bit as much as he did. Possibly more, as Jim was already self-educated in Chinese culture and custom, for once surpassing Blair's expertise.

By the time Jim and Blair had to leave, the three of them had agreed on a combination of creating a neighborhood watch (since many of the nearby businesses benefited from the tourist trade brought in by the temple), city-owned traffic cameras temporarily aimed at the major access points, and locking gates that rarely saw use. Though Jim pressed gently to have monks move in pairs throughout the day to patrol more vulnerable areas, he didn't make an issue of it when Hai Ping demurred. He did win a promise that he would be contacted personally if the attacks escalated into violence, and, forced to be content with the consensus gained, they made their goodbyes.

The ride back to the loft was silent, but it was the same tranquil, embracing silence as the temple that allowed Blair to feel as if Jim's heartbeat was against his ear, Jim's breath whispering over his skin. The tight quarters of the car was an intimacy in and of itself, and Jim enhanced that by keeping a hand high on Blair's thigh all the way home. Desire, which had been simmering under the surface since their talk in the stairwell, rose to create a delicious tension in his middle.

Blair was tempted to ask Jim to pull over, to not make him wait another moment for a caress, but the lure of having him home, sharing their big bed, if only briefly, was too strong. It was impossible to sit still, though, with his blood pooling in his dick, his nipples drawing up in eagerness. Restlessly he rubbed his palms along his thighs, needing to touch himself, but the hungry, almost predatory glances Jim shot him convinced him that would be a mistake. Blair's scent had to be working on Jim already; any blatantly sexual move on Blair's part had the potential of driving him past the point of restraint.

Much as he liked that idea, and under other circumstances would have acted on it, Blair clung to his own self-control, driving his nails into his leg to accomplish it. Jim did the same in his own way; he edged the speed of the car up to the danger point, forcing himself to concentrate on his driving. Luck was with them, and they made it to Prospect Street without an accident or being pulled over for speeding.

Leaping out, Jim walked toward the entrance at a clip just short of a run, and Blair let him go, driven by some impulse to let him get home first. When the lights came on in the loft, he raced up himself, bursting through the door left slightly ajar for him. Barely retaining enough presence of mind to lock it securely behind him, he leaned on it long enough to catch a deep breath, then climbed on shaky limbs toward their bedroom.

Jacket already neatly hung on the back of a chair, Jim sat on the edge of the mattress, undoing his tie and toeing off his shoes, as if it were any night and he was getting ready for bed. Blair watched greedily, captivated by the grace of movement and flex of muscle, fingertips twitching in anticipation of feeling that strength flow under them. It wasn't until Jim had stripped down to his boxers that Blair acted, crossing to stand in front of him, threading his fingers through Jim's hair over his ears and laying claim to his lips.

When Jim pulled away to fill his lungs with air, he nuzzled at Blair's neck, sliding to his knees in front of Blair as he helped Blair undress. That done, he softly mouthed a tingling line along Blair's collarbone, massaging tiny circles down his spine until he cupped Blair's ass in both hands. It took every ounce of willpower Blair had to stay still and let his lover control the pace and direction of their love-making, which only added to his excitement. Not that Jim would mind if Blair turned the tables on him, but Jim's deliberate, sensual assault told Blair clearly that Jim needed this unhurried perusal of his body.

With indistinct noises of approval and hunger, Jim nipped and licked his way down Blair's breastbone, his destination clear in his posture. Blair waited in sweet, sweet suspense for him to reach it, nearly undone by the sight of Jim's head bent over his groin. That Jim would suck his cock, even as rarely as he did, was a marvel that never ceased to amaze him. When Jim's mouth closed over the weeping crown, hands on Blair's backside urging him to thrust, all he could do was give into Jim's encouragement and his own lust.

His half-formed thought that he had to take it easy for Jim's sake vanished under the ferocity of Jim's sucking, and Blair plunged down his throat, crying out in pleasure. Jim worked him as if he had years of experience instead of mere months of semi-hesitant experimentation, and before long Blair was fucking his face furiously, climax tightening every muscle and nerve. It concentrated into the flesh captured in the hot, wet haven of Jim's mouth, and without warning, burst into blinding convulsions of ecstasy that robbed Blair of everything but the bliss given him.

Head clearing as Jim guided him into a half-fall onto the bed, Blair stretched luxuriously, arms over his head to entice Jim into covering him with his own body. "Beautiful," Jim mumbled, lapping at the curve of Blair's hip, then at his belly button. He eased Blair's thighs farther apart, lying on his chest between them, still kneeling on the floor. In blatant invitation Blair draped his legs over Jim's back, and Jim buried his face in Blair's tummy, groaning in an odd mix of pain, frustration and need that woke Blair's sentinel-focused alarms.

Before he could ask, Jim sat back on his heels, fists clenched as if he wanted to pound on something with them. Reaching for his pants, he snarled, "Simon's here, in front of the building, muttering about how you had damn well better know where I am. He's already called Maddy looking for me."

Shakily sitting up and grabbing for clothes, Blair said, "That's right. We turned off our cells at the temple so we wouldn't be interrupted, and I didn’t think to turn mine back on."

"There was a reason that I didn't," Jim snapped, but he was already tucking his shirt into his slacks, barely covering the rampant dick refusing to be cooperative. He padded downstairs carrying his jacket, shoes and socks, heading for the bathroom.

Deciding he could explain the slippers and sweats he pulled on, Blair aimed for the kitchen, automatically taking out the makings for a salad as he finger combed his hair so that it was a little less wild. By the time Simon knocked, he was presentable and looked as if he were in the middle of making a late dinner. He called out, "I'll get it."

Without waiting for an invitation to come in, Simon stormed into the room. "Where the…" Jim came into the main room, drying his hands, expression questioning, and Banks abruptly changed verbal directions. "I didn't see your truck."

"It's in storage. I'm driving one of Maddy's cars."

Jim's tone dared him to make an issue of it, and Blair saw Simon rein himself in, biting down hard on whatever retort had sprang to his lips. Instead, he sank wearily on the couch. "I've been looking into the three robberies you say are connected to the ones Maddy reported. I have to ask. How sure are you that they were done by the same person?"

"As sure as I can be without direct physical evidence." Jim went to his usual post by the French doors, eyes fixed on sentinel distances. "Method, stolen items, timing all match, right down to being unable to determine how the thief or thieves is gaining entry past a state of the art security system."

"Damn." Simon took out a cigar, stared at it as if he'd never seen one before, and repeated himself. "Damn."

Sitting at the far end of the couch, but turned to face him, Blair said softly, "Simon?"

"Magdellena Calbero, the young au pair accused of the theft in the Thurber home, committed suicide a few days ago. Her sister is adamant that she'd never do such a thing, and there wasn’t a note." Shaking his head, Simon sat back. "Same sister said that Thurber had been harassing her, doing things like finding out where she'd applied for jobs and calling to bad mouth her."

"Sounds like Thurber," Jim said blandly to the glass in front of him - so blandly that Blair knew all his emotions had to be locked down tight. "Murder doesn't; ends his fun. My guess is that when he wouldn't leave it alone after she'd been acquitted, the real thieves killed her so that Thurber would stop calling attention to the robbery. Part of what they're working on is the relative lack of notice or concern by insurance companies, cops, whatever."

"That's my take, too, and I'm quietly looking at it from that angle," Simon said.

"I appreciate you doing that. If I do it, the wrong people might notice and wonder what else I'm checking out."

It was hard to say who was more startled by Jim's quiet admission - Blair or Simon. Taking it for granted that the conversation was done, Jim left his post and gathered what he needed to leave. Joining him at the door, Blair laid a hand over his heart, trying to pour love into his partner with the touch and his gaze.

Apparently not giving a damn about Simon's presence, Jim pulled him in for a tight, hard hug. Against his ear he whispered, "This is what I use to keep the senses in balance. At night, when I'm sure it's safe, I remember holding you, calling up every detail: smell, feel, your heartbeat and pulse, all of it."

Not giving Blair a chance to respond, he left, moving at a walk but covering ground as if he were running. Heart sinking, Blair did his best to push down his increasingly powerful misgivings about the entire situation and turned to deal with Simon.

***

A large mug magically appeared under Blair's nose, and without looking up from the surveys he was sorting, he snagged it and took a sip. Surprised, because he'd been expecting coffee, he sat back and licked his lips for more of the wonderful flavor of the soup. His stomach sang halleluiah even as his taste buds happily announced it was the chicken soup from the Maple Street Deli.

Catching his partner's eye, Blair said, "Thank you. I forgot and worked through lunch."

Fastidiously unwrapping a half sandwich of thinly sliced beef on whole wheat, no dressing, James said casually, "And breakfast and dinner the night before and probably lunch yesterday, too. Burning the candle at both ends and the middle there, aren't you?"

"I'm not that bad." The whimpering from his gut for more of the soup belied that, though, and Blair silently admitted that he had lost some weight lately as he took another wonderful sip.

"This from the man who used to set an alarm clock to remember to go to bed."

Because it was what was expected, Blair managed a waggle of the eyebrows and matching, leering grin. "Guess I had a reason to get out of the habit."

"So get back into it before the only reason you've got company in bed is to nurse you back to health." Again the tone was flippant, but the glance shot his way was anything but. James was forced to relent when Rafe strolled over, trying for nonchalant and blowing it by grinning just a bit too broadly. "Hey, your timing is perfect. I was just about to try to convince Sandburg to fly down to Palm Springs with us for that golfing gig."

To Blair's shock, Rafe changed gears instantly and checked him out from head to toe, nodding his agreement. "Hairboy is definitely in need of a few days of soaking up the sun and good food by the pool of an exclusive country club, ogling all those bikini-clad trophy wives strutting their stuff."

"The Horstkoffs don't care what we do after we finished playing a few rounds with them," Jim affirmed. "We could catch a few shows at the local clubs once the links close."

Not remotely tempted to spend a weekend with James, since it wasn't likely he'd slip back into Jim long enough for Blair to so much as kiss him, Blair said lightly, "I'm in the homestretch on the writing and rather not break my pace. You two have a great time, though, and flirt with a couple of those trophy wives in my honor." Hearing H. call his name, Rafe almost clapped James on the shoulder, stopping himself at the last second. "Work on the kid, will you? When's take-off this time?"

"Scheduled for 7 tonight, but it's a private jet; they'll hold if you're running a little behind." James emphasized the last two words in warning, which Rafe apparently took it to heart.

"I will definitely be prompt. I really appreciate you hooking me up with this; still can't get over getting paid to play golf!"

Shrugging, James reached for his sandwich. "Golf is their passion in their old age. Getting a foursome of decent players who are patient enough to play at their pace is a hell of a lot harder to come by for them than time and cash to indulge in playing when and where they want."

"We should all be so lucky," Rafe said in parting, catching up with his partner.

Blair waited until he was out of earshot, taking a long drink of the soup. "Nice bit of political capital you've got going there."

He could have bitten off his tongue when James studied him over his sandwich as if he thought lightheadedness from hunger was making Blair stupid. Blair couldn't help but wonder himself. The simple truth of the matter was that the largess that James casually dropped into the hands of his fellow cops - back stage passes to concerts and shows, box seats at games, 'consulting' work that paid very handsomely - didn't silence the grumbles about his light workload, his frequent late-ins and long weekends. It did keep it subdued, as did the frequent and low profile assistance he and Blair volunteered on other people's cases.

Not knowing what else to do or say, Blair drank more of his soup, vaguely disappointed when he reached the bottom. James took the mug from him, refilled it from a thermos, and gave it back to him. Was James' automatic courtesy behind the soup, or had Jim done it for his partner? It shouldn't matter, but it did, and Blair returned to work rather than face the why of that.

Before he could, James caught a hand in his, turning it over gently to examine the minor cuts and abrasions on it. "How much time *are* you spending at the temple working on the grounds? That where you've been the last few times I dropped by, and you weren't home?"

"Not as much as the dirt embedded under my nails would have you think," Blair said, trying for joking. "There's not much left between here and the diss, but, man, the physical labor feels good after hunching over keyboards and paper all day long. The writing really flows after, too. Maybe not always as abundantly as after that first visit, but well enough I'd hate to give up the hours I spend there."

For a moment James' expression was distant, longing. "Yeah, it's pretty peaceful there, Chief. Not as good as hiking to the middle of nowhere to get away from it all, but a decent substitute."

"Come with me this evening? Just until you have to make your flight?" Blair asked, not ashamed of the eagerness in his voice.

James blinked himself back, reaching for his date book, which had filled with the detritus of his double life to the point where he couldn't zip it shut any longer. Despite the abundance of to-do lists, receipts, and invitations, it was incredibly organized and tidy. James flipped to the right page without searching, elbowing Blair into making room for him beside him.

"Got the Dorenson disposition last thing today," James said for anybody to hear. For Blair he added, "I need to find a way to speak to Simon privately. I think I know who's going to be hit next."

"What? How... you've finally got a suspect?"

With a microscopic tightening of his jaw that Blair instantly regretting causing, James said, "No, no suspects, and don't ask me why I'm so sure the Morrison's are the next target. Partly because they fit the victim profile, partly because the timing is right for another robbery, but nothing concrete." He nudged his planner under Blair's, so he could skim through his notes, obviously looking for something that might give him grounds for his hunch. "All I see here is that we've been talking about them recently during the planning briefs Maddy has every day with her people."

"Any way of knowing that happened with any of the other robberies?" Blair took out his own notes, scanning them quickly. "Not that it'll matter as far as the ones not connected to Maddy's service."

"Maybe it does," James said absently. "We talk about everything at those meetings; not just our clients. Maddy encourages sharing gossip, as long as it's not malicious, because she thinks being well-informed is critical to maintaining good contacts." He stopped, back straightening as he thought. "Which might also explain why I've got the impression that two people in that crowd are being blackmailed, and that a few business deals that should have gone off smoothly suddenly developed major complications."

"Do you think that'll help you sell the idea of a stakeout to Simon?"

"I could use the sentinel thing to do that, and for all I know maybe this gut feeling is because of the senses. It won't give him anything to use on Franks and Williams, who we'll need to get into Morrison's place."

A stray notion flitted by the edge of Blair's mind, but before he could shift to catch it, one of the uniforms came up to the desk with an open file in hand and a question clearly on his lips. They were both swept into what had become the norm for them on the job; each chasing different cases with various people, only occasionally bumping into each other. The fleeing contact was almost worse than none at all for Blair, serving only to remind him of how long it'd been since he'd had more than that.

By the end of the day all he wanted was to go to the temple and put in a few hours in the garden, using physical labor as a substitute for the meditation he hadn't been able to do in months. Once he'd worn himself out enough, he'd go home and put in time on the diss, probably until he fell asleep at his desk again. Or maybe, since it was the weekend, he'd stay overnight at the temple in the cell Hai Ping had told him he could use. The monks were great believers in cleanliness, had abundant hot water *and* soaking tubs; a few hours up to his chin might relax him enough that he could go to bed and really rest for a change.

The bullpen was mostly empty when Blair finally packed up and put on his coat. James rose to leave with him, catching him off guard; Blair had expected him to stay at his desk until time to go to the airport. It made him nervous for reasons that couldn't work their way through his exhausted brain, but the ingrained habit of following him out, appropriate chatter going, had him in motion almost against his will.

While they waited for an elevator car, James broke into Blair's monologue on the success of the last meeting of the neighborhood watch he had helped set up around the temple. "Sandburg, you went above and beyond there; it's been weeks since there's been the slightest hint of trouble. I don't know if anybody's bothered to say thank you, but the department should, at the very least."

Before Blair could demure, James said in a slightly too buddy-to-buddy tone, "More importantly, you should reward yourself, take the weekend off. They're predicting clear skies and high 70's in Palm Springs, there's room service, in-house top quality spa, even your own personal masseuse if you want." Unexpectedly, under cover of the leather trench coat he carried, he rubbed a small circle into the heel of Blair's hand, undoing knots in his wrist and forearm that Blair hadn't even realized was there.

"I... ah..." Not a single excuse came to mind, blocked, Blair thought semi-hysterically, by the rush of blood to his dick.

The elevator door opened, and he made a break for it, only belatedly remembering that there were no security cameras in it, freeing James to pursue his goal by any means fair or foul. Blair crammed himself into a corner, hands moving at top speeds in erratic circles, as if to create a shield. "Sounds great, I mean, really great, but you know, maybe we could save it until after I go before the committee, which isn't long, thanks to that damn time table of theirs. Make it a weekend entirely for us, not a bus boy's holiday."

Taking the other corner for himself after hitting the button for the lobby, James started to speak, stopped, and jaw muscle jumping in the most Jim-like thing he'd done in forever, said, "Chief, you want to tell me..."

Before he could finish speaking, the lights flickered, once, twice, then went out and the elevator creaked to an uncertain stop. It jigged, as if trying to descend a few more feet, and the emergency lights came on, filling the car with a skimpy amount of light. Alarms went off in the building, ringing distantly through the elevator shaft, drowning out the one in the car.

Clutching the rails on either side of him, Blair idiotically scrunched himself into a ball, yelping as the floor bounced again. "Jim, man! What! Oh, shit!"

"Explosion," James said, gaze fixing on the ceiling as if he could see through the roof to the trouble. "Electrical, I think. I smell ozone, burning rubber."

For all Blair knew, that was exactly the case, and he kept his eyes on his sentinel, trying to read from his body language what was going to happen next. It worked, in so much as when James flinched, Blair wrapped his arms over his head as the entire car shook, dust sprinkling down. Peeking from under his elbow, he took a deep breath when James braced himself, which actually helped him stay calm when a series of loud thumps hit the top of the car. "

Cable." James waited, listening intently. "Automatic brakes are holding, barely creaking from the added weight."

"Oh, my, god, oh, my, god," Blair chanted, panic leaping high.

"Easy, Chief. Easy." James took an exaggerated series of sniffs, probably meant to amuse him. "No explosives. No asshole megalomaniac playing homicidal games." He nodded to himself in satisfaction. "Fire's already out, thanks to the suppression system."

"Okay, that's good. That's very good." Blair tried to take a deep breath and uncurl, at least enough so that he didn't look like a five-year-old hiding from the bogeyman. His body absolutely refused to cooperate, and steel bands tightened around his chest, making air an increasingly rare commodity. An irrational part of his brain insisted that it was because he was in a small box with no windows and no way out, and he had to grab onto that part with both metaphysical hands before it could take control.

"Sandburg?"

He heard James talking to him, but couldn't really spare the attention from his internal battle to answer him.

"Chief?"

//Okay,// Blair thought frantically, //Worrying James now, big time. Gotta stop that, right now. Don't want him worrying about me, looking at me too close, James has to stay over there, I don't remember why about any of that, but that's okay, I'm good at working with my instincts.//

"Blair?"

//Jim, that's Jim, but it can't be because, because, well, because, not Jim, just James, okay guy for a lazy brat, but not my Jim, man, I want Jim, I really, really, oh shit!//

A huge whomp! throbbed through the walls, and it fueled Blair's panic to the breaking point. He leaped to his feet, no destination in mind except *OUT,* now! He slammed right into a large, hard body, and tried to push his way past it. Powerful arms wrapped around him, aborting his mindless reaction to the flight response, which left him with the fight half and no way to execute it. All he could do was squirm frantically, then he was shoved into a wall and held there, a large hand covering the crown of his head as if to shelter him.

He didn't connect to the voice mouthing nonsense at him in his captivity; couldn't translate it to words or meaning or purpose. But it was soothing, familiar to the deepest part of his mind, and Blair gradually stopped struggling as comfort seeped into his terror. If the voice was known, the position he was in was doubly so, communicating directly to his heart, telling him without doubt that he was safe.

His nose was pressed into the hollow of a shoulder, and the scent there was pure Jim, faintly underlined by the all natural soaps and detergents the sentinel used to protect too-sensitive skin. Blair could hear and feel Jim's heartbeat, regular and heavy, encouraging his own to steady, and his breathing slowed to match. That left only sight and taste, he thought madly, and he didn't want to trust sight yet. If he saw James, he'd spin back out into frantic escape mode, which would be bad, or so a fragment of rationality claimed.

Besides, tasting Jim was always a joy, better than the best chocolate or finest wine. Fists in the cashmere sweater under his cheek for leverage, he stretched up to capture a downy earlobe between his teeth, licking once while tugging gently. Jim shuddered, and it echoed in Blair's body, chasing away the remnants of fear and stirring need to take its place. The warmth between them, which Blair had been vaguely aware of all along, turned scorching, especially where his crotch met Jim's thigh.

It felt so damned good, and it had been so damned long, Blair didn't even try to resist the urge to rock against him, biting down ever so carefully on the tidbit in his mouth to see if he could make Jim quiver again. He did, and Blair groaned his approval before abandoning the earlobe for the ultra-soft place just under Jim's jaw to give it a lightly sucking kiss. It was one of the spots on Jim guaranteed to drive him crazy, and the hard ridge crowding against Blair's belly was proof it worked.

Despite angling his head so Blair could reach his target easily, Jim rumbled in protest. "Blair…"

"Fuck me," Blair breathed, and tongued a barely-there trail along Jim's neck. "Fill me with your cock." The words, once held back in worry, came easily, all fear conquered by the sanctuary of Jim's arms.

"No," Jim said tenderly, muscles tensing abruptly. "Not here. Not like this."

"I want you to," Blair countered in a mumble. "Please. I need you to."

Shuffling back half a step to put distance between them, Jim coaxed, "Soft bed, clean sheets, all night to take it sweet and slow. Hold out a while longer?"

Taking advantage of the space to one-handedly undo his own pants, Blair kissed him deep, wet and dirty, the desperation ruling him now entirely different from the earlier one demanding he escape. It was as overpowering and unreasoning, but far easier to placate. All he had to do was seduce his sentinel, and Blair had all the information he needed to succeed in that.

Once his cock was free, pheromones released along with it, he boldly laid his palm over the bulge of Jim's hardon, fingertips pressing into the juncture of shaft and balls. He felt the sudden throb of pleasure from his touch, and gingerly compressed the head of Jim's cock under the heel of his hand in time to that pulsation. Jim's grip on Blair's biceps suddenly became too tight, as if he were trapped between pushing Blair away and pulling him closer. "No," he ground out, but it was more a plea than a denial.

"Wanted you for so long," Blair whispered, furtively searching his jacket pocket for the aloe cream he carried for the scrapes on his hands. "Thought about it night after night. Have you? When you're resetting your senses by remembering me? Thought what it would be like to be inside me?"

Veins standing out on his neck, Jim threw back his head, mouth open for harsh pants as he fought for control. Blair didn't give him the chance to win. Taking advantage of Jim's distraction, he quickly put the tube at the opening to his body and squeezed hard, not caring at all about the mess. That done, he opened Jim's slacks, eased his erection out, and slicked it hurriedly with the overflow of the cream on his hand. Jim shoved into the loose tunnel Blair made for him, whispering Blair's name with such love and need that Blair was the one who broke.

Turning in Jim's embrace, Blair let his pants drop, braced his forearms on the wall of the elevator, and pushed his bottom back so that Jim plowed along his cleft. The teasing miss ripped a gasp from both of them, and Jim pulled Blair back by the hips, fitting the crown of his cock at Blair's pucker. Despite the hunger shaking through him, he breached Blair with tender caution, barely moving at first.

It hurt, not too bad, but god, what it promised, then Jim tunneled his hands under Blair's shirts, fingertips finding the taut nubs on his chest to tug and roll them. Twin spikes of pleasure, along with Jim's prayerful murmuring of Blair's name and their love against the nape of Blair's neck, combined to bump him past discomfort and into delight. It was glorious to be opened, stretched; far better than he'd expected from the fingers or toys he'd used on himself in preparation for this inevitability.

The rush of sensation was beyond description, almost beyond belief, but what had him poised on the edge of coming, unwilling to topple, was the sheer intimacy of the act. Jim was literally a part of him, connected to him by ties of flesh as fragile and precious as the ties of spirit that bound their lives together. Unable to move for fear it would make him finish, he savored each slow thrust as Jim measured his length into him over and over, at times barely moving, as if he didn't want their union to end either.

Nature couldn't be put off forever, though, and the adrenaline high that fueled Blair's frenetic demand for sex failed under the frailties of a body that had not rested or fed well for weeks. Tremors shimmied along his calves, making him sag, warning that enough was enough already. All that kept him upright was Jim's weight pinning him to the wall, the unrelenting grip on his hips and the steely shaft inside him.

The shift in position was enough to change the angle of penetration, sending a new burst of pleasure through him. Crying out, Blair involuntarily tightened around Jim, and his lover muffled an answering shout in Blair's curls as he drove into him faster and harder. It was the wildness in Jim's voice as much as the fantastic fucking that catapulted Blair to a place where only ecstasy born in long spurts of seed existed; where only the love he had for Jim connected him to reality.

It tugged him back, if barely, in time to share Jim's release with him, and Blair welcomed the warm slipperiness of his seed on suddenly sore tissues. Much as he wanted them to stay exactly as they were, gravity and exhaustion had their way, taking advantage of Jim's post coital weakness, and Blair collapsed in slow motion. Though he didn't like the idea of lying on a cold, dirty floor, he wearily accepted he wasn't going to get a choice, and mumbled apologies to Jim as he slipped free of his body.

Instead of hard tile, he found soft, fur-lined leather - James' coat. Swaddling him in it, James hastily tidied Blair as best he could, then held him close, running his fingers through his curls to tame them into a semblance of respectability. Blair caught a whiff of burning paper, tried to rouse, but James shushed him, moving the lighter that he carried as a matter of course for Maddy's smoking clients where Blair could see it.

"To cover the scent," James muttered. "It won't be much longer before the work crew can lower the car by hand-cranking the safety cable."

"They know we're in here?" Blair asked sleepily.

He didn't answer, but his distant, distracted expression told Blair he was probably mentally replaying what he had overheard earlier but had been too preoccupied to really listen. James proved his guess right when he said, "Yeah, Simon saw us go into the elevator just before the power went. Seems Maintenance has been warning management for a while about problems with the power feed to it, and Franks' idiotic budget style didn't leave enough funds to do the repairs. Going to have to check if he's been feathering his nest; not much chance he'll have his job much longer."

Blair didn't really hear him. Watching James review his sense memory had jogged a notion loose, and he wheedled it closer. "Overheard… You're still locking down when you're being James, aren't you? The dial thing you do for your senses, you don't really turn them off or down or anything, you know. You dial down your *attention* to them. Remember that phone message Jack left on your machine, and being able to recall it word for word, practically? Maybe this hunch of yours is your subconscious telling you what you heard or saw or whatever while you were dialed down."

For an instant James went very still, and he said slowly, "Could be. Might be a good idea to playback the day at sentinel levels once in a while, make sure I'm not missing something important." He sighed and cuddled close again. "I'll work on it later. God, you smell so good, Chief. Like you still want me."

Though Blair meant to tell him that he always wanted him, he didn't have a chance to get the words out before he fell asleep. He roused, if it could be called that, when the work team finally got them out of the elevator car and stumbled his way to James' car, sinking back into slumber as soon as he sat down. When he woke alone in the big bed, with no memory of the trip home and no sign that James had stayed with him at all, he creakily stood and looked around the dusty, deserted room. Dressing, he threw a few clothes into his pack and left to spend the weekend at the temple, refusing to admit that his eyes were damp and his throat was locked from the pain of loneliness.

***

Staring stupidly down at where his hands were buried in dirt, Blair stopped weeding and tried to marshal enough brainpower to understand why he thought something was wrong. And maybe, what that something was. The effort it took was alarming in and of itself, and he painfully sat back on his heels, using the back of his hand to brush wisps of hair that had escaped his ponytail away from his face. He inspected the garden around him, frowned, and blinked in confusion. It was dark, too dark to see. Why was he trying to weed in the dark?

Gradually light blossomed - silvery, uncertain light. With a clue to work on, Blair silently said 'duh!,' and tilted back his head in time to see the cloud that had temporarily obscured the moon drift off to the east. //Beautiful,// he thought. //That's why I lit the lantern and stayed; because the full moon was coming up.//

Reminded of the lamp, he glanced at it, absently rubbing at the ache in his chest. It was out. Surely he hadn't been out here that long. Trying to gauge the passage of time by how high the moon was, he turned his face back up to study it, and was immediately lost in the wonder of its very existence and how perfectly it sailed across the heavens. It was so huge, so very huge and he was so small, so insignificant. All of man was, really, compared with the vastness of stars and solar systems, let alone the void they couldn't start to fill.

Without warning, the sheer size of the cosmos collapsed on him, and he couldn't breathe, couldn't remember how to breathe. Panic, far worse than what he'd experienced in the elevator with Jim a few months ago, flooded through him, demanding he run and hide from the overwhelming weight of the open night sky. Though his instinct shouted that he leap up and run fast, his body could not obey. He lurched to his feet, wobbling on shaking legs, and hobbled in a small circle like an old man who wasn't certain which way the path led. The ache in his chest turned agonizing, and the small sips of air he managed through the constriction around his ribs didn't help in the slightest. Sparkles flitted through his field of vision, and just as they died in darkness, he realized he was fainting.

He woke with a start, panic nibbling at the edge of his mind, fully aware that he had passed out. Before he could do more than clench at the bedding under him, Hai Ping said serenely, "Be at peace. There is no danger here; no harm to be done to you."

His composure was reassuring, as was the blank stone walls of the cell Blair slept in. Concentrating on the rise and fall of his tummy, Blair calmed himself, trying only to make each breath a bit deeper. It worked, at least to the point where he wasn't in danger of hyperventilating, though his chest still hurt somewhat. When he opened eyes he didn't remember closing, he smiled wanly at Hai Ping, ready to apologize for being an inconvenience.

"You are no such thing," Hai Ping said before Blair could speak. "Please. Drink this. It will help."

He helped Blair sit, and supported him while he swallowed the cold tea. It was delicious, soothing a throat Blair hadn't realized was so dry. Just sitting up made Blair's heart race, though, and he lay back down, unhappily realizing that he wasn't well. He started to apologize again, but Hai Ping stopped him with a caring hand on his brow.

"You are no burden, but it would likely be better if you had the comfort of your own home. Perhaps I should call Detective Ellison?"

Unable to keep the hurt the question caused from showing on his face, Blair turned his head away, rubbing at the center of his chest. "No, that wouldn't be a good idea."

Surprisingly, Hai Ping hesitated, then folded his hands over his stomach. "Forgive an old man for prying, but have you parted ways with him?"

"No! No, of course not. He… I…. " Blair had no idea how to explain Jim's absence, and couldn't bring himself to lie.

"Ah! I am glad. His devotion to you was clear, as is yours to him." Hai Ping paused, sadness filling his eyes. "Why then do you cry out for him at night, when you sleep?

Blair rolled away, drawing his knees up as if to protect himself. "I do?"

"As if your soul were being torn apart." He pulled a blanket over Blair's shoulders, paternally tucking him in. "You have not left the grounds in days, you work long, long hours at tasks that, while beneficial to our table and larder, could be done by any of us. Indeed, should be. It seemed possible that you had chosen a different way than the one that was before you, and while it grieved us to see the loss, we did not think it appropriate to question your choice. The difficulties in joining lives with one such as your detective is something we could barely imagine."

A more paranoid part of Blair wanted to ask what Hai Ping meant by 'such as your detective,' afraid that he had said or done something to expose his sentinel. Hard-learned caution made him choose his words carefully. "I lived and worked with Jim on a part-time basis for a few years before we became full partners, so I had an idea from the start of what I would be dealing with - or as much of one as you can get without actually making the jump from an observer to a participant."

Hai Ping waited so expectantly that Blair admitted, "He's gone for a while, working on something I asked him to do. It just got so hard to be home without him there, to miss him so much and constantly be reminded of his absence by how empty the loft is. I started spending my time here because I felt I was at least staying busy in a useful way."

"Your need must be grave indeed to send him away. And for him to willingly go."

"I thought so at the time," Blair said uneasily. "Now I'm beginning to wonder if anything is that important."

"Ah...." Hai Ping breathed in approval. "Perhaps, then, that is the lesson to be learned here. If you will forgive the skewed Star Trek quote, 'the needs of the one may outweigh the needs of the many, if the one is valued by the many.' And you are very valued, Blair Sandburg; you should take better care of yourself."

"I don't understand," Blair said, completely baffled how they got from Jim being undercover to Blair being sick.

Hai Ping gave him such a look of fond exasperation that Blair couldn't help but feel better, if no less confused. "Go find your other half. That is the medicine required, more than even rest or good food." He leaned forward, urging Blair to sit up. "Your vehicle was towed the day before yesterday. You were told, but the brother who did so was uncertain as to whether or not you actually heard him. The last bus runs in half an hour."

"Towed?" Blair pushed the Volvo's fate out of mind in favor of not throwing up from the dizziness being upright had caused. "I was going to say half an hour was plenty of time, but I'm thinking it might not be enough."

"We will manage."

They did, with Blair leaning on the elderly monk far more than he was comfortable with while he washed, shaved, and changed into the good suit he had hanging in one corner. As late as it was, James - no, Jim, he was going to find Jim and bring him home - would be at some function or another, if he was even in town. Blair had lost all track of his movements, but knew how to find him. All he had to do was get to his desk at the station and the planner locked in it.

In the end, one monk genially stalled the bus driver long enough for Blair to arrive breathlessly at the stop, exact change poured into his palm by Hai Ping. Despite his worry and a growing sense of urgency, Blair dozed off and on all the way downtown, often startling awake from the increasing discomfort in his chest. Small as the naps were, they helped, and he was able to walk into the bullpen without clinging to a wall.

That didn't stop Simon from coming to a dead stand still, coat on his arm as he readied to leave, staring at him. "Damnit Sandburg, I was beginning to think you were blowing off work this past week to finish your dissertation, but you look like you should be in a hospital."

Almost falling into his chair, Blair said hoarsely, "It's been done a week or so now, useless piece of meaningless academic political pandering that it is, and in the hands of the committee. And believe it or not, a doctor is on my to-do list for the night. Gotta find Jim first."

Simon blanched, all emotion draining from his expression save fierce guilt.

Stomach and heart dropping all the way to the basement, Blair grabbed his arm. "Is he hurt? How bad? Which hospital?"

"Whoa, nothing like that, I swear. Sit back down, Blair, before you fall down. Damn, when was the last time you saw Ellison?"

This is bad, really bad, Blair jibbered to himself. He's calling me Blair and Jim 'Ellison.' Definitely bad.

Aloud, he said as calmly as he could, "Not for a while, which isn't his fault. Between the last push to finish the diss and all the cases I've worked on that aren't Jim's, I've had to make appointments with myself to go to the bathroom! Now tell me what's wrong!"

Grabbing a chair, Simon pulled it up so that he was practically knee-to-knee with Blair, then lifted his glasses to scrub his eyes. "He quit, in front of the whole bullpen, casually, as if the job had never mattered. Because I got pushed hard by the major and commissioner, and made the mistake of pushing him twice as hard."

Blair had no idea what showed on his face, but Simon glanced at him, and went on the defensive. "Not that some of it wasn't called for; his attitude's so apathetic and insolent people have been asking me why I'm putting up with him. Way past what he needed for cover, for God's sake."

"What was he supposed to do?" Blair asked tiredly. "He's working on a case he didn't want to take but did anyway for the good of Major Crimes. Yes, for the department. When was the last time Franks or Williams had you assigning the loss of his sister-in-law's cousin's pet poodle or the equivalent thereof? And all he gets is more shit from that same department."

Simon opened his mouth, obviously to argue, then shut it with a snap, man enough to admit when he'd made a mistake. "Give me more attitude, of course. Shit. I just wasn't expecting *that* attitude."

Too tired to berate - or absolve - him, Blair said, "Just tell me that neither of you did anything that can't be undone or explained away when the case is broken. And that you'll help me get to him tonight, before the situation deteriorates any worse than it has."

Propping his forearms on his knees, hands dangling loosely clasped, Simon said to the floor, "The case is closed, as of two hours ago when Joel and I arrested two nineteen-year-old college students who are amateur electronics buffs. Jim sent a box filled with enough evidence to put them, along with more than one of the wealthy victims they'd bugged, away for a long time. He had a copy of everything they had, which they got by listening in to conversations with decorators, caterers, and other service providers, not just personnel from Maddy's business. The ironic thing, according to Jim's notes, is that it wasn't about the cash. It was the rush of proving themselves more powerful than money and influence."

"They killed for that?" Blair said in pained disbelief.

Head shooting up, Simon said, "Murder isn't one of the charges against them. No evidence, and I believed their denial. Jim didn't tag them for it, either. He was starting to think her death was completely unrelated to the robbery."

"Except for Jim's guilt that it might have been," Blair muttered, fisting his own hair in both hands. "Great. All right, we'll deal with all that later. Right now, we find Jim, and get you two straightened out."

"No, first we find Jim, then we take you to the hospital, and Jim and I work it out in the waiting room with you refereeing from two doors away while the docs work on you."

"Well, the idea is to get back to where we were, right?"

Blair won a faint grimace that could almost be called a smile from Simon, and unearthed his date book from his desk, sheepishly asking the day before flipping through it to find a spare invitation attached with his name on it. It sorrowed him to look through the planner and see so many of them, more than a few of the later ones with lists of reasons Blair should go written to one side. On a whim, he turned to the day the elevator had broken down to see if Jim had stuck to his game plan to get him to go to Palm Springs with him, and winced at the terse, "Sandburg, elevator, not how it should have been."

"Blair?" Simon asked worriedly, half-reaching for him as if he expected him to keel over.

"It's okay," Blair hastened to reassure him, closing the book and locking it back up after extracting the heavy parchment envelope. "Just getting too clear a picture of how long it's been since Jim and I were on the same wave-length."

Clearly taken aback, Simon said, "I wouldn't have thought there were any problems at all. I can't remember the last time I saw the two of you go at it. Usually it's at least once a week, with Jim's digging in his heels about something, and you bowling him over with your usual combination of rapid-fire reasoning and mad terrier persistence."

"That wouldn't fit with his easy-going, don't-give-a-shit-about-anything persona for the case," Blair said, but the words were automatic, with no real truth in them. If he was honest with himself, and God knew the situation was far too desperate now for bullshit, the lack of opposition and pattern of offhand accommodation had begun before that. He'd attributed it to honeymoon behavior and gone along for the ride, happily expecting them to butt heads again, sooner rather than later, and probably over nothing of any more importance than whose turn it was to cook.

"Now might not be the best time to ask, but are things okay between you, then? I mean, I didn't...." Simon trailed off, guilt returning in full force.

Mentally seeing his invitations for events scheduled for months in advance, Blair said pensively, "We're not good; too much distance for too long. There's no excuse for it, though I could come up with some very compelling ones if I wanted to. But we're hanging in there, too."

He sighed and struggled to his feet, trying to accept Simon's supportive palm under his elbow with grace. "I have to find him and start getting us back to where we belong. No way can I rest up from whatever's getting to me if I'm worried about him." Meeting Simon's gaze, he added with painful candor that cut both ways, "If he's not ready to deal with you yet, I'm going to have to bail. I've only got enough for one battle right now, and he's my priority."

"You do what you have to. I can fight my own wars, thank you very much, and if Ellison thinks the one between us is over, he's made a serious miscalculation." Simon sounded gruff, and changed the subject by gingerly guiding Blair toward the door. "What party are we crashing tonight?"

To Blair's chagrin he was panting heavily by the time they got to Simon's car, and he slept all the way to the mansion where the party was being held. The invitation was enough to get them past the guard at the gate, but the doorman took one long, disdainful sniff at the suit hanging off him and at Simon's work-mussed appearance and refused to let them by. Simon's badge and terse demand to speak to his detective, now, didn't impress him either, forcing Blair to play his trump card.

Tugging at Simon's elbow to get his attention before he arrested the doorman, Blair said, "Man, can I borrow your cell for a moment? I'll call Maddy; she'll bring Jim out to us, since he doesn't keep his on when he's on duty for her." He played up the name dropping just enough for Simon to get it.

"Ms. Forrester will not be happy to be interrupted," Simon answered, handing him the phone. "Not for this."

Carefully dialing her personal number save for the last digit, grateful Jim had made him memorize it in case of emergency, Blair said, "No, but she won't be upset with us. She knew before Jim started working for her as her second in command that sometimes police business would have to come first. And if this case goes bad... well, I'd rather have to kiss Maddy's lovely bottom than be in ass kicking range when Jim finds out."

"Jim... You mean James Ellison, Ms. Forrester's security expert?" the doorman said suspiciously.

"What other ex-cov ops Ranger, Cop of the Year detective would have the balls take on that crowd on their own turf?" Simon snapped.

The doorman stiffened, then stepped to one side. He got the last word, though. "Good luck finding him."

The moment they cleared the foyer Blair acknowledged the hit as he gave Simon the phone back. There had to be over two hundred people in the house, scattered over what he thought was most of the first floor and likely part of the second as well. Simon swore, then set course for a small sunroom off the main reception hall that had several garden chairs scattered among the abundance of flowering plants.

"Sit. I'll find Ellison."

"Water, too, please?" Blair asked, abashed at needing to.

"I'll direct a waiter your way as soon as I spot one." After taking a moment to orient himself and create a game plan, Simon set off with a heavy, purposeful stride that had people automatically stepping out of his way.

The sunroom was surprisingly well situated for visually searching the crowd through various windows in other wings of the building, and Blair never stopped scanning for Jim, even when an unexpectedly compassionate waiter appeared, not just with the water, but a cup of warm broth. Blair's thanks were heartfelt. His hands were shaking, and the soup went a long way toward fortifying him. It gave him enough of a boost that he stood and made short forays in varying directions, always looking for his partner.

A familiar set of shoulders, held militarily straight, passed from the main body of the party to a quieter, less-populated section. Staying close to the wall, both for the occasional support and to remain as unnoticed as possible, Blair aimed for the same area and arrived just as Jim joined his father and brother. The three of them didn't acknowledge each other, but stayed in their own personal space, watching the party in the other room and sipping at drinks.

Half-hidden by double doors that were only partly open, Blair hesitated, put off by the vague air of tense expectation they gave off. Certain that a confrontation was brewing between them, but doubtful he should interfere, he sank deeper into his shadowed nook. Telling himself that he could always show himself if matters got out of hand and that he couldn't back off without drawing notice to himself, he buried his worried prying under a ton of other rationalizations and listened intently.

After a few sips of his drink, apparently put off by James's pose of boredom and indifference, William said with forced good spirits, "Terrific party."

"Yes," James said absently, eyes flitting everywhere in surveillance. "Everything is running very smoothly, and the mood's good. Score another one for Maddy; she set up the coordinator with the Mathers."

"How does she do that, anyway?" Stephen asked with genuine curiosity in his voice. "Most people go after the most well-known or follow the recommendations of friends who've had success with a particular person. Half the time they hate the end results. Go to Maddy and let her pick for you, and you're practically guaranteed a success you're happy with."

Before James could answer, William broke in. "She claims that business has only gotten better since you came on board with her, too, Jimmy. I think she called you her 'back-up,' saying you had a knack for asking questions that never occurred to her but provided very important information."

"Part of the cop mindset," James said, shrugging off the compliment.

"Not anymore, I understand." Blair could almost taste the satisfaction in William's voice.

Unruffled, James nodded and took a sip of his drink. "As of a couple of days ago."

"Going on with Maddy full time?" Stephen asked in surprise.

"Nope. Gave her my notice the day after."

Shocked, Blair almost slid to the floor, but jammed himself into the corner to stay on his feet. He missed the start of Stephen's comment, refocusing as he said, "...do now, then?"

"Friend of hers has this private island in the Hawaiian chain, and she wrangled a stay for me there as an exit bonus," James said, tone blase. "Soon as the night's done, I'm scooping up Blair and heading there for a week or twelve of white sands, blue oceans, hot sun, cool breezes, and the occasional side trip for killer surfing. After that, who knows? Blair might need a manager for an expedition, or have a line on somebody who does. I've got enough contacts in various parts of the world to make a go of that or something like it. We'll work it out."

Taking a shaky breath, Blair closed his eyes in relief that James was working on the supposition that he would be with him, no matter what. All he had to worry about was how much of his Jim survived underneath the shell of James, and how to draw him back out. //And what,// he wondered bitterly, unhappily, //are you going to do if James is all that's left?//

With no choice but to put that aside until he had to deal with it, Blair studied William's reaction to James' answer, deciding that he wasn't going to like what the man had to say next. Swirling the contents of his glass around, William watched the miniature whirlpool. "You could come work for me. With Maddy's recommendation and those contacts of yours, you could easily overcome the lack of business background. Even make it an asset; working outside the box and all that."

Anger rising fast, Stephen took a full step away. James touched his arm, reaching past his father to do it. "Blindsided you, huh? Don't worry. I learned a long time ago that I'd rather have a little brother than a trip to Tokyo. No way will I ever play the game of me against you to make him happy again."

"It won't be like that," William protested.

"If that were true," Stephen said bitterly, "You would have told me you were going to make Jim the same offer you made me just a few hours ago." Taking an exaggerated detour around William, he moved to stand in front of James, setting aside his glass as he did. "I've regretted for years that I didn't have the balls to take my lumps for what I did to that motherfucking car. At the time I was just so damn mad and frustrated and..."

With a fake slap to Stephen's forehead, James broke in. "Hey, been there, done that. Let it go. It's not like Pops didn't know I was telling the truth. Leaving me behind was as much to reward you for setting me up as it was to punish me for not ratting you out to protect myself. His idea of an important life lesson."

Stephen spun on his heel, saw the truth on William's face before he could recover from hearing James speak it, and walked away. "Jim, I'll be in touch. I swear. Let Maddy know where you are, okay?" he said over his shoulder.

Smiling, James called back, "I'll come looking for you if you don't." Once he was out of normal earshot, he added complacently, "Turned out okay after all, didn't you, Stevie?"

Blair thought that William was going to have a stroke where he stood, but with a speed that James must have inherited from him, he recouped quickly. "Well," he said heartily, "that's one way to eliminate the competition. That Ranger training is more useful than I would have given credit for. One more reason why you'd be a serious asset to the company. The board might even have a few choice assignments for you on a freelance basis at first, to give you a better idea of your opportunities with us."

Going back to his scrutiny of the party, James said uninterestedly, "Why the hell would I do that?"

William gaped at him, then visibly pulled himself together again. "Money, prestige, power - the important, necessary ingredients for a successful life."

For an answer, James snorted into his drink, then finished it and put his glass beside Stephen's.

Annoyed, William tried yet again. "Fine, you don't like me, don't appreciate what I did for you when you were growing up. There are other companies, other positions where you can put your talents to good use. You don't have to be a nobody all your life, Jimmy, just to spite me."

"It's all about you, huh?" James said lazily. "What an ego. No wonder Blair can't stand me when I start channeling you, which I do all too well and all too often."

He finally turned to face his father, but whatever was in his expression sent William stumbling back, hand flailing for support. "Want to know what money, power and influence are good for? Let's see, who can we use... there, let's start with Mr. Thurber and his fondness for throwing his weight around. You have to wonder if the size of his dick has anything to do with his compulsion to constantly prove how important he is. He does have a great deal of influence. Possibly enough to keep him out of prison when the board of directors finds out what he's been doing with the employee pension funds, not to mention the insurance kickbacks he receives for making sure it's almost impossible for anyone in the company to successfully make a significant claim. Going to need the money too, by the time the IRS and the lawyers get through with him."

"Jimmy!"

"Oh, can the outrage. Tell me that you weren't planning on using me to dig up stuff exactly like that. Now where were we?" James pivoted slowly, and Blair huddled down into his niche, trying to be invisible. "How about money? There's Mr. and Mrs. Harrison. Decent people, he's old money, she was a minor actress at one point, but believe it or not, it's a love match. It almost failed because the mister couldn't believe that anyone as beautiful and lively as his wife would actually marry him for himself. Even signing a pre-nup wasn't enough to convince him that she truly loves him. Almost drove her into divorcing him because of his non-stop harping on his worth, her spending, how he'd cut her off if she did this or that. Had to have a talk with him about self-image. Seems to have helped. They're in counseling now, and she's looking a lot happier."

William opened and shut his mouth several times while James surveyed the crowd again, but couldn't find words - right, wrong, or indifferent - to express himself. Apparently he was as mesmerized by James' outpouring as Blair was.

Unconcerned about the lack of response, James said, "That leaves power. Nasty one, power is; the obsession of a coward, usually. I could use Police Commissioner Franks as an example, but he's a poor one because he doesn't really understand power. He'll find that out when he's arrested, if he hasn't been already, for stealing from the police department. Actually thought being the commissioner would put him above suspicion and allow him to safely point the finger at somebody else."

"He's a nobody!" William snapped, fighting to compose himself again.

"Point," James conceded willingly. "How about Judge Fortner, then? You're well acquainted with him, and he's the reason I'm still at this waste of time; to keep an eye on him. Some uniforms will be waiting for him when he walks out to arrest him for child molestation and a whole host of related charges. Seems he started screwing his daughter when she was seven, and developed such an appetite for under-aged girls, he's been literally stealing or buying them from various sources for years. He's gotten away with it because of his position, because of the reputation he so carefully cultivated, because he terrified all those little girls into believing that he would destroy all that they loved if they ever ran away or opened their mouths against him."

"Jimmy, I..."

As if he didn't hear him, James said, "The important thing to note, the *real* life lesson here, is that these pampered, useless, helpless, pointless people are like everybody else. Just people. With the same weaknesses, the same basic problems, the same needs. They try to convince themselves they're not, and maybe someday Blair can explain to me why. In the meantime, I've had enough of this crowd to last me a good long while."

Outrage, probably at being forced to face the truth, gave William the push he needed to recoup and turn to attack. "Going to follow in the footsteps of your faggot lover and spend all your time at a temple, pretending that being humble and poor makes you better than anybody else?"

Unperturbed, James said, "Faggot is such a poor word to describe what kind of lover Blair Sandburg is. Enthusiastic, eager, sensual, considerate come to mind, along with quite a few others. And if he decides that the temple is for him, well, he's always been the spiritual type. I'm going bald anyway. Might as well shave off what's left and join him, if that's the life he wants." James chuckled, probably at the image of himself in saffron robes and prayer beads.

His father was frozen in horror, and either not noticing or not caring, James straightened and went on alert. "Good! Banks is here; looks like he's going to execute the warrant on the Judge. I can see why the Captain of Major Crimes would be called on to do the job, but..." Head tilting to one side, he took on the posture that Blair associated with extending his hearing, jaw muscle abruptly throbbing.

//Oh, man, Simon must be telling him that I'm sick!// Blair thought, and gathered his strength to make his escape back to where Simon had left him. Before he could do more than hitch a few inches away, James abandoned his father without a backwards glance and headed straight for him.

Guessing that he was already listening for him, Blair whispered, "I'm sorry, so sorry, didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I didn't want to have to look for you again in the crowd, and your conversation with your dad was so intense, I thought I'd just wait here and follow you when you were done. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Dropping to his knees in front of him and gathering him into his arms, Jim broke into his chant. "It's okay, you didn't do anything wrong, hush, Chief, hush and breathe for me, please. ake a nice, long, slow breath."

Blair tried, he really tried, but he couldn't do more than sip at air through the vise squashing his lungs flat, sending his heart into a pounding frenzy. It hurt, more than being shot, even, and he clung weakly to Jim's shirt in the front, sparkles swimming at the edges of his vision for the second time that day. He wanted to apologize again, this time for being a hassle, for interrupting Jim's vacation plans with a trip to the doctor, for getting sick on him, for half a dozen tiny wrongs that had nothing to do with a huge wad of guilt that he was too tired and hurt to worry his way through.

There was no way he could do more than mouth the words, though, and Jim kissed him to stop them, then rested his cheek against Blair's temple. "Sh, sh. Dammit, don't worry about anything but hanging in there for me. Your heart's racing a mile a minute, stumbling every few beats. Hold on, Blair. Hold on."

Pulling out his cell phone, Jim turned it on and dialed 911, rocking Blair as if he were a child. Even if he could have protested the cuddling, Blair wouldn't have. It felt so good - warm and safe and sheltering. Willingly trusting Jim to take care of him, Blair surrendered to his body's ailment, withdrawing deep inside himself to husband his resources for use when he had a better idea of what he was fighting.

His world became darkness punctuated with strobe-light instances of motion and sound, with Jim's touch and voice the only constant linking them. He was on his back, Jim performing compressions on him, mouth warm from Jim's breath. He was lifted into a screaming, flashing beast, Jim's fingers wound in his as Jim argued with a wraith about possession. He asked for Jim over and over, fighting strange hands on him to hang onto the warmth being pulled away from him. He sobbed, hugging Jim with feeble intent and burrowing away from hard words. Finally, finally, finally he was in bed, Jim spooned behind him, soothing away every tiny ache with knowing sentinel fingertips as Blair dropped into a natural sleep.

When he drifted up to awareness, Jim was still with him, lying on his back and letting Blair use him for a gigantic body pillow. He had an arm positioned under Blair's so perfectly that the IV needle in it didn't pull or pinch at all, and the one curled around Blair's shoulder held the oxygen and heart monitor lines so that Blair could move comfortably. Peering through his lashes, Blair took in the room around him, mildly startled that it looked more like a luxury suite in a hotel than a hospital room.

"Whoa," he whispered nearly silently. "Guess money, influence and power are good for a few things, anyway."

"Maddy insisted on the private rooms, not that I argued very hard," Jim whispered back. "As far as she's concerned, the only thing wealth and status are good for is taking care of what's important to her. Thank god we fall into that category. No visiting hours to worry about, the nurses aren't giving me hard time for holding you, and the doctors are taking your condition seriously instead of lumping you in with the mental cases."

Stretching in tiny increments to test how well he felt, Blair said inelegantly, "Huh? I thought I just over did it, big time. I've seen it happen to other students: too little food, work too hard, not enough sleep."

Whispering a barely-there kiss to Blair's temple, Jim said hoarsely, "Your heart's not working right, and it's affecting your oxygen levels, making it feel like you can't breathe. You're still not doing well; I can hear the arrhythmia." He shifted his feet restlessly, as if killing the impulse to do something else. "The idiot down in the E.R. when we first came in was blathering about anorexia and electrolyte imbalances. When your symptoms didn't respond to treatment for that, he switched to this bizarre theory that you were making yourself sick somehow, because you didn't want me to let go of you."

Indignant, but too tired to do much about it, Blair muttered, "It's exhaustion. Manifesting weirdly, maybe, but I've run close to the edge before. This doesn't seem that different. Really."

He had the feeling that Jim gave him an unbelieving look, but he didn't lift his head to find out. Instead he said, "They ran tests, right? Found nothing, right?"

"No sign of infection or toxins, but I contacted Hai Ping to see if you might have been exposed to a plant or insect bite esoteric enough that Western medicine wouldn't know to test for it. Clear there, though Hai Ping did say he had been worried about you for a few days." Jim hesitated, but added, "He thought you were having black-outs; you sometimes couldn't remember who or what you'd been talking to or about."

"Damn." Blair tried to mentally reconstruct the days between giving his dissertation to Eli to proofread and his panic attack in the garden, but couldn't come up with anything except an overall feeling of being drained and unhappy. "That means brain scans, that sort of thing."

"Already scheduled."

"They'll find nothing," Blair said confidently, then, to his dismay, yawned, as if he'd been awake for days instead of minutes. "You'll see. All I need is food and rest." From somewhere he dredged up enough energy to give Jim a suggestive hip bump. "And some of your expert TLC." He yawned again, falling fast back to the land of nod. "Take me home, partner. I'll be back on my feet in no time."

"Wouldn't you rather go someplace warm and sunny?" Jim suggested, surprising Blair enough that he blinked himself semi-aware again.

"That's right; the private island. Can't it wait?"

"Of course. But it doesn't have to be there. Isn't there a retreat in Arizona that Naomi's always trying to get you to visit?"

The idea of traveling bothered Blair, but he was too foggy to pinpoint why. Not able to go there, he did the easy thing. "Yeah, but maybe the beach is a better idea. I'll be up and around in no time."

***

He wasn't. When he wasn't able to stay awake for more than a short period of time, sleeping for hours on end, Jim refused to even discuss checking out against medical advice. It didn't help his case that when he was up, just feeding himself was enough to turn his lips and fingertips blue from lack of oxygen. The only ground he was able to gain was to convince the doctors that he wasn't a head case, which was done with careful misdirection, since he wasn't sure himself why he was so frantic for Jim to stay close. He talked his way out of a session with a psychiatrist, blaming his hysteria on the typical mental confusion from incredible pain and anoxia, his innate trust of Jim's abilities as a medic, and an overall distrust of doctors. Though he was careful not to make the last accusing, his point was made by the very fact that they couldn't pinpoint why he was ill.

Oddly, Jim didn't participate in those discussions except to back whatever decision Blair made about his treatment, and that was done quietly without the usual raging. It was the only part of Blair's stay that he wasn't active in. From the first he took on duties usually left to nurses, pointing out that Blair was comfortable with him performing them because of previous injuries. Which was truth, in part. Blair hated anyone dancing attendance on him, no matter how sick he was, but Jim went about even the most personal tasks with a bland matter-of-factness that made it easier for Blair to simply accept his help.

Drifting in the insulated cocoon of the suite and Jim's loving care, Blair lost track of reality again. Though he had moments of clarity where he knew he was in trouble, it was too much effort to do more than convince himself he'd worry about it later. The only thing that truly disturbed him was the very strong possibility that Jim was the only reason he was conscious at all.

Forever after he would wonder how long they would have gone on like that if a young doctor, eager to make an impression of how good a physician he was, hadn't ignored Jim's 'do not approach' manner. He shoved up the sleeve of Jim's sweater as Jim lowered Blair back to the mattress during an exam, and drew a line in the air above an angry red mark on Jim's arm. "Nasty lesion - looks like an allergic reaction of some kind."

"Probably to the detergents used to wash the hospital linens," Jim said dismissively.

"You shouldn't take that type of damage lightly; it's too prone to infection."

"I am aware of that. Thank you for your concern," Jim said too blandly. "Did you get the results back from that last MRI?"

The doctor took the hint and returned his attention to his patient, but Blair promised Jim with his eyes that they would be having a conversation on the matter later. As soon as they were alone, he said shortly, "Take off your sweater."

"This isn't the time for this."

Holding up a hand to forestall him, Blair shook his head. "It has just occurred to me that you haven't undressed in front of me since *before* my incarceration here, and if I'd been alert enough to think about it, I'd have wondered why you always sleep on top of the blankets now. After all, the entire medical staff has to know we're together; you haven't exactly been shy about how close we are. So body conscious doesn't make sense. So. Strip. Now."

Dispassionately Jim did as he was told, and without being prompted turned so that Blair could see his back. Blair counted at least seven more of the lesions scattered over his torso and arms. "Legs?" he asked grimly.

"Three, one on the bottom of the right foot." Jim reached for his sweater to put back on. "It doesn't matter. They don't bother me that much, and I'm treating them myself."

"We can at least make sure you don't get more. We can ask Simon or Megan to drop by the loft and bring a set of sheets from there, and our laundry supplies. For what Maddy's paying for this place, the cleaning staff won't balk at special orders. Hell, it's a hospital. They probably deal with this kind of problem all the time." Blair ran his fingers through his hair, trying to think of other things they should have on hand for Jim's sensitivities.

"No need to bother them; I'll pay an orderly to do it."

The very idea of a stranger in the loft right now threatened to make Blair hyperventilate, but he quashed the possibility ruthlessly. That gave him the chance to notice that Jim was very carefully not looking at him, as if he didn't want him to see what was really going on with him. Belatedly Blair remembered that Jim's preferred method of dealing with the past was to turn his back on it and act as if it had never happened.

Trying to sound understanding, Blair asked, "When was the last time you spoke with Simon? Or any of the bullpen?"

Expecting Jim's normal stonewalling, Blair was taken aback when he said tonelessly, "Not since I quit. What would I have to say to them?"

"That may be how you prefer to handle disappointment in your friends, but it's not my way," Blair said carefully. "I'd rather give them a chance or twelve, if they're important to me. I mean, everybody fucks up once in a while." He bit his lip, but had to ask, "I haven't had a visitor since I got here... are you keeping them out?"

Jim's surprise was real. "Of course not. You haven't asked for any, and I didn't think to check with the floor station nurses to see if anybody's wanted to."

Not above playing on Jim's protectiveness, Blair yawned and wilted into the bed. "Call Simon for me, please. Let him know how I'm doing, and that I'd like to see him."

Shrugging, Jim said, "If that's what you want."

//I've heard that a lot from him lately,// Blair thought. //Maybe too much, weird as that seems on the surface. Even more weird is *how* he says it most of the time; as if he truly doesn't care one way or the other.//

Apparently preferring to get it over and done with, Jim reached for the phone, but Blair dozed off before he connected with Simon. It was a less than peaceful rest, a new twist on Blair's condition, which he thought might be a good sign, when he blearily peeked through half-raised eyelids a while later. He considered it an even better one that it was Simon's arrival that had most likely awakened him.

Taking a moment to stare at Jim's stubbornly turned back where he stood at the window at the far end of the suite, Simon stopped by Blair's bed, clearly uncertain what to say or do. Blair mouthed 'please' at him and looked significantly at Jim. Simon grimaced, gave a minute shake of his head and turned his head down to study his hands where they rested on the mattress. Patiently, Blair waited until he looked at him again, and silently begged with all he had, fingers worrying the edge of his sheet in agitation.

Closing his eyes, Simon soundlessly sighed and capitulated. Patting Blair's pillow, as if afraid to cause pain by patting Blair himself, Simon left to wander around the room, slowly tacking toward Jim. Without warning, Blair's perception skewed, making the room appear incredibly vast, with Jim an unimaginable distance away, gradually receding. Fascinated by the sight, Blair fixed his attention on Jim, willing him to stop and wait. He didn't, but Simon eventually caught up to him, almost as if by chance. Standing shoulder to shoulder at the window, Simon's hands knotted behind his back, Jim's arms crossed over his chest, they didn't move or speak, but pretended that whatever was on the other side of the glass was riveting.

To Blair's eye, they looked perfectly comfortable with the silence, as if it spoke for them in a language unique to them. In indiscernible increments Jim's unyielding stance relaxed, shoulders lowering, jaw muscle going still, and Simon's spine lost its rigid line, allowing his fingers to release their death grip on each other. Just as Blair had to wonder if they would part without officially acknowledging each other's presence, Simon's cell rang.

Breathing a curse, he answered shortly, listened, then said, "Do it." As he put the phone away, he said, "We're still dealing with the fall-out from that lovely package you sent to me. Eight arrests, three more pending further investigation."

"Franks?"

Simon grinned smugly. "I reserved the privilege of that one for myself. Had to fight off the captain of every other department to do it, but I made the arrest a few hours before I came over." He paused, and added oh-so-nonchalantly, "Must have been hard to give it up, instead of taking care of it yourself."

"I figure he spent more time chewing on your backside than mine."

//Apology given and accepted, both sides,// Blair thought in satisfaction. //No mention of the job yet, one way or the other, but Simon would think it's too soon with me sick and everything.// He blinked, and the room was back to normal, and Jim was walking Simon to the door, talking quietly.

He blinked again, and from his point of view, it was suddenly night and Jim was stretched out on his side next to Blair, arm curled under his head and free hand resting over Blair's heart. It was like every other time Blair had awakened in this room, except now Jim was wearing only boxers, and the sheet had fallen down around his waist, leaving his upper body exposed.

Scooting away a few inches so he could look his fill, grateful that they had persuaded the doctors to remove the monitoring equipment, Blair thought, //My God, he's beautiful. He's lost weight, more than he can afford with that buff build of his, but I swear every line and muscle on him is homage to masculine perfection.//

The urge to admire that excellence played lazily through Blair, making him want to inspect Jim from head to toe with fingertips, lips, and tongue. Under other circumstances, what he felt might have been desire, but he didn't have near the strength for that. Still, he didn't resist the impulse. Reacquainting himself with all that lovely Jim-topography beat the hell out of lying around being sick and tired of being sick and tired.

Delicately he nosed along Jim's throat and breastbone, enjoying the scent and textures, and taking random tastes with dainty licks. Before Blair had close to his fill, Jim's arms came around to hold him closer. "You must be feeling better," Jim rumbled drowsily.

"Not really," Blair sighed, cuddling into Jim's stomach and drawing a series of overlapping valentines with a fingernail. "You looked so inviting, and I want to do something besides struggle with the basics of being alive."

Digging under Blair's curls to massage his scalp, Jim said, "Who am I to complain that I'm the something that you want to do?"

Blair chuckled, as he'd probably intended. "Don't know if it'll go that far, but, man…" He arched into Jim's touch, turning his face so he could nuzzle at Jim's belly button. "I've missed this, missed you, missed *us*."

"Yes," Jim hissed, as much in agreement as in pleasure as Blair teased one of the most erotic spots he had.

From there Blair meandered where whim took him, flowing over Jim in slow motion. His leisurely perusal was a delight he had never imagined, caught as he had always been in the pursuit of coming. Nor had he ever considered how satisfying it was, in ways he couldn't readily describe, to have Jim at his mercy under his touch, quivering and murmuring wordlessly in appreciation. The greatest joy of all was that Jim was willing to remain passive, willingly letting Blair dictate the course of this intimate communion.

Blair re-learned the corded heat of Jim's legs, the amazingly downy curve of the back of his knees, the hard contours of his ass. Though tempted to delve deeper to new territory, he kissed the top of Jim's cleft in future promise, and went on to other marvels. Fascinated by the sweep of his shoulder blades and elegant line of his neck, he lingered long enough to leave several love-bites before venturing on. Nipples, always a favorite for both of them, took on a whole new dimension of allure, and Blair devoted long, lovely minutes to them. Sometimes he used a whisper soft brush of a lock of his hair; sometimes it was a faint puff of cool air, sometimes a cautious tug of teeth or lips. Jim turned into one unmoving clench of muscle, making no sound, not even when his panting turned ragged.

Taking pity on him, Blair drifted downward, carefully not making contact with the furiously erect cock jutting out from Jim's groin. Curling up so he was within licking range of it, Blair considered his options. Before he could choose, Jim tucked a forefinger under his chin and tilted back his head until he could meet his gaze.

"I know you're really enjoying what you're doing, but you don't have to worry about taking care of that." Jim stroked along Blair's jaw and made as if to pull him away.

"How can you tell?" Blair meant it facetiously, but Jim smiled his best happy 'I love you,' smile.

"You're humming all over, like a bass string on a piano that's just been plucked. It's the sexiest damn thing I've ever felt, and if you keep it up long enough, that'll be all I need."

"Wow." Hunger hit Blair like a blow to the gut, but faded too fast for him to act on it. Eyeing the plump, nearly purple crown in front of him, he murmured, "Then this should be like the whole damn orchestra is vibrating through me."

With no more warning than that, he slurped it into himself, swirling his tongue around it to get all of the taste. Jim keened deep in his throat, but didn't move save to bury his fingers in Blair's curls. Blair loved that and hummed his enjoyment around the cock filling his mouth. Flicking a series of tiny licks against the rim of the head, he sank down farther onto the shaft, lips clinging as he sucked hard. There was something about the smoothness or the heat of Jim's hardon that got to him, making him semi-erect and preternaturally aware of the eroticism in giving head. Kneading Jim's balls with careful fingertips, he slid up and down the velvet length, taking a surprising amount of pleasure in simply servicing the man he loved.

"Blair!" Jim gasped in warning, and Blair fancied he could feel the first rush of his release through the base of Jim's cock. "Blair… love…Oh! Oh, oh, oh." Jim broke, and pumped raggedly as he spilled, hands holding Blair in place as he used him.

Whimpering, Blair drank him down, shuddering in sympathetic response to Jim's release. It was so good, almost as good as coming himself, and he had to pull away to drag air into his suddenly laboring lungs. He leaned his forehead into Jim's stomach and drifted away in the heat and love pouring from his lover.

When he came back to himself, Blair knew from his appalling weakness that their stolen moment had been survival's last hurrah, not a sign of recovery. With a last kiss to his pillow, he wormed up, with Jim's help, until they were nose-to-nose, hands, still entwined, lying on the bedding between them.

"Jim, man, we have to talk," Blair said so softly even Jim had to strain to hear him. "I think I'm running out of time, and the doctors haven't gotten anywhere, so I have to wonder if we're not looking in the wrong direction to find a solution. I mean, when you went to the hospital after your abilities came back on line, they didn't find anything, and all the times you've been back for whatever reason, they've never had reason to question you about your senses. Since they haven't been able to tell us what's wrong... maybe... maybe there's a link between what's going on with me and the sentinel thing."

Expecting Jim to cloud up with incipient anger like he always did when issues with his abilities stuck their heads up, Blair was shocked when he simply closed his eyes in pain, lips pressing into a tight, white line. Though it wasn't what he had planned for, Blair forged ahead. "If you had a cold, and I caught it, you would be the source, not the fault. Get it? If I'm right, and some aspect of your gifts is involved with my condition - It's Not Your Fault. It's just cause and effect, which you're no more responsible for than you are the weather, okay?"

In a calm, conversational tone that was as shocking as his initial reaction, Jim asked, "What do you need for me to do?"

Much as he wanted to sidetrack and find out why his partner was behaving so uncharacteristically, Blair had no choice but to stay on topic. "For now, please listen, really listen, not wait for gaps in the talking to insert your own comments or let my voice become background noise that you filter out until you pickup on a cue to pay attention again. Like you're discussing a particularly puzzling case with another detective? I've got all these bits and pieces, but I can't assemble them into anything useful. Maybe a brainstorming session, especially one filtered through what we both know about sentinels, and what Incacha taught you, can break the case for us."

Without a trace of sarcasm or offense, Jim said, "I can do that."

Again Blair had to push down the impulse to forget about his problem and go after what was so off with Jim. "None of this is in any particular order. To an extent, I'm free associating."

At Jim's nod of understanding, he rested his forehead against Jim's, watching his thumb restlessly skim over Jim's knuckles. "I may have been able to bullshit the doctors, but I can't bullshit myself. The very idea of you being out of my sight is enough to make me want to hyperventilate. In fact, that's what this *feels* like to me. Not like I have a heart problem, but like I'm in one seriously prolonged panic attack. Even the urge to get out, escape, is the same. It's low key because you're here, but I have to tell you, there's nothing I want more than to be home, in our bed at the loft."

Frowning, Blair paused, mentally counting back to see if he could spot when that particular symptom started, but couldn't. "Which is kinda weird, since the loft is the last place I wanted to be while you were undercover. Got to the point that I couldn't stand being at the station, either, which was why I was at the temple. That's the exact opposite of where you were at. You wanted me home, as if nothing was going on, and now that it's possible, that's the last place you want to be."

At the lack of denial, Blair bit his lip, and went on. "It's not the only thing that's topsy turvy, now that I think about it. You constantly monitor me with your senses, but that's the only way you're using them, isn't it?" He skated a careful ring around the lesion near the bottom of Jim's ribs. "Otherwise this would be driving you up the wall. Normally they're focused outward, and I'm just background information."

"No, you were the constant, the baseline for calibration," Jim corrected. "Now you're all over the place: scent, taste, everything. It's worse than spikes or going offline."

"Oh." Blair swallowed, hard, and dragged himself back to the subject at hand. "You've been taking such good care of me, nothing new there, though I miss the bitching, believe it or not. Not that you ever snarled at me when I was hurt before. Remember when Quinn shot me in the leg, and you distracted me when you were changing the bandages by coming up with creative demises for him? I think my favorite was you were going to dress him like Shirley Temple and dump him in the middle of a skinhead conclave."

That won him a smile, albeit a crooked one, and Blair finally gave in. "You're not you, Jim. It's like you're still undercover, this time as companion and caregiver to Blair Sandburg. Is it that hard to deal with the discrepancy between my healthy sensory signature and now? Does that have anything to do with not wanting to go home?"

"I thought you wanted me to listen?" Jim didn't lose his smile or move away, but he didn't answer the question, either.

Swatting at him feebly, Blair said, "I said brainstorm, too. This concerns you intimately, so your input could make a difference. Dodging the issue, which is *my* technique - thank you very much for stealing it! - is not a help."

"If you're going to steal, steal from the best," Jim teased, and kissed the back of Blair's hand. "Seriously, I've been where I am before; it's comfortable, familiar. I don't think you need to figure it into what's happening."

Truly curious, Blair asked, "Been where?"

Clearly searching for words, Jim said, "Waiting... in between..." He shook his head at himself. "It doesn't matter since it's not sentinel-related."

"Tell me anyway?" Intuition prompted Blair that it was important for him to understand, for Jim's sake, to hell with anything else for the moment.

With an irritated and blessedly welcome glare that told Blair his hunch was right, Jim said, "You're not going to let it go, are you?"

At Blair's unrepentant grin, Jim scrubbed his face and rolled to his back. "The first time was when I left home without the old man's blessings. I wasn't William Ellison's son, anymore, or Stephen's brother, or the Ellison boy. I wasn't the football captain or the rich kid born with a silver spoon in his mouth. I wasn't anybody and discovered I didn't have a problem with that. That was the best summer of my life, and I wouldn't trade it for anything."

"Because of the freedom?" Blair asked, wanting to encourage him.

"More than freedom, but, yeah that was part of it. I had a couple of great part-time jobs, took some interesting classes just for fun at the university that I planned on attending that fall, found a place to crash. Everybody I met took me at face value; I was just another kid getting through the summer."

"What happened?"

Jim shrugged with his free hand. "Regular fall classes, declaring a major, ROTC, college football - all the things that define a young man on his way to being a productive adult. I settled into school the way I was supposed to and the waiting was over. The next time was when I graduated but before my enlistment started - not as long, and not as good, maybe because I knew where I was heading. After that..."

He fell silent, and Blair had the feeling he was looking deep into himself, reluctant to voice what he found. Eventually, possibly worn down by Blair's patience, Jim went on. "When I was sitting by the graves of my men in Peru, I accepted that my life as an officer and soldier was over. The mission was there, and I'd accomplish it so that my men hadn't died for nothing, but it was for them, not for the Army. Renouncing that left me blank, weary with the lack of who to be, then Incacha found me and created a place for me with the Chopec that let me live up to the promises I made over those graves."

"Did you like being Enquiri?" Blair couldn't help but ask.

"For the most part, but there was never any question that it was a temporary measure. After I came back to the states and joined the force, I wasn't sure that's what I wanted, so I went back into waiting mode. One thing about Vice, it's not the best department to get a good idea of what it is to be a cop. For me, that took joining Major Crimes and being partnered with Pendergrast. Despite all the downsides, soon there was no question that the badge was right for me."

"It still is," Blair said earnestly, seeing an opportunity to mend bridges for him.

Giving a squeeze, Jim said, "Hey, you can just tell Simon you gave changing my mind a shot; you don't have to actually go through the drill. I'll back you up. Either way, he'll stay a friend, I'm sure of it. He's that kind of man."

Thinking his shock gland was done in, possibly for good, Blair mustered the strength to lean up on one elbow and stare down at his partner. Instantly changing tack, Jim stroked his arm soothingly. "It's *okay,* Chief. The moment the real diss was public, I knew my days as a cop were over. It's no excuse, but part of why I was such an ass was because I wasn't ready to let go of it yet. I'm sorry for acting like that, and like I said, I honestly don't mind the wait until we find what's next. The senses are locked down, not giving me any grief, and once you're better, it probably won't take long for you to decide what we should be doing to make the most of the sentinel thing."

About to ask him why he believed he couldn't be a cop any longer, Blair was ambushed by the implications of 'locked' down as opposed to 'dialed' down. Locked meant held captive, restrained and needing to break free, and that was exactly how Blair felt. He couldn't breathe because he was pinned flat by a force greater than himself, all the air compressed out and no way to inhale. With a sudden leap of association, he remembered his first deep breath after nearly drowning at the fountain, and how it had been like an elephant was sitting on top of him.

//I came back because of Jim,// he thought, aware that he was beginning to wheeze but not willing to worry about it when he finally had a sense of the big picture, missing pieces and all. //His will, his love for me, un-admitted then, but true and powerful all the same, bridged life and death. It wouldn't have been possible if not for the sentinel in him. That gave him the power, the means.//

Flopping back down, Blair automatically curled in on himself to ease the flaring ache in his chest. //Is the sentinel in him dying? And taking me with it because I'm tied to it by the merge? Why isn't Jim being affected, then?// Even as he asked himself the question, the answer was there. //He is. That's why I saw him fading into the distance, beyond human reach. If I die... if I die... he will, too.//

As clear as if he were actually seeing it, Blair watched Jim hold his lifeless body, rocking, silent tears streaming down his face. Gradually all motion stopped, and Jim carefully, lovingly arranged them both in the bed as if they were ready for a night's sleep. That done, he exhaled once, long and slow, and simply never inhaled again.

//NO!// Blair shouted mentally, his rejection of the possibility complete and total. //NO!// His back arched, throwing his head back in agonizing rigor.

In the extreme distance, Blair could hear the shout of his name, feel Jim gingerly turn him to his back, straightening his body. Trusting him to take care of the physical practicalities, Blair focused all his will on *understanding.* It didn't make sense that Jim didn't perceive the gradual loss of the sentinel within him. While it wasn't exactly unusual for him to claim to be one hundred percent when he wasn't, Blair would know if Jim were simply in denial. Wouldn't he?

Straining to see, really see his partner, past the dark sparkles encroaching on his vision, Blair caught a glimpse of Jim and shuddered in horror at the battered man bending over him. He looked as if he'd been beaten to within an inch of his life, slowly, allowing the injuries to begin to heal before the next round of abuse. Blair blindly reached for him to offer what comfort he could, knotting his fists into Jim's shirt. The effort used the last of his strength, and he was inexorably pulled toward unconsciousness.

Jim bent, wounds mysteriously gone - to kiss him goodbye, Blair imagined for a moment in despair - then covered his mouth and poured warm, wonderful, Jim-flavored air into him. Blair soaked it up as if it were sunshine on an icy winter's day, reluctant to let it go when Jim lifted to take another breath. He was rewarded for doing what was necessary with another lungful from Jim, then another, each doing more to unwind the invisible coils around his chest until he could breathe on his own.

When he could speak without wheezing, he gave Jim a weak shake, intuition telling him what had to be done before he could share his revelation with his mate. "Take me home, Jim! Please. This place isn't doing me any good, and if I never get any better, that's where I want to be. Do you understand?"

At the hard set of Jim's jaw, Blair relented enough to add as gently as he knew how, "The loft is home to me. If you don't feel that way any more, then take me where you feel the safest and happiest. As long as it's a good place, I won't complain. But get me out of here."

With obvious reluctance, Jim said, "The loft is best, but it's been standing empty a while. I need some time to get it ready - clean it up, air out, restock the kitchen."

"I'll take care of that. You take care of the doctors, paperwork, what-have-you. Use my medical power of attorney, if you have to, but don't let them convince you they know what's best for me."

"Now?"

"Now."

Jim left, and Blair picked up the phone. "Simon? I hate to ask, but there's something I need for you to do for me."

At Simon's gruff, but relieved, 'what?', Blair grinned. "First, call Maddy...."

***

Comfortably ensconced on the couch, a mound of pillows supporting him in a sitting position, Blair watched Megan and Jim argue amiably over how much oregano to use in the spaghetti sauce, Maddy refereeing with genteel authority. It had been, he decided in satisfaction, a stroke of pure inspiration to involve her in the orchestration of getting the loft ready for occupation again. When Jim had brought him home late in the afternoon three days ago, she and Simon had been putting the finishing touches on cleaning the place so thoroughly, it even met Jim's sentinel exacting standards. With the people of Major Crimes serving as their voluntary work crew, it had been done in record time, as well.

//Leave it to Maddy,// Blair thought, //to keep everybody involved after the fact, too, in case we need anything. Her idea for this reverse pot luck party was inspired.//

Joel had started the cooking that morning by making ostrich chili from Blair's recipe, taking home only enough for himself for a couple of meals, and leaving plenty for other cooks, and not incidentally Jim and Blair, to have a serving or two. Rhonda had made beef stew, H and Rafe whipped up a chicken dumpling soup that was delicious and froze well, and Simon, who mysteriously refused to tell what he had planned, was scheduled next. The best part, as far as Blair was concerned, was that everybody had to come back several times to get their fair share of the bounty, and the loft had been buzzing with activity all day long. Though Blair often dozed, he loved the company, and was, in fact, positive that it made him feel better, which was another indication that he had been right about the cause of his illness.

Just seeing Jim settle back into the loft, prowling the perimeter to check locks and security, had been enough to lessen the enormous weight on him a fraction or two. Blair had hoped that being in an environment that was completely familiar to sentinel senses would cause Jim to instinctively ease up on his lockdown over them, and that seemed to be the case. Though the oxygen tank was nearby, Blair hadn't had an attack since arriving, and Jim's behavior - from knowing who was at the door before they knocked to his sigh of appreciation as he slid between the sheets of his own bed - assured Blair he was at least partly online.

If only Jim himself were doing better, Blair would have been willing to bet the worse was over and that everything would be back to normal within a week. But Blair had spent enough time in James' company to be certain when his partner was playing a role, and he was in full character as 'cop socializing with other cops.' He'd acted the part whenever they had visitors, and when Blair had broached the subject of why with Jim, he'd been met with a lack of comprehension that was as impenetrable as it was sincere. As long as Jim was oblivious to any complications within himself, Blair didn't think letting him in on his theory about what was behind his illness was a good idea.

Blair was pulled from his introspection when Jim abruptly broke off his debate with Conner and walked toward the door. "What the hell?"

He flung the door open just as Simon backed through it, holding one end of a deluxe barbeque grill. "I told you we didn't have to worry about it," he said to Stephen Ellison, who was holding the other end.

"Bet you've been waiting years for a chance to throw that trick back in Jim's face," Stephen retorted between puffs. "Hey, Jimmie, want to use some of those impressive muscles and help us get this out to the balcony?"

Jumping to grab the middle, Jim repeated, "What the hell?"

"Can't cook worth a damn," Stephen said with an exaggerated sigh of relief as Jim took some of the weight. "Maddy said buying groceries was a copout...."

"Interesting way to rephrase 'personal touch expected,'" Maddy put in.

Simon paused at the balcony door long enough for Maddy to open it for him. "But I do a dynamite grilled chicken, steak, or hamburger. My marinades get nothing but praise. And the day is beautiful."

"So, I bought dinner, Simon's fixing it, and the spirit of the potluck is intact," Stephen finished with a flourish as they settled the grill next to the smaller one already there. "We brought the big grill because of the quantity we want to make." He caught sight of the blank expression on Jim's face, and asked uncertainly, "What?"

To Blair's eye it was obvious that Jim wanted to remind Simon that the burnt spices and smoke were not kind to sentinel eyes and nose, one reason he'd given up grilling himself. He should have jokingly or with gruff firmness told them that unless he ate the first serving, the accumulated char made enjoying the meat impossible for him. He should have pointed out with cheerful, unrelenting stubbornness that a man's home is his castle, and it was *his* prerogative to man the grill and determine the menu.

Instead, finding an honest seeming smile, Jim said, "Nothing. Simon's marinades are always a big hit, and having a hot, juicy steak waiting for them when the gang comes by to pick up the rest of the dishes will make you a very popular man." Then he retreated to the kitchen. "Did you bring barbeque tools, that sort of thing?"

Apparently Blair wasn't the only one to see something off in Jim's behavior, and Simon traded a puzzled glance with Stephen before he said, "What, no alpha male territoriality display of commandeering the tongs and spatula? No macho, put me in my place, verbal harassment about my place is behind a desk, not a grill?"

His choice of words plucked at Blair's mind, and he ducked his head to think, wondering why the words 'macho' and 'alpha male' would strike a chord. Before he could do more than acknowledge a sense of importance for them, Jim laughed realistically, pulling Blair's attention back to him.

"You've been hanging around Sandburg too much," Jim said lightly. "Who am I to argue with fresh meat that I didn't have to catch, kill, butcher or cook?" Reaching into the fridge he blandly changed the subject. "Salad would be good with that, plus provide grazing for the less carnivorous among us. Which dressing should we make? Sandburg's vinaigrette or Joel's ranch? Both?"

It was obvious Simon wanted to stay on the original topic, but Stephen nudged him and looked pointedly at Blair, who pretended not to be aware of their scrutiny. As clearly as if he heard them speak, he translated their exchange to, *Jim's not himself because he's worried about Blair; give him a break.*

Simon shook his head slightly, and Blair interpreted it as, *No, something else is going on. I'm sure.*

Meeting his gaze levelly, Stephen spread both hands wide. *And you want to get to the bottom of it now?*

That derailed Simon's determination, and he swept an assessing glare through the loft, taking in Maddy's politely averted head, Megan's ultra straight back, and Blair's focus on Jim himself. With a chomp on the unlit cigar in his teeth, he surrendered, and started a bantering argument with Stephen over how to prepare the coals. Blair would have liked to join them to use the debate as cover to ask Simon what he was seeing where Jim was concerned; maybe the answers would rouse his subconscious again. Unfortunately, Stephen was right; it was a discussion that didn't need witnesses.

Maddy must have had enough of what wasn't being said, and came over to sit in the chair by Blair, purpose lighting her expression. She chatted casually with him about the oddity of men who wouldn't be caught dead in the kitchen demanding sole possession of any cooking duties that required open fire until the others were absorbed in their own conversations. Only then did she gently order, "Please tell me I haven't done that boy a damage by embroiling him in my problem."

"Not directly," Blair admitted, taking her hand in his. "But something is up with him. We've been apart so much the past few months, I can't even begin to guess what it is or where it started. Would you be willing to answer some questions about the time he spent working with you and your crew? Maybe I can find a clue to what's wrong."

"Of course, but there's not a great deal to tell. My people were understandably wary of him, though they quickly learned to respect his skills and character."

"Just respect? They didn't accept him?"

Frowning prettily, she said, "I'm afraid not. He was neither fish nor fowl to them. Not in need of a living the way they are; not one of the idle rich they cater to for that living. In fact, I think most begrudged him having a foot solidly in both worlds."`

The memory of his first meeting with Maddy jumped to the front of Blair's mind, reminding him of Jim's confidence in his place in the two 'tribes' at the party that night. It meshed with the importance he'd felt when Simon spoke of 'alpha male' and his vision of Jim, beaten near to death. As if it had been waiting for exactly that, his conscience reminded him that Jim no longer believed he was a cop, a fact that had been swept out of sight by the immense drive to return home before it was too late. With an almost audible 'snick,' it all fell into place, and if he had been alone, he would have wept for his sentinel.

Tightening her grip on his hand, Maddy said with quiet concern, "Blair? Are you all right?"

Frantically he pulled himself together, but not fast enough. Jim was already on his way over, and, with no other way on hand to stop him, Blair summoned a faint smile to send his way. "Hey, just a pang, not even a bad one, but it caught me off guard." Either his vitals were still too screwed up for Jim to read that he was lying, or Jim felt he had no right to call Blair on it. He hesitated, then gave a clearly unhappy nod and went back to making salad dressing.

Not as easily deterred, Maddy said sternly, "I know pain when I see it, and that was not physical; that was of the heart. What is wrong? Surely you can't be upset that a few suspicious, worried people snubbed a man as sure of himself as James is."

"No, that's not it, or not directly. But you did give me an idea and I really, *really* need to think it through. Please, give me a chance to do that, okay?" Blair poured on the earnest, begging tone, and after a moment Maddy succumbed.

"I suppose I have to respect that." Rising to leave, she wagged a finger at him as if he were a child. "However, I insist you promise to tell me if my staff were responsible for so much as an iota of damage for James *or* you."

"Done, but honestly, you don't need to worry about it."

"Let me be the judge of that." Maddy tucked his blankets closer, gave him a whisper of a kiss over his brow, and cheerfully inserted herself into Simon and Stephen's heated dispute over gas versus charcoal.

Left to himself but surrounded by caring support that he occasionally had trouble believing he'd become a part of, Blair studied his sentinel from under lowered lashes with new clarity. He saw how much pain Jim was in and understood that it was because everything about the loft and the people trooping through it reminded Jim of what he believed he no longer had. He saw the faint air of distance that he had perceived as more role-playing was only Jim trying to keep the agony endurable. He saw, and again had to fight off tears, how lost Jim was without the 'tribe' he saw as his own.

Jim was an exile looking in on the world he left behind, thinking he would never be a part of it again.

//How do I fix it? How do I convince him that he's still a cop?// Blair thought more than once, but the day wore into evening with no hint of a solution. //Every last person who's been here has made it plain they think of Jim as one of their own. Hell, Rafe spent half the time he was here trying to convince everyone he knew all along that Jim was in the middle of a sting. I know Simon's made it clear that his job is waiting for him. Why doesn't Jim accept that the case is over, and he can go back as if it never happened?//

By bedtime, Blair was mentally worn and frustrated with the rut his thoughts were in. When Jim reached for him to carry him upstairs, he went eagerly, more than ready for the reassurance of Jim's arms and the oblivion of sleep. Nestled against him, one arm around his neck, Blair chuckled at the fondness he'd developed for being carried by his lover. While a tiny part of him squirmed at the 'feminine' connotations behind it, most of him basked in the wonder of having that kind of strength devoted to him.

It wasn't a feminine thing at all, he mused drowsily, then all traces of sleepiness vanished and he stiffened, nearly making Jim lose his balance. Before Jim could question his abrupt alertness, Blair asked worriedly, "Does being with me, being in a gay relationship, make you feel less masculine? I mean, culturally, though it's a complete misnomer, homosexual males are often perceived as effeminate or weak. You've always been so self-assured about your sexuality, it literally never occurred to me that you might have doubts about your manliness because of us."

Pausing in the middle of the stairs, Jim kissed him thoroughly, with decidedly wicked intent behind it. Parts of Blair that had been somnolent for way too long perked up, and he returned the kiss in kind, working toward hot and nasty with sly strokes of tongue and slick glide of lips over lust-swollen lips. When they were both running short of air, Jim drew back slowly, nibbling at the edges of Blair's mouth in reluctant farewell.

He resumed climbing, cheek against Blair's temple. "How can I feel emasculated when a single kiss from you makes me as hard as if I've been making out for hours?" Settling on the bed, Blair in his lap, he added, "Why ask that now? Did somebody say something to you? Is that what caused the spike in your vitals?"

Blair leaned back enough to see Jim's expression clearly, and opted for total honesty. "So far it's the only thing I've been able to think of that would make you decide to hang up your badge. I always saw being a cop as a fundamental part of your male identity, so it made sense it might be behind the change."

Sweeping a curl away from Blair's forehead, Jim started to speak, but stopped when Blair stared at him hard, putting all his will behind it. Finally he said, "You're not going to let it go, are you?"

"I love you with everything I am and this is *hurting* you, so yes, I'm prepared to do what it takes to out-stubborn you on this. And don't you dare use my health as an excuse to dodge the issue." When Jim turned his head away, Blair caught him by the chin and turned him back. "What if I say I'll really listen; not just let you talk while I marshal my arguments and pounce on you the moment I spot an opening?"

"You always really listen," Jim admitted with a wry smile. "And add what I say to your case, which only makes the pounce that much harder to avoid."

"And annoying, I bet. But not tonight, I promise."

Cuddling him close again, Jim said over the top of his head, "The way I see it, a good cop isn't defined by the badge; he's defined by what he does. I... I've been doing things a cop shouldn't do. Thurber and Franks weren't bugged by those two kids until I spread hints through Maddy's crew and other service teams of what they were hiding. I learned my way, couldn't use it to get warrants, so I set them up to do it for me and did it well enough that the original information couldn't be traced back to me."

"Whoa." Blair bit his lip, but held on tighter. "What else?"

"I swear I didn't tamper with evidence," Jim said, sounding relieved, "but I did look through it before I turned it in to make sure that there was nothing damaging to Maddy or anybody else I thought shouldn't be exposed. I can't honestly tell you what I would have done if I had found something, but, believe it or not, those two used discretion. They didn't hurt for the fun of hurting; it was obvious some information they should have overheard had been edited out." He rifled his fingers through Blair's curls, as if to soothe himself. "In some ways, it felt wrong to turn them in. They weren't doing anything I haven't done using my senses - gathered information for my own purposes, good, bad or indifferent."

Sensing that it wasn't the time to point out the finer points of the law, not only on the electronic eavesdropping, but on using it to steal and blackmail, if only for the thrill of it, Blair said, "Must have reminded you of being in Vice. Doing things that other people get arrested for so you can break a case."

"Worse, but similar, yeah." Jim fell silent, but Blair waited, plucking idly at Jim's shirt to remind him he was. Finally, he went on. "It's wrong that Simon has to cover for me; it nearly bit him on the ass once already. It's wrong that I get the lion's share of the career-making cases because my senses give me an edge that other detectives can't compete with. It's wrong that I guilted you into putting my career before yours. A cop protects and serves. The only thing I've been protecting for far too long is my own lousy hide."

The shame and self-recrimination behind his words hit Blair hard; he had thought that Jim had burned those emotions out in the fight to set things right after the diss disaster. It took everything Blair had to keep his promise and wait for Jim to finish instead of leaping to defend him and his innate imperative to protect at all costs, but he did it, chewing the inside of his cheek to get it done. Picking up on the effort, Jim gave a short bark of laughter that had nothing to do with humor. "It's okay, Chief. You've got a good heart and care for me; of course you don't see things the way I do."

Jim shook his head at himself. "Not that I needed it, but Stoddard was more than happy to point out your sacrifices when he dropped off your dissertation and notes for revision. He's right; you can't live on what you got off Sid forever. I don't know what you had planned for yourself originally, once you got the Ph.D, but teaching or anything else at Rainier is out. You might be able to leverage your work at the station into something with a paycheck, but you'll have to work with all the departments instead of being my partner. If I'm going to have to go solo again, it might as well be at a new job wherever you end up. At least we won't have to worry so much about the gay cop problem; even if we have to stay in the closet, a mistake won't have potentially deadly repercussions."

"I've never really had any plans for after the diss." Jim looked down at Blair, who shrugged at him. "When I first started, the research was all that mattered to me."

"What about that song and dance about the book deal and Nobel prize?"

"Same as the insinuation I was doing more than tutoring the woman who faxed me your med records; trying to find common ground with a man I had to be on good terms with." "

And now?"

"I want to stay with you, preferably as your partner on the force. I had to clear my name to have credibility, and the degree is a means to an end. It lends weight to my status as a civilian consultant, gives me leverage when I have to make people listen." Blair hid against Jim's neck. "Please tell me that you didn't think I wanted it because I was going to bail."

"Never. Not once." Jim's tone was definite, holding absolutely no doubt and erasing a twinge Blair couldn't help. "It did occur to me you might want more than a cop's life, which you deserve. Maddy would love to have you on her team, for instance. I don't know if you have any idea of how useful an anthropologist could be for solving some of the cultural knots she runs into on a regular basis; trust me, you'd be busy. I could do more of her behind the scenes support work, leave her free to do the people aspect with you."

"What about what you want?"

Jim went very, very still, and Blair wondered if they had reached the crux of the problem. Then he hugged Blair hard. "This. You. Us. Anything else is gravy."

It was a sincere answer, but not a complete one, and Blair carefully, carefully framed his next question. "Okay, what do you need? And yes, it's a given that what you want is part of it. But, Jim, you're more than my lover."

Feeling the stubbornness, Blair pressed harder. "When the man is troubled, the sentinel is affected, like when you shot that guard in the department store. When the sentinel is knocked for a loop, the man is slammed into the ropes, like when Laura McCarty's pheromones were hitting you. Did you fight giving up being Enquiri or your uniform the way you fought giving up the badge? Don't bother rationalizing your 'no,' for me. You didn't because those were only steps on the way to being who you are now. When the diss came out, you were fighting for your *life.* You fought dirty, and you fought anybody who came close because you were in so much pain you couldn't tell friend from foe."

"So, ultimately, I lost," Jim said dismissively. "It happens; you move on."

Not wanting to hurt him, but with their very existence balanced on Jim understanding he had to accept the instinctive needs of the sentinel, not just the senses themselves, Blair swung around until he was astride Jim's lap, holding onto him with all four limbs. "We can't afford to lose this one. A sentinel without a tribe, without a purpose, isn't a sentinel; he's just a man with heightened senses that will eventually kill him. Protecting a single person, even the most important person in his life, isn't enough." He took a deep breath. "I'm living, or more accurately, dying proof of that."

"What!"

"Remember I said there might be a link between your sentinel senses and what was wrong with me? I think I'm connected to your abilities on such an intimate level that when they fail, I fail." Blair could feel Jim's adamant refusal to even contemplate the idea, but he pressed on, heart twisting in sympathy for his partner. "You told me you were using me to reset yourself; doing it at night before you went to sleep. You stopped, didn't you?"

Though his jaw muscle was pulsing so madly Blair could practically hear it, Jim said mildly, "When I began reviewing the day through the senses instead."

"Must have been like being hit by a hurricane; all that bottled up information, all screaming for attention at once," Blair said sympathetically.

Jim brushed it off. "It's how I learned about the listening devices. I'd probably been aware of the electronic hum all along, but hadn't been *hearing* it."

"Which I suggested when we were stuck in the elevator. I started getting really sick after that, though I'd been having symptoms for a while, and I bet that's when you talked yourself into more, ah, questionable lines of investigation. Which is *not* the same as being a bad cop; just a desperate one with no one to turn to."

Blair banged his head into Jim's shoulder, frustrated with himself. "Fuck. Not only did I accidentally exile you from your tribe, I cut you off from the one thing that you were counting on, didn't I? I'm so, so, sorry. I should have gotten it before everything went so bad instead of assuming the detachment between us was because James was so *not* how I ever wanted to see you. He was the James Ellison that could have been, you know, if you hadn't had the guts to be who you are instead of who your dad tried to make you."

As Blair spoke, he felt sharp, hard tremors in the body against his, as if Jim were flinching from invisible blows. Reasoning - and praying - that the way to healing for both of them lay in clearing all the shit that had accumulated in their communication process, he ran comforting hands up and down Jim's back, but pressed on. "Which brings me right back to where we started. I never wanted or expected you to be anything but a cop. I truly think that's right for us, and that your gifts have been trying to tell you the same thing through me."

"No," Jim whispered in desperate denial. "God, no."

Confused, Blair tried to ease back so he could see Jim's expression, but Jim held him immobile, refusing to give so much as an inch. "Jim?" "No, no, no." The level of anguish in Jim's voice was frightening, as were the increasingly violent tremors coursing through him.

The strongest warrior, the noblest spirit, has his breaking point, and Blair could see that Jim was too close to his. Deep in his mind Blair could feel a horrid, growing desolation as Jim retreated into his own psyche in a last ditch effort to save what he could of himself. At the same time, Blair took the first effortless breath he'd had in forever, and he knew Jim had to have opened his senses completely. Yet his newly realized awareness of Jim's gifts warned Blair that no control was being exerted at all, as if Jim were using the flood of input as a shield against reality.

Why Jim chose that particular tactic for defense baffled Blair, and with more strength than he had thought he had on tap, he toppled Jim back onto the bed. Sprawling over him, he cradled Jim's head between his hands and discovered that Jim was mouthing something over and over. 'No,' was easy to read, but it took several repetitions before Blair could decipher 'Not again.'

Blair got it, totally, in a single shock of understanding that was as revitalizing as the deep breath he'd taken moments earlier. How could he not? If a bond existed on some mystical level between sentinel and shaman, another, just as true and powerful existed between them as lovers, heart-to-heart and soul-to-soul.

Twice Blair had died for Jim: once in the fountain, once in front of a bank of television cameras. Though Jim had fought with everything he had to bring Blair back each time, as much because it was right as because of what they were to each other, the sentinel had failed to protect. Nor had Jim forgiven himself for the role he had played in those debacles, even if Blair had always insisted they shared the blame since mistakes had been made on both sides. Blair had no doubt that Jim had privately made the strongest, most sincere oaths possible to never, ever permit that sort of sacrifice from Blair again.

No wonder he was so positive that he could no longer be a cop. As long as they worked together in the department, especially if it ever became common knowledge they were in a gay relationship, there would always be the risk of Blair being taken down in Jim's place. Given that Blair would instantly jump in front of a bullet to shield him, the chances of that increased dramatically.

Now Jim was trapped between the imperatives of his heart and the unyielding demands of a sentinel heritage that had made sure that the one person necessary for survival was permanently tied to him. Surprisingly the prospect of dying with him didn't trouble Blair in the least. If anything, he was relieved that he would never have to try to live without the other half of himself. Most likely Jim was secretly as relieved - and overwhelmed by guilt that he could be so selfish. Hence abandoning control over his senses, freeing Blair the only way he could.

It only took Blair milliseconds to reason out what Jim was up to, and not much longer to create a plan to derail him. A vegetative Jim was the same as no Jim, and Blair had already made up his mind about that with no room for debate. The advantages were all Blair's, no matter how stubbornly Jim might resist rejoining him, thanks to the very link that had sent him scurrying into his mental sanctuary in the first place.

Tenderly, lovingly, Blair kissed Jim's slack lips, dipping past them to leave his taste on Jim's tongue. Refusing to let the lack of response deter him, he kept up the gentle assault while he undressed himself, then did the same for Jim, to bring touch fully into play. It also allowed more scent to be released, and if Jim wasn't exactly rising to the occasion, Blair certainly was. From the slight flaring of Jim's nostrils, Blair knew he had to be producing a heavy dose of pheromones. Sight wasn't of much use yet, so Blair gingerly closed Jim's eyelids, hoping that the darkness would force the remaining senses to become more acute. As for hearing… Blair murmured between kisses, telling Jim in dirty, graphic detail what he wanted.

Before long Blair was swamped in longing and arousal, and he sat back on his heels, knees on either side of Jim's thighs, to survey the magnificent body under him. To his relief, Jim was panting open-mouthed, as if begging for more kisses, and he had knotted his fists into the bedding. Most importantly, he was partly erect and quickly growing more so, as though he could feel Blair's lustful gaze on him.

//Almost,// Blair thought in satisfaction. //Almost got you back with me.//

He leaned forward and swept his hair over Jim's tits, just the very ends of the curls, but Jim moaned and arched his back, offering up the suddenly taut buds for more. Blair gave each peak the tiniest of licks, then blew over them, thrilling at the goose bumps that instantly rose around them. On impulse he painted a damp line along Jim's throat, then sent faint puffs of air along it, intrigued by the ripple of muscle under the skin it caused. Alternating between curls, lips, air and fingers, Blair worked his way back and forth over Jim's torso, giving his nipples a fair share of the attention, all the while keeping up his litany of praise and appreciation for Jim's beauty and sensuality.

When Jim began to thrust into the air, blindly seeking any contact that would bring him release, Blair sat back again, reining in his screaming libido with steely resolve. It would be so easy to give in and satisfy them both, believing Jim would stay with him in the afterglow. He studied the cock so close to his own, unconsciously licking his lips and needing the satin strength of it over his tongue as Jim sucked him in return. The urge was so strong he forced himself to look away, and he caught a flash of pink as Jim wetted his lips.

That nearly undid him, and with shaking hands, Blair gathered both hardons into one palm, brushing the thumb of his free hand over the crowns to gather the dampness there. He popped it into Jim's mouth to nurse on, and was rewarded by strong suction underlined by an ecstatic hum of pleasure. When he was certain all traces of their combined flavor was gone, even by sentinel standards, Blair slowly pumped in and out in imitation of what they wanted before dropping his hand down to their captured dicks.

"Look," Blair crooned. "Look at us. I've never seen you bigger or harder. I've never *been* bigger or harder. Look at how our cocks fit together. You're longer, I'm thicker, but they nestle into each other like they used to be one huge cock."

From under slitted eyes Jim did look, bucking up to rub his length along Blair's.

//Gotcha, gotcha,// Blair thought triumphantly, and shoved into his grip once before tightening it enough to stop any other motion.

Bracing one arm and bending over Jim so that his hair fell in a curtain around Jim's face, Blair said softly, "When I told you I couldn't do the badge and gun thing, you didn't get mad or upset or disappointed or any of the things I expected you to get. You just nodded as if you'd been expecting the decision, no problem, no worries, and asked me what I wanted to do instead. You might recall that my demand for my fucking degree was pretty angry - and hopeless sounding. I honestly didn't think it was humanly possible."

Staring into Blair's eyes, Jim waited, passion fading into sorrow, but Blair rocked into him and added a bit breathlessly, "You made it happen, made me believe it *should* happen. The night we celebrated the U's capitulation, you asked where I wanted to go from there, and it was easier to hope that I could have what I wanted most: to work with you at the department. It was harder to accomplish, but we still did it."

Nodding encouragingly, Jim played with a strand of Blair's hair, cock firming up again.

Relieved he wasn't trying to argue or get away, Blair kissed his forehead, his chin, his cheek bones, whispering all the while. "When Simon gave us the good news about the consulting position, I didn't expect you to ask me what I wanted next. It was mostly wishful thinking when I said, 'you.' When you kissed me…"

"You got pissed," Jim whispered back. "And accused me of offering you a pity fuck."

Despite the hunger simmering through him, or perhaps because of it, Blair chuckled. "Once I got it through my head that you *wanted* me, too, it shocked the shit out of me that your first kiss with a man wasn't clumsy or hasty or sloppy. It was… reverent, cherishing, and so damned shy it tore my guts out. I made myself a promise that I wouldn't rush you, wouldn't take you further than you were ready to go."

Sighing, Blair settled on top of him, weight on his forearms, and still nose-to-nose. "I broke that one, big time, when I pushed you into intercourse when we were trapped in the elevator. You didn't want to, but you did it anyway, for me."

"You needed it," Jim said dismissively. "For the comfort, for the distraction."

"For the sense of connection," Blair corrected carefully. "You felt like a stranger to me, in a situation where I needed to be able to count on my sentinel. Hell, if we'd been in our usual groove, I wouldn't have panicked in the first place. Despite that, when I woke up alone in the loft, I didn't question why it happened, didn't wonder why you said no, didn't worry how you handled going all the way with a man for the first time. I ran, pure and simple, and kept running until it damn near killed both of us."

Expression closing down, Jim didn't say anything, but Blair could see the new wash of guilt, shame and remorse in him. "For the last time, the moment I started working with Alex, I was a dead man. We *know* that. It's how she operated; by killing off anyone who got close enough to hurt her, and knowing about her abilities put me way close. The only reason, the ONLY reason I survived is because of you."

Blair injected his honest disgust at himself for not considering all the angles of what had happened at the fountain. "I expected some sort of karmic payment for being brought back; I never thought to look at it from the sentinel/shaman perspective. Duh. And I'm ABD?"

He snorted, wishing, not for the first time, for words that could encompass the incredible burst of emotions/sensations/images. "Do you ever think about it?" he asked wistfully, without intending to.

Amazingly, Jim murmured, "All the time." He ran trembling fingers through a lock of Blair's hair. "That was what stopped Barnes from taking me over completely to increase her own power." When Blair would have sat straight up, Jim wrapped his arms around his waist and hugged him close. "And in the grotto, when she nearly dragged me down with her, you were the light that guided me out."

"Ahhh, man…."

Jim stropped his cheek along Blair's temple, scenting deeply. "It took me so long to understand. I kept stumbling over how enormous it all was, how different it was from anything I'd ever expected or believed it could be. In a lot of ways, I still do. If you really love someone, you're supposed to put their needs first, right? But when I did that, working Maddy's case because you wanted me to, we went so wrong, and now you're telling me it's okay, that you don't mind that my needs are always going to run roughshod over every aspect of our lives, and it's not alright. It's…it's just not!"

"I hate to be the one to break this to you, but it does work both ways, you know." Blair bumped hips with him, reminding him that things weren't working out exactly the way Jim had planned. "So we find a balance. We've learned that we can work apart and succeed - I may hate that diss, but it's finished - but neither of us really want to, do we? And it's *good* knowing I've got a barometer, a tool to keep me abreast of how things are with you."

"Trust you to see the whole stealing your life thing as positive and beneficial."

"You can't steal what's freely given."

"Then why is it when I try to give in return, it goes south!" Jim snapped his mouth shut as if he hadn't meant to say that, but the flood gates had been opened and the rest poured out. "I've got so much in here… I want to protect you, cherish you, make you feel special and loved a thousand times a day. But I can't. It comes out wrong or turns bad or just dies stillborn." He shut his eyes. "Maybe sentinels aren't supposed to love."

"Tough. You do." Blatantly snuggling into him, Blair said, "I read what you wrote in your planner about our first time and how it shouldn't have been that way. Did you have anything specific in mind or a fantasy about it or something?"

"It doesn't matter." Clearly losing interest in talking, Jim nuzzled at the top of Blair's head. "Even with the threat of the rescue workers finding us at any second, it was the hottest thing I've ever done."

Blair flashed back to Jim's hands locked on his hips, pulling him back onto his cock, and shivered, which made Jim chuckle, soft and wicked. "Oh, yeah." With an effort he pulled himself back on track. "It's just that if you did have a definite game plan, there could be a good reason for it. I mean, most important events in our lives have rituals involved, and we haven't had one that marks the change in our relationship, so maybe, for once, your instincts and your upbringing were working together to create one particularly for us. I know it was important or you wouldn't have felt compelled to comment on it, even if it was only in your notes."

Moving restlessly under him, Jim said after a moment, "It wasn't anything special." When Blair lifted up to glare at him, he added reluctantly, "I wanted to be home, in our bed, after spending a day off indulging in things we both like, hopefully with a lot of laughing and playing around, so you'd be really happy and relaxed. Then, no big deal, we'd start to make love and simply not stop at the stuff we usually do, but keep going until we had been inside each other."

"Any specific position or foreplay?" It was Jim's turn to glare, but Blair met it evenly, positive he was onto something. Jim was harder than ever, and he could feel precum slicking his cock where it rubbed against Blair's thigh.

Finally Jim admitted, "Yes. Fingers and mouth to open you, then your legs over my shoulders, so I could jack you and make you come fast. Then work you long and slow until you were ready again, and have you open me the same way so I could ride you until we came together."

Half-dizzy with the images the simple words conjured, Blair closed his eyes momentarily, sharp darts of need cutting through his belly.

Misinterpreting his reaction, Jim said defensively, "I know, I know, very domineering and macho, have to be in control and all that."

"No," Blair countered quietly. "Very sensual. On top because that's the best way to see the most, have the most play for your hands, for us to read each other's faces so we'll know what's good, what's not working." He hesitated, but said, "I'm sort of surprised you'd want me to take you."

"Why would I ask you to do something in the bedroom that I'm not willing to do myself?" Jim said, sounding honestly confused by the comment.

"Only you would consider trading off to be good manners." Blair rolled to his back. "Has today been a good enough day for you, because, I tell you, I'm a happy and relaxed person right now." He waited a beat, and said, "But I'm perfectly willing to wait until you think the timing is better."

"That plan," Jim grumbled, covering Blair's body with his own, "got blown out of the water the second I had you because now all I can think about is how good you are."

"We'll…ah! Do that again!... improvise."

Obediently Jim nipped Blair's earlobe, slightly lower than where his first bite had been, and worked his way down Blair's neck, leaving marks behind. "Can't wait to eat you up," he growled, nosing at Blair's collarbone before attacking it with a sucking kiss.

"In this wonderful scenario you're creating, am I doing anything besides moaning and begging?" Blair scrubbed his feet over Jim's calves, fingers cradling his skull to direct him further south.

"Whatever you want," Jim murmured before latching onto Blair's tit. He tasted it thoroughly, flicking his tongue over the peak before releasing it. "Requests are good. So are demands." Visiting the other nub, he laved it until it throbbed, and pulled away with a last careful tug of his teeth.

Panting, Blair said, "Requests… I can do that. More."

"That sounded like a demand." Rubbing a whiskered cheek over Blair's tummy, making it burn sweetly, Jim inhaled deeply. "Mmmmm. More what? More kisses, more bites, more action, less talk?"

"Nnnnnhhhhuuhhn." Arching into him, Blair gave up trying to speak coherently. Even the vibrations from Jim's words made his skin spark and tingle, let alone what the content was doing to his hunger.

And Jim, damn him, seemed to have finally found the voice to talk about what he wanted and needed. "Have I told you how delicious you are and how much I love sampling you? This…" and he delved into Blair's belly button… " is totally different from here.." licking the seeping eye of Blair's hardon…"which is nothing like …." Scooting down, he snaked a wet line down Blair's shaft to where it met his balls, then into the downy crease under them.

Locking his hands onto the railing before he pulled all of Jim's hair out, Blair spared half a thought to be grateful he was extremely fastidious about being clean *there* and lifted his backside as Jim tucked a pillow under it. There was a flash of exposed/vulnerable/self-conscious at the easily accessible position, but Jim's mouth found Blair's center, and he lost the ability to do anything but feel. Though Blair had been rimmed as a rare treat before with more adventurous girlfriends, it was better from the first touch than all the other times combined. Whether it was Jim's innate sensitivity or Blair's sure knowledge that Jim *really* wanted to do it, Blair didn't know, didn't care, and, after a few strokes of that amazing, clever tongue, was positive he'd never get enough.

Mercifully, Jim was as addicted. By the time he'd finished savoring every fold and line, making eager, needy noises all the while, Blair was one caress away from finishing. Jim brought a finger into play, probing with it through his licks and darting stabs, and the change felt odd enough to pull Blair back from the brink. Moving up to lap and mouth at Blair's balls, Jim worked the guardian muscle to Blair's opening until Blair was riding down hard on the intruder. Again, when he was at the edge, Jim changed tactics, hooking Blair's legs over his elbows and kneeling up so that his cock was lined up with Blair's asshole.

He waited until Blair calmed enough to meet his eyes, then pushed in, murmuring, "I love you."

Meeting the steady penetration, Blair impaled himself completely. "…love you forever." It didn't hurt in the least, but instead undid some obscure knot of frustration in Blair's middle, flooding him with incredible pleasure.

"God…Jim… can't…oh! believe how…Good!, good! Uh, damn, damn…."

"I am never," Jim panted out, picking up speed and strength as he pounded into Blair, "Ever, going to get enough of this. Of. You. God." He stared down at where his cock vanished into Blair's body. "Look. Look at that… Look at you take it. Take it."

"Love it, love you, want it, want it, want it!"

"Want what? Tell me!"

"Want you to fuck me hard. Now!"

"Yeah, yeah." Jim lifted Blair's bottom higher. "That's it, that's it, shove that beautiful ass up for me to fill."

Doing as Jim commanded, Blair howled, taking him deep into himself. It was glorious, it was ecstatic, it was more than he could bear and he came in long, thick spurts that ripped wonderfully through him. With a grunt, Jim slammed into him, creating shock wave after shock wave of pleasure that left Blair limp and dazed with euphoria. Only his asshole stayed tight, milking every bit of Jim's length for what it could give him - and for what he could give in return.

When the last of Blair's seed dribbled out, Jim dropped down to all fours, elbows locked, to cage Blair in. Tightening his grip on the railing, Blair wrapped his legs around Jim's waist, automatically rising to meet Jim's thrusts.

Catching and holding Blair's gaze, Jim rasped out, "This is what I want for the rest of forever. Living together, working together to protect and serve, *being* together flesh-to-flesh in every way possible. It's so damned selfish, seems so damned wrong, but it's so damned good, unbelievably good, a cosmic fuck to the heart and soul that makes me shake with something better than coming."

"If that's what I want, too, you aren't being selfish," Blair whispered, cupping the side of Jim's face in his palm. "You're doing the one thing guaranteed to keep us together for as long as we've got."

He didn't know what Jim was trying to read from his eyes or his expression; didn't know what else he could say to convince Jim that what they had, what they were, as cops, lovers, sentinel and guide, was right, and true, and powerful. All he could do was eagerly use Jim's cock and love him with all he had.

With a long, soft moan that was as much pain as joy, Jim bent to take a deep, piercing kiss, then threw back his head and roared, driving so powerfully into Blair that he made the whole bed quake. Blair didn't need the wash of slippery heat to tell him Jim was spilling into him; he could feel it in every recess of his heart, mind and soul.

Bit by bit Jim slowed his thrusts, arms and legs trembling, until he collapsed, rolling Blair so that he was beside him, cock still deeply embedded. Much as he wanted to stay awake, a hard climax after being so tired for so long took its toll, and Blair tumbled helplessly toward sleep. Jim didn't seem to mind. Tidying them up, he pulled the blankets into a semblance of order, spooned behind Blair, and settled in with a nearly silent sigh of contentment, nose buried in the curve of Blair's neck.

As he was about to drop away, Jim murmured, "I want to stop by the station after your doctor's appointment tomorrow. Brown was telling me that one of the blackmail victims had managed to get an injunction against using the wiretap info against him. I think I know a way to get that kicked out of court."

"Not going to let any of 'em get away, huh?" Blair said sleepily.

"Sets a bad precedence for the other cases," Jim muttered back, just as sleepily.

"Mnn, hmmm." Blair smiled. "Welcome back, Detective Ellison. I missed you."

Jim quiet laughter followed Blair into sleep.

finis