"I didn't think I 'd see you in here again."

Blair looked up from "Necessary," to smile his best apologetic smile at the artist. "I owe you an apology. Two actually. One for gate-crashing your opening party, (he gestured to the gallery full of people in evening dress with champagne and snacks in hand) and one for making a fool of myself in front of you."

Returning the smile, Daniels answered, "Forgiven on both counts. They do say the measure of great art is how strong the reaction to it is - judging by yours, this must be a masterpiece."

Fighting off a blush, Blair motioned to the statue. "They also say if you can see something new in a piece every time you look at it, then it *is* a masterpiece."

Daniels smile faded a little. "And what do you see today, Detective Sandburg?"

"Just Sandburg. I'm only an observer with the force," Blair corrected absently, not noticing comprehension slowly touch Daniels features. He considered his words carefully, feeling that he needed to give this man honesty in return for what happened earlier.

"I see a protected space," he answered finally, reaching out to define the slight area between the lovers by tracing its outline. "Created by shutting out everything else; just the two of them face to face."

Nodding, Daniels moved to shield the two of them and the conversation from the other people in the gallery. "A needed space," he agreed. "That's where it got its title."

Without looking at Daniels, afraid to see the knowing look on the man's face, Blair went on. "The wonderful thing about sculpture is that it's *there*, unchanging. There's no need to worry that there is a flaw in one of the elements that will cause it to break, and destroy the space. Or that something outside will fill it in, polluting everything about it."

"Would you like to hear a secret, Sandburg?"

Jolted from his introspection, Blair looked up into the startlingly green eyes of Daniels. There was so much pain there, right now. Abruptly he remembered that Daniels had lost his partner, his lover, according to Jim, and somehow knew that this statue had been special to them. He started to offer another apology, when Daniels laid a quick finger over Blair's lips, then darted it away.

"I didn't make this to be a masterpiece, or a great work of art, or even art. I made this because it was what was in me. The shapes, the placement of the elements, everything was just there and it wanted to come out. I *could* have refused to make it.

"But then this beauty would not have existed. It would have never been. And what's more, it is just wood and effort. We've both seen that it can be destroyed with almost no trouble. I didn't make it to be permanent. Nothing is. Someday all the grace and style of this little bit of loveliness will be gone.

"It did exist, though. People were moved by it for good or evil. It was seen appreciated, loved, cherished. Even when it no longer physically exists, it will still continue because those feelings, once created cannot ever truly cease to exist.

"The price for its creation was pain. I did it in less than twenty-four hours, and my hands hurt for a week. The price of its destruction will be pain - destruction of any beauty hurts us all, though we may not know it at the time.

Daniels stopped his speech, and made sure he had Blair's undivided attention. "Would the world be better if I had been unwilling to pay the price? Would I have been? Or would the loss of the opportunity been even more expensive? Would the loss of the joy in and of the work been even greater?" His eyes were filled with tears, now, and Blair felt his own throat close with sympathy. "The only way to make that choice, or any choice, really, is to remember the basics. Everything was already there inside me, waiting to be come out, and I knew it would be beautiful."

Finally Daniels turned away, struggling to compose himself. Blair forced himself to swallow, several times, hard, but could still not find a way to force words out. When he could speak, his first words startled both of them. "How much?"

"I beg your pardon?" Incredulously.

"Look, I'm just a grad student, but I've got a grant coming up, and I could do some of the bookwork around here, you know business manager stuff so you could spend more time in your studio, and we can talk interest on a loan or something, but I just gotta give this to Jim."

Sandburg took a deep breath, ready to keep on, when Daniels interrupted. "How does your partner shut you up?" he asked with some amusement. Then, more seriously, "I'm sorry, this piece is not for sale."

Reaching up to pull his hair with both hands, Sandburg, went on. "OK, how about a temporary loan? Museums do that all the time. I could pay for the privilege of showing it - be sure I mention to anybody who likes it where I got it."

"Somehow I doubt your detective would be too thrilled about having this piece out where anyone could see it."

Blair smiled. "Sometimes Jim can surprise you." He grew more serious, "Can't we work something out? It is really, really important to me." Sandburg had never deliberately tried the sad-puppy-look strategy on a complete stranger before, but this was a desperate situation. He turned it up full wattage. "Please?"

Daniels shook his head, ruefully. He certainly hoped that Detective Ellison knew what he was getting into with *this* piece of work. He shook his head, thoughtfully, watching the dejection in Sandburg grow. Yeah, Ellison knew, and probably didn't give a shit. Knowing the kid was gearing up for another go at persuading him, he forestalled another verbal outburst by raising a hand.

He turned away from the little alcove they were in and looked at the party swirling around them. All of these people were more than just customers, clients, and artists. They were his friends, the family he and Mark had created in lieu of the ones lost. But there wasn't a one of them here that would truly understand the way he knew this young man and his lover would.

Blair braced himself for another negative, trying to marshal more reasons in his head so he could convince Daniels to at least let him borrow "Necessary." When the sculptor turned back to him, though, it wasn't rejection he read. Mentally, Blair scrambled, just how much cash could he get together, anyway?

"Mr. Sandburg…" he began.

"Blair, please," he interrupted, with his best ingratiating smile.

Daniels amusement became very obvious. "Blair. Are you sure Detective Ellison will not mind having this? Not just having it, but having it on display. It was not meant to be hidden."

"Evan, I can guarantee that it will have a place of honor in *our* home." Blair gave a million-watt smile. "You see, Jim and I are roommates, too."

"In that case, I would be honored if you would accept it as a gift for the both of you to share."
 
 

Across town

Never had a day seemed so long. It had started this morning with waking up to discover he had over-slept and had almost no time to make it to a court date. Ending by having to pull overtime to get in the paperwork on another case that had been moved up, the day simply had not stopped.

Ellison leaned his head on the steering wheel of the truck for a second, after turning the engine off. He hadn't been able to enjoy waking up, holding a very agreeably pliant and loving Blair. He hadn't had the opportunity to coax him into making love again, or had the time to simply share breakfast. He had had to settle for a quick kiss, and a hug at the door.

Most importantly, he hadn't had the chance to find out *why* Blair suddenly bounded into his bed and whether or not he planned to stay there. Right at the moment all he wanted to do was go upstairs, take Blair by the hand, lead him to the big bed, and spend the rest of the night getting a few things settled. What he expected was to find Blair in his room, working, with no intention of sharing so much as a late dinner with him.

He straightened, pulled his shoulders back, and tried to dredge up a smile or something close. By the time he reached the door and unlocked it, he stopped trying. Blair wasn't home - no sound of him, no fresh spoor.

Taking off his coat, he dropped his keys in the basket, and started to shut the door and put the coat in its place. He stopped dead in his tracks, and double-checked to make sure his ears hadn't been mistaken. He *had* heard the sound of keys hitting keys. Blair's were in the basket.

Blair's keys were in the basket. Blair wasn't home. Rumor had it, Ellison was a pretty good detective. Something about those two facts didn't fit together. Slowly, dreading what he might find, he stopped by the bathroom. Blair's tooth brush, hairbrush, other toiletries were gone. By now the dread was so enormous, Jim's chest felt two sizes too small to be able to breathe. Time slowed, moving was dangerous, but he went into Blair's room. The mess was worse than usual, but it was plain some of the clothes were missing, as was a battered pack Blair used for a suitcase.

Moving had become deadly. He made it to the couch, more falling into it than sitting. Last night had been a good-bye, a "pity-fuck." That was why he had rushed through it. That was why he had never even said his name, let alone something meaningful, like "I love you." Jim had thought it was passion, had responded more openly than he had to anything else in his life. But Blair had just been going through the motions, giving all of he could of himself before taking it away for good.

Absently Jim noticed the shredded remains of the shirt Blair had been wearing the night before laying half on the lamp table, half on the floor. He picked it up, balling it between his hands. Maybe he scared Blair off? Letting go like that? At the time it seemed it had excited him, but maybe in the cold light of day he realized how easily he could have been hurt if Jim had lost control completely.

What difference did it make? Jim shook his head, slowly. Gone. Only the scent, a few things scattered about remained. Blair would send for his things; his aroma would fade.... How long, he wondered, before all there was left in the loft of Blair would be that fading scent? How long could he hold on to even just that much? He focused onto that sense, and with his Guide miles away at a party, Jim zoned.
 
 

Home, home, almost home... Blair got out of the car, juggled his various burdens and patted his clothes, looking for his keys. He had them somewhere, right? He wouldn't have locked himself out? Maybe in the bag with the clothes he had been wearing this morning?

If he had forgotten them, surely Jim wouldn't mind. He hadn't deliberately overslept. He'd awaken with barely enough time to put something on, grab the change of clothes he knew he would need to go to the opening (he didn't know when he had decided he needed to crash it) and get out the door. He had dashed back in a minute later. He was going to need to clean up - he dumped brushes etc into a bag - he'd use the shower at the gym at school - and there was the pack with the clothes he'd promised to the grad student who had lost everything in a apartment fire. Everything? All, right everything.

He'd gotten as far as the car and had come running back up. Late, he was going to be late getting home tonight, and he'd wanted to leave some sort of message for Jim. No time write, what? Inspiration hit and he ran into his room, got his robe and some other personal things and ran at breakneck speed up to the big bed to put them where Jim would see them when he came upstairs to change and clean up.

Then it had been back out the door again, and he honestly couldn't remember retrieving the keys from the basket where he'd automatically dropped them on entering the room.

Damn! He checked one more time, poking through everything, while holding one package especially carefully. Oh well, he had a pretty good idea on how to apologize to Jim for needing to let him in. He grinned happily, and hurried up to the loft.

As he started to knock, he realized the door was slightly ajar. Naomi had *not* raised a son too stupid to know a cop would have enemies. And when somebody as anal as Jim changed his habits, something was definitely wrong. Call Simon first? What if Jim was already hurt? Better to get inside first, if he could, so he could give Simon what details he could get.

Putting his bundles in a corner, he stooped way down, and nudged the door open a crack. No ominous sounds, but no normal sounds, either. No TV or CD's playing, no sound of Jim moving around. Peeking through the crack, he could just see Jim sitting on the couch, holding something between his hands, his head bowed over it as if in thought. Not very scary looking.

Puzzled, Blair went back to retrieve his belongings. Jim must have just noticed he'd forgotten his keys and left the door open for him, though that didn't seem likely. And Jim should have *heard* him at the door, at the very least. "Hey, Jim, what's up Big Guy? Did you know you'd left the door unlocked?"

Shutting and locking the door behind him, Blair put everything down, and wondered if Jim was really angry about something. "Hey, it's freezing in here. Mind if I light the fire?" He moved toward the couch, horror finally kicking in, as he understood what was wrong.

"Jim! Jim!" He knelt in front of the too, too still man, taking his shoulders in his hands and giving a shake. Dear gods, he was like ice! How long had he been zoned? Always - always! - before Jim had managed to bring himself out when he had been alone. It had never been a case of not coming back, but a case of zoning when it wasn't safe.

Instinctively Blair settled his voice into the soothing, rhythmic tones that Jim responded to. "I don't know where you are, Jim, but it's time to get back now. You can hear me, I know you can, you know that I'm here, and I want you to come back now, Jim. Ok? You just listen for my voice and follow it back to me."

He pulled a blanket from the back of the couch and settled it around his partner. They normally left the heat off until someone got home, and Jim must not have had time to turn up the thermostat. It was almost colder in here than outside. Still talking, coaxing, persuading, he quickly lit a fire, turned on the heat, then went back to gently shaking and slapping Jim.

Fear began to nibble at the edge of his voice when there was no response. He lost the coaxing tones, and became demanding, shaking Jim harder and harder. Still no response. 'Stop it Sandburg, this isn't helping, panic isn't helping. Think! Think! If he's so far gone he can't respond to his Guide, it’s going to take something very primal to reach him.' He took a deep breath, stepped back, and forced himself to consider the other man carefully.

Primal: eat, reproduce, run from/fight danger. Eating isn't immediate enough. Can I make myself hurt him? Enough to make him instinctively protect himself? Blair took a shaky breath. Somehow, by some knowledge he didn't question, he knew that a Sentinel would let his Guide kill him without ever raising a hand in defense. The trust was that complete.

Sex? He leaned forward, cupped Jim's face with his hands, and breathed a kiss onto cold, still lips. He used a thumb to pry open the jaw a bit, and invaded Jim's mouth.

The only sign that Jim's body had noticed was a slight warming of his lips. Undeterred, Blair straightened, and analyzed the situation. After a moment, he acted, and though it took some effort, he finally got Jim lying on the couch. He shivered, and for the first time thought about calling an ambulance. It had been like moving a mannequin. He dismissed the thought. Most likely they would think it was just hypothermia - and there was no way they would listen to him about a 'zone out.' What could they do for that, anyway?

Quickly he stripped, then removed as much of Jim's clothing as he could under the circumstances. The best he could manage was the shirts, and to open the jeans. First aid for hypothermia was to warm the patient, anyway, and the best way to do that was with a warm, naked body. By the time he had several blankets covering the both of them, and was settled on top of Jim, Blair was shivering.

Now what? He hadn't given up talking, but through everything, Jim had not so much as blinked. So, instead of trying to coax him back, he began to whisper love words, telling Jim how sexy he was, and how much he liked being close to him like this. He petted and kissed, rubbing as erotically and sensually against him as he could.

Finally, with neither of them even half-hard and him frustrated to the point of tears, he just lay there and admitted to himself what he had known all along. Jim wanted to touch him because he loved him, not because he had a thing for short, skinny anthropology students. And it was Jim's heart and spirit that had captured him, though he used his body to express it. Without Jim *here* there was no way this was going to work.

Under his ear he could hear the tum thump of Jim's heart, and for the first time admitted to himself that the thumps were getting slower and slower, the movements of the chest farther and farther apart. Call the ambulance, now? So they could drag him off to a hospital, stick needles and tubes into him, turn him into a thing? If he honestly thought that modern medicine could have done something, there wouldn't have been a moment's hesitation. But all doctors would do would be to make Blair leave.

Tears came easily now, but Blair just let the pool on Jim's chest and thought about how he was going to be able to deal with this. Unsurprisingly, he knew he couldn't. This had been the problem all along; that he knew sooner or later, one way or the other, he would lose Jim. He had been terrified because he knew on some level deeper than thought what he would do when this time came.

He knuckled his eyes like a child, then made a long arm and reached to the table where he had put Jim's gun as he had undressed him. It was a cold, alien thing to have in this space, but it was Jim's and would be the fastest way. Cuddling into as comfortable a position as possible, holding the gun loosely in the hand resting on Jim's chest, Blair settled in to wait, listening to the diminishing heartbeats. When they were all gone, and the chest under his was cold again, he would follow his Sentinel on the last journey.

Peace came with the decision, though tears still poured.
 
 

In the quiet, gray place where Jim's thoughts spun around and around the sense of the most important thing in his universe, an aroma began to thread through the vortex. Several of them actually - champagne, Evan Daniels, smoke - but one in particular bothered him. Gunpowder. Overlaid the scent of Blair himself was the metal, oil, gunpowder smell of a weapon.

The maddened thoughts slowed, adding up the implications of Blair and guns, guns and Blair. The Blessed Protector part of Jim began to break apart the "Blair sense" into components. Blair felt of fear, pain, unhappiness, tears, and guns.

With a surge of fear, Jim's consciousness came forward. Fast, smooth, he plucked the gun from Blair's hand, rolled the smaller man to be sandwiched protectively between Jim and the back of the couch, thumbed off the safety, and lifted his head to check for the source fear in his companion.

Only to have his ears unceremoniously grabbed and painfully jerked back down to that he was nose to nose with an absolutely furious Blair. "Don't you ever do that to me again!!!" he hissed. Blair was vibrating with emotion, his lips pressed into a thin, white line circled in blue.

A good soldier knows when to retreat. Carefully putting the gun on the table, without breaking eye contact, Jim answered very softly. "I won't. "

Unsatisfied, Blair went on, "Promise me! Never again, Jim, I mean it!"

And when to surrender. "I promise." Jim gently thumbed away a trace of tears. "Never again."

Blair looked at him as if trying to see what was written inside his skull, then relaxed ever so slightly. He sighed, his punishing grip on Jim's ears turned into an apologetic caress that settled around his neck, and he pressed his forehead into the curve of Jim's shoulder.

Jim waited patiently, giving the narrow back long, even strokes until the tremors had completely stilled, and Blair's breath was even and calm. "Chief?"

"Mmm?"

"What did I just promise not to do?"

Blair pulled back as much as he could in the confines between Jim's chest and the back of the couch. He met Jim's innocent gaze and realized the older man truly didn't realize what was going on. "Jim," he started slowly, trying to keep the fear from rising again. "When I came home, you were zoned - I think you had been for hours - and I couldn't get you back. " Despite Blair's best efforts, his voice began to rise. "I tried everything. Everything! Damn it Jim, why do you think I'm lying next to you naked? You were dying, damn it. Damn it!"

"Shh, sh, it's Ok," Jim resumed his stroking motions, and added little kisses to Blair's hair, ears, cheeks, lips, punctuating them with whispered reassurances. "I'm here, you brought me back, you'll always be able to bring me back." Ruthlessly he pushed away the "why" of his zone. Time for that later, when Blair needed to hear it. "Sh, shh."

His kisses became lingering, sensual, and Blair responded by pressing closer, trying to fold or bend his body so that as much of him as possible was touching Jim. Moans began to build inside Jim, and his body reminded him with a clench of pleasure that last night's arousal had not been satisfied. When Blair opened his mouth and slipped his tongue into Jim's, reflecting the rhythm of his hips against Jim's erection, he did moan, and broke away from the kiss.

"Touch me," he pleaded, arching hard against Blair's body. Blair responded by slipping a hand between them and flattening it over the swell of Jim's arousal, strong fingers outlining it through the fabric. "Oh, more, please."

Mindlessly he focused on that touch, wanting to *feel* it, but then Blair claimed his mouth again, and taste invaded his pleasure. Gasping he broke away, then found Blair's lips again, wanting to devour the flavor of the man. Blair was making small whimpering noises, and they acted like a whip to Jim's hearing. He found himself listening for the sound of flesh against flesh, the whisper of Blair's hair as it moved over his chest. His skin tried to reach out and capture each silky caress, but then Blair moved away, and he cried out in pain.

"Stay, please. Stay!" he reached blindly, finding and capturing Blair's hands. Somehow he opened his eyes, to see Blair cradled in the sweep of the couch, hair spread around him like a corona, beautiful face and body painted by the dancing shadows of a dying fire, watching him with expression on his face as timeless as desire.

He swallowed hard, feeling a pressure inside him pounding at his limits. Blair lifted their joined hands, lovingly licked where the thumbs crossed, then brought them down hold and stroke each other's erection. Jim convulsed, convulsed again when he smelt, felt, heard, saw Blair come with him. Deep inside him, ecstasy tore free and poured itself into a few inches of flesh touching flesh, then it shattered outward, taking all of Jim's senses with it.
 
 

"Jim, are you alright?"

"Mmm."

Blair reached up and gently tugged on one of Jim's ears. The big man shifted comfortably beside him, using his knee to stroke Blair from hip to calf. "Jim. Are you in a zone?"

He shifted again, bringing his face to Blair's level, taking a few kisses on the way. "You have got to quit using those as handles, Chief. One of these days one is going to come off in your hand."

Blair grinned evilly. "I'll just add it to my collection."

Giving a mock shudder, Jim answered, "Puns. In my bed. What am I getting into?"

"And you have the nerve to complain about me." Blair grew very serious. "And *dont* change the subject. Something happens to you when we make love; it's like you're here, but you're not. You respond to me, but.. I don't know how to explain it."

"Is that what we're doing here, babe?" Jim asked instead. "Making love?"

There were not many times in the life of Blair Sandburg when he could truthfully say that he was speechless. His jaw opened and closed several times, mostly because he just kept changing his mind about how to say what he wanted to say. Finally he gave Jim as fierce a kiss as he could, then clambered over him to get to where he left everything by the door when he came in.

He watched the face of his lover as he walked back, seeing the mixture of fear, confusion, love, trust, and patience, and marveling for the first of many, many times that this man was his. "I have a gift for you."

Jim sat up, and took the carefully wrapped and sealed box from the younger man. Even as he touched it, he knew what it was, and the look he gifted Blair in return was every bit as beautiful as the statue he found nestled in tissue paper in the opened box.

"I love you, too, Blair."
 
 

*This is not how I wanted to spend the rest of the night* Blair thought, hanging on stubbornly as Jim took the corner with wheels screaming. He looked at the brightening horizon. *What there is left of it*

The night had been enough of a roller coast ride, without adding a high-speed trip in the truck, complete with lights and sirens. He looked over at the driver, amazed and a little angry that Jim had shifted gears from absorbed and intent lover to supercop so easily.

They had been on the couch, kissing and cuddling, Blair telling Jim about the big opening party for The Comstock, and his apologies to the artist.

"It must have been one impressive apology, Chief, if you were able to talk him into selling this to you. He told me - just as you were breaking land-speed records (with a little pinch on the ribs) - that "Necessary" wasn't for sale." and Jim had turned to admire the statue yet again.

"He didn't sell it to me. He just made me promise that it wouldn't be hidden away. In fact, he said he would be honored if we would accept it as a gift to share."

The loving pats and strokes had slowed, then stilled. "He gave it to us?" Jim had sat up and put some distance between them.

"Hey, that doesn't change anything, I mean, I was going to pay for it, he just..." Blair had stumbled, not understanding his partner's withdrawal. How he got it shouldn't matter; it still meant the same.

"Of course it does, Chief," and Jim had leaned over, giving him a deep, hard kiss. Blair had jumped, and not given time to respond, could only watch as he could *see* Ellison become a cop again.

"Was that party still going on when you left?" Jim had stood and began to pull his clothes together, picking up his gun and strapping it on.

"Uh, winding down mostly. Just a few of the die-hards, drinking toasts." Blair had stood and started dressing, too. "Jim, what is it?"

"Just a hunch. I'm going over there to see Daniels. Good chance he's still up; if not, I'll see if I can wake him. " His tone had changed to something warmer. "You don't have to come. I can wake you up when I get back."

"Uh uh, this is one night you are not going anywhere without me." Blair was ready to argue until dawn and past, but Jim, jaw tense, agreed.

That had earned him another hard kiss, then they had hustled out the door.

Whatever Jim's hunch was, it was riding him hard, much harder than he had made out in the loft. Mind flying with possibilities, Blair put aside his reaction and thought about Jim's. Getting up at this hour from their warm bed (well, couch), driving full speed - it was the kind of urgency Jim usually felt when he thought lives were at stake.

"Jim," he started, as the cop ran a red, barely taking time to make sure it was clear. "Do you think there's going to be another attack at the gallery - while there are still people there?"

Ellison spared him a quick glance and smile, though the smile sat a bit too tight. "Something like that. I..." he braked abruptly, swerved once, then picked up speed. " ... don't want to get specific. I could easily be wrong." He was silent, then added very softly. "I pray I'm wrong."

Somebody decided to run their own red light, and the next couple of seconds were body jolting as Jim's vision and reflexes allowed them to squeeze by without actually hitting anything. Blair decided it might be better to let him concentrate on driving, and worked on subduing his own worries.

Pulling the truck up on the sidewalk in front of The Comstock, Jim jumped out and hurried toward the darkened building. Blair followed, watching as Jim tuned out the city sounds and started listening for people in the gallery.

The cop slowed, and sadness covered his features for a minute. His jaw tightened, telltale muscle jumping, and Blair laid a hand on a rock solid arm. "He could've decided to spend the night with a friend."

Nodding, Ellison tried the door, and seemed unsurprised to find the door open. Not even drawing his weapon, he went in, and Blair swallowed hard and went behind him.

Streetlight shining through the windows showed no obvious destruction. Ellison looked past it, then turned to his partner. "I know his apartment is over the gallery; do you know where the door to it is?"

"Yeah, the party was with friends, too, and was spread everywhere, even the studio in back." He moved ahead of Jim, "I think I can find it in the dark." He led the way, though Jim gently guided him around an obstacle once.

The door to the apartment was ajar, and a thread of light framed it. Ellison caught up with Blair and whispered over his curls, "Are you sure? If I'm right, I..." Blair was shaking his head, and Jim said, "There's nothing I could do to keep you here? Blair, it could be bad."

Shuddering in response, wondering why Jim thought this was going to be worse than other crime scenes he had witnessed in the past, Blair just opened the door and went in.

The room was very austere, like he remembered, but very tidy for a place that had hosted a major party hours before. Something about that nagged him, and he turned to go to the back of the apartment when Jim stepped in front of him.

Not quite in time. Not before he saw the swaying body move on its rope. Not before he saw the overturned chair and Daniel's face: his still, peaceful face.

Blair choked, then gagged, shutting his eyes, trying block the memory by will alone. The momentum of his turn brought him up against Jim's back, and he threw both arms around that pillar, and held on, pushing his face into the firmness until he thought his nose would break from the pressure.

Jim took the punishing embrace, and, placing a hand over the ones locked at his waist took out his cell phone. Dimly Blair heard him call the precinct, asking for a ME and squad, but telling them it looked like suicide. Then he just stood there, waiting for Blair to make the next move.

Eventually, Blair turned his head to one side, finally able to breathe without strangling. His grip eased, and he began to stroke his face against Jim, letting him know he was better. He opened his eyes reluctantly, and looked around the room, not ready to face the.. body.. yet. "Jim, there's an envelope with your name on it over there."

"I saw it, Chief. We'll have to wait until the lab people do their thing."

"You know what's in it, don't you." There was a long hesitation. "You knew he was going to do it, that's why the hurry. You thought there might be time to stop him or help him. How, Jim? How?"

The answer was so long in coming, Blair started to get angry. Before it could reach words, Jim answered carefully, "Are you sure you want to go there, *tonight* Blair?"

Anger did an abrupt turn into worry. Jim had not brought up the fact that Blair had had his gun earlier, and there was no way, *no way* he could have known what use Blair intended for it. Which meant there was something else about Daniel's death that Jim expected him to be deeply troubled by. Which meant... he sighed, better find out what it was.

"Let's just get it over with, " he muttered, and deliberately stepped away and out of the room, taking a seat on the dark staircase that came up from the gallery level.

Sitting so that their heads were even with each other, Jim laid a possessive hand on Blair's knee. "Remember I said I thought maybe rage was the motivation for the vandalism? Well, grief and rage are so closely linked, it's not unusual for one to become the other.

"Daniels came back from a buying trip, the first he had made since his partner died, just a week or so short of the anniversary of that death. He came back to an empty apartment for the first time. Back to an empty life.

"We know he had a sentinel's touch; it makes sense that his partner was, well, his guide in dealing with that. He managed the gallery, remember, freeing Daniel to work.

"He reacted when I asked about the destruction being an inside job. A guilty reaction, but I dismissed it at the time as thinking he might know who did it.

His voice slowed, became hesitant, "When I was worried about pushing you away by wanting you, my reaction was rage. Mindless rage that I held away only because you hadn't really left. He destroyed the artwork in the gallery out of rage at the loss of his guide.

Jim scooted down few steps, turning until he could lean his chin delicately on Blair's knee. "Tonight is the anniversary of his lover's death, and he had a big party, then gave away something dear to him to someone who could appreciate it.

"Blair, that's classic suicide warning. Coupled with my suspicion he had something to do with the other...."

There was quiet for a long time, then Blair said, "And what aren't you telling me?"

"Tonight, I thought.... look," his voice suddenly got brisk, "... clothes were missing from your room, the bath room had been cleared of all your stuff, your keys were in the basket. Call me an Olympic gold-medallist in conclusion jumping, but I've been expecting you to run for you life since the first time I kissed you. I thought you had left."

Blair jerked, started to say something, then forcibly made himself shut up. He knew there was more and he had to hear it.

"I knew I was zoning," Jim went on in a whisper. "I didn't care; I didn't fight it. It didn't occur to me that it could kill me, but I ... I didn't try to come back, didn't want to come back."

He sat up straight, and became very stern. "I don't care if you get mad at me over this. It isn't going to change and we're just going to have to deal with it.

"I knew what Daniels was planning, cause I'd do the same thing. Hell, I don't understand how the poor bastard managed to last a whole year."

Blair could feel the Jim's tension; knew he was waiting to be yelled at or whatever else Blair decided to dish out. Gently he reached out and captured that great head, pulling it onto his lap, and whispered, "It's OK, I love you, too Jim."

The End