Court was in session, Judge Lizard presiding, and Simon Banks was miserable because of it. The courtroom was 80 degrees, the air in it was motionless, and the good judge would have you for contempt of court for so much as fidgeting.

Idly, Simon wondered if Lizard knew what people called him. With a last name like Losarrio, his insistence that his court and chambers be kept sweltering, and his utterly unemotional running of said court - well, the nickname was inevitable from Simon's point of view.

He however, was not going to be the one to ask. Lizard remembered cops who did not take the law seriously. God help one who didn't show up for a court date early, with *all* his facts straight.

The only good thing Simon could think of was that Judge Lizard was utterly unimpressed by big corporate money and prestigious corporate law firms. Chances were, Dexter Chemical would not be walking way from their charges of criminal negligence and public endangerment.

When one of their tankers carrying mis-marked chemicals had crashed and caught fire, the department's investigation had turned up physical evidence indicating poor maintenance. Some fast search warrants were issued and the prosecution found a paper trail a mile wide proving a history of safety violations and abuse. If that wasn't enough, they had a star witness that was going to be a nightmare for the defense.

Allowing himself a small smile, Simon glanced out of the corner of his eye at the witness. Good. Jim looked as miserable as he felt. At least he didn't have to suffer alone. The smile faltered; in fact, Jim looked more than miserable. He looked ill.

Mentally blessing Sentinel abilities (there was no way he was ever going to tell Ellison how many times he did that), Simon gave a microscopic nudge. Jim turned his head barely enough to see Banks, and raised an eyebrow questioningly.

The eye Simon could see was so red and teary, he doubted even Jim was able to see out of it well. Jim was breathing shallowly, from the mouth, and his face was flushed. Wondering how to mime 'are you all right?' Simon let his concern show very clearly.

In answer, Jim lifted his eyes and stared at a table to one side of the jury, where the evidence was laid out for examination. Simon followed his visual cue and studied the table. On it were parts from the rig in the crash, and clothing worn by various people at the time.

Puzzled momentarily, he started to turn back to Ellison when the clear memory of Sandburg tossing him a fragment of Jim's shirt, soaked with chemical residue, surfaced. Eyes widening, he looked back at Jim, in time to see him surreptitiously bend his head to wipe his eyes and take a deep breath through his handkerchief.

Alarmed now, he checked the time, and then the bench to try to gauge if Lizard would be forgiving if they exited before recess was called. As the judge swung his gavel and announced to the prosecution that if he didn't watch it, he would be spending the night with some of his former cases, Banks decided against it.

Jim had apparently come to the same conclusion. He was staring straight ahead, again, jaw tight. With a sort of morbid fascination, Simon started counting the number of times the muscle there jumped, per second.

When recess was finally called, he had lost count twice. Jim was up and moving, almost before the gavel was lifted again. Chasing after him, Simon went through the door of the men's room in time to hear Jim lose his lunch. To give him some privacy, Banks left and went to the soda machine at the end of the hallway, and was waiting outside the door with a soda when he came out.

With a nod of thanks, Jim took the can, swished the gingerale around his mouth once, then leaned back on the wall, swallowing.

"Feel better?"

"Not much." Jim had lost the flush from earlier, and was a clammy gray. "I'm going to have to wait out here until I'm called, Simon, even if the DA doesn't like it. I can't filter out the stench from the chemicals on those clothes."

"Do you want me to talk to him about removing them?"

Holding the can to his forehead, Jim answered, slowly. "There's no way of guessing how the defense is going to use my so-called allergic reaction. Since some of the kids showed similar skin problems, they might want to minimize it. And if it looks like I'm playing up to it..."

"We could be accused of trying to prejudice the case. I'll speak to the DA, anyway, and let him call it. *You* keep an ear on the bailiff and be through that door before the Lossario has the opportunity to notice you're not there when called.

"Maybe you should call Sandburg," Simon added, as an afterthought.

A genuine smile blossomed briefly, making Jim look a thousand times better. "That isn't necessary, sir."

Yeah, it isn't, is it? He already knows. Simon thought, and pushed away the envy that percolated through him. Aloud he said, "Stay alert," and went through the double doors to the courtroom.
 
 

Two hours later, Losarrio granted the defense a delay, and dismissed court until day after next. Jim met him at the door, looking better than he had earlier, though his eyes were still red.

"Bad news," Simon said without preamble, "DA won't ask to have the evidence moved, but he'll get you to the stand as soon as possible, to minimize your contact."

Ellison nodded in acknowledgment, and walked with Banks to the exit. "I can't believe they're trying to make the driver of the truck the villain. Guy did everything but get out and push to keep from hitting that bus."

Banks reached up to pinch his nose where his glasses sat. "They've gotten away with it, before, in other states. Which, of course, we can't bring up in court. Unfortunately, for them, this time the driver heard scuttlebutt about this particular dodge, and was keeping records of his own."

Still discussing the case, they left the building. It didn't surprise Banks to find Sandburg was sitting in Jim's truck, engine idling, almost at the door. Blair waved at him across the width of the truck, and called, "Need a ride, too, Simon?"

"Think twice before answering, sir," Jim inserted, opening the door and getting in. "I promised he could drive." To Blair, he went on, "Not a single ding, Sandburg, or the next will be in your head."

"Yeah, yeah. How is it someone can fill your truck with bullets, using it for target practice, and all you do is shrug? But if I get careless with the keys unlocking it, I get grief?"

The words, the tone was right - roomies ranking each other. But Simon saw Blair circle one of Jim's wrists with a forefinger and thumb, and tug, gently. Smile playing at the corner of his lips, Jim sat back, used the headrest, and closed his eyes, visibly relaxing for the first time since he fled the courtroom. "I get to bust the gunman. Too much paperwork to bust you, partner." He caught Blair's hand as it left his wrist and gave it a quick squeeze.

In the space of the time it had taken Ellison to get into the truck, he had gone from a rigid, hard cop to playful friend. A friend Simon saw all too seldom. What was it about Blair? Why did this scruffy, hyper kid get to Jim when Carolyn, a woman of no small beauty, couldn't even get past the first shell? Why Blair?

The envy Simon had felt earlier returned, and Simon gave a quick shake of his head. He couldn't stand the thought of being close to them, not today. "I may trust your cooking, Sandburg, but *not* your driving. See you, tomorrow Jim." He stepped back, and the truck pulled away, both Blair and Jim giving a quick wave as it did.

Sturdily he reminded himself of paperwork that needed his attention, and he had a duty roster to work on. He was not going to watch until it was out of sight; he was not going to... aw, hell. Standing there, he waited until the streak of the tail lights turned a corner, then he trudged toward his own car.
 
 

Next afternoon, it was Ellison's third trip from his desk to the men's room that made Banks give up the pretense of ignoring the detective's misery. The look Taggart and Brown gave him as he made his way there himself told him that he hadn't been the only one to notice it, either. Once inside, the sounds of a man trying to lose *last* week's lunch blasted his ears.

"Hey, Jim, you're frightening the neighbors!" Banks slapped the door of the last stall, but it didn't budge.

Heavy panting, a gag, and a few more retching sounds was the response. Before Banks could try to force the door, he heard the sound of a cell phone ringing, then saw it come skittering from under the door.

Casting an exasperated look heavenward, Simon picked it up and pulled it open. "Hello, Sandburg. No, he's occupied right now. From the sound of things, I'd say I'd have to change my opinion on your cooking - it must be as bad as your driving."

Listening for a moment, he answered, "As soon as he finishes this round. I promise." Closing the phone, he went out into the bull pen and gathered up Jim's things. By the time he was ready to leave, Ellison was leaning over one of the sinks, rinsing his mouth.

"If you didn't feel well, you shouldn't have come in, Detective."

Face in hands, Ellison mumbled, "Felt fine, sir." He straightened, swayed, caught the edge of the sink.

"Well, you aren't fine now. Blair can't come after you; he's got exams to proctor all day."

"I know. Told you to drive me home?"

"Well, you're sure as hell in no shape to drive. I don't think you can even walk."

Almost in defiance, Jim released his white-knuckled grip on the sink and stood erect. "Walk, I can manage." He lost what little color was left in his face. "Not for long, maybe, but I can walk."

They stopped twice on the way to the loft for Jim's fruitless attempts to empty anything else from his digestive system. The second time, Simon had to get out and hold Jim up as he heaved. At the suggestion a hospital might be better destination, Jim simply gave Banks a look that would have frozen a lesser man.

Throwing up his hands in surrender, Banks drove him the rest of the way, and helped him into his place. Once actually inside, one of Jim's arms over his shoulders, the detective leaning on him precariously, Simon considered. The only bath was downstairs, but Blair's bed was too small. It would have to be the couch.

Jim would have nothing of it, and the argument they had was brief, if one sided, with Simon giving logical, rational reasons and Jim refusing to listen. It ended with Jim shaking off Simon's support and starting up the stairs by himself. Angry, Simon let him, until he nearly stumbled part way up.

Cursing, using words like mule and pig as decoration for it, Simon hustled up behind him and got him safely up the rest of the stairs. Collapsing on the bed, Jim made an aborted attempt to prepare for more nausea by pulling the waste basket close to the bed, but blacked out instead.

Briefly, Simon considered calling 911, and taking his lumps, but Jim's reasons for avoiding hospitals couldn't be over looked for what might just be a bad case of the flu. Not if he wanted to remain friends with the pair of them. Shuddering at the very idea of alienating them, he resigned himself to the situation as it stood, and went about making Jim as comfortable as he could.

When Jim's eyes fluttered open moments later, Simon pointed to the trashcan, prepared to accommodate Jim if needed. Sighing his thanks, Jim closed his eyes again. "Simon - babysitting isn't in your job description."

"Shut up, detective," Simon replied quietly. "Let me pay back a few of those times *you* took care of *me.*"

Something told Banks Jim started to make a smart reply, but edited it. Jim pried open one eye, lifted a heavy hand to Banks arm, and said, "Thanks."

Throat tight, Simon nodded, then became brisk. "You need to get some liquids down and keep them down, before you get dehydrated. Sandburg got any potions downstairs for you?"

Rolling to his side and pulling one of the pillows (Blair's, Simon was willing to bet) to his chest, Jim mumbled, "Tea, black canister, next to the coffee. Gave it to me last night; it seemed to help. Honey, not sugar."

"Rest; I'll be back with some when it's done."

Simon had spent enough time in the loft to be acquainted with the kitchen. In very short order, he brought a tray upstairs and set it on the bedstand. He hadn't heard any more sounds of sickness, and Jim seemed to be asleep. Debating whether to wake him, Simon sat on the edge of the bed, and studied the sleeping man.

In Simon's judgement, Jim didn't look any better. Color bad, strain showed on his face, and he was curled in on himself like a cold child. Automatically, Simon lifted a blanket from the foot of the bed and began to spread it over the still form. Tucking it in around Jim's shoulder, Simon let his hand rest on the soft skin of the neck, petting the tiniest bit.

Restlessly, Jim shifted away from the touch, murmuring "Blair?"

Simon closed his lips tight in pain and yanked his hand away. Heavily he sat back on the bed. "Why?" he whispered, believing even a Sentinel couldn't hear it. "Why, Blair?" Unwillingly he raised a hand to touch the back of the fingers to Jim's cheek. "Why not me?"
 
 

When darkness came that evening, Simon was still at the loft, waiting for Blair to get home, torn between frustration and worry. Part of him wanted to be there, helping Jim in any way possible. The rest wanted to get the hell out, before he went crazy from being so close to him. All of him was frantic because Blair had said he would be home two hours ago.

He had checked in on the sleeping man upstairs, several times, and had managed to rouse him enough to get a few sips of tea down. Though Jim had thrown up once more, the next dose of tea had stayed. Color had started to creep back into Jim's face, and his sleep was a natural one.

Debating on trying to call again - the last try, the cell had rung a dozen times - Simon went to check one more time, and found Jim awake and drinking the cold tea.

"Better? And don't lie, you still look like hell." Banks said by way of greeting.

Jim snorted into his cup, and finished his swallow. "Look in the mirror. Problems at the station or have you been talking to your ex again?"

"Don't change the subject."

Putting the cup aside, Jim laid back, pulling the blanket up as he did. "It is the subject. Give, Simon."

Sitting on the top stair and leaning on the wall, he could just see Jim over the edge of the bed. It helped. "I haven't been able to get through to Sandburg and he's overdue."

Rolling to the edge of the bed, Jim eyed his captain suspiciously, but said calmly. "He's ok. Probably stopped to get food or something. And he forgets to charge the cell all the time."

Banks returned Jim's stare evenly. "No matter how many times I see you two do that, it spooks the hell out of me."

"If its any consolation, it spooks Blair, too."

Not certain he wanted to hear, Simon had to ask, "How'd it happen? Not just," he gestured randomly, but still conveyed to Jim he meant the connection, "but all of it. Damn it, Jim, you're the straightest man I've ever known."

"And Blair's even straighter. I don't know, Simon. He just..." Jim began.

From downstairs they both heard the door slam, things being dropped, and footsteps hurrying up the stairs. Blair practically pole-vaulted over Simon, launching himself onto the bed.

"Cold, cold, cold," he chanted, eeling under the blankets. "Very cold, too cold." For a moment the blankets bubbled and seethed, Jim gave a shout of laughter. He disappeared under them, then it was Blair's head popping out over the top. Grinning, he said, "Hi, Simon. Sorry it took so long to get here, had to stop at the apothecary’s on 23rd for some stuff for Jim, got some dinner too, do you still like shrimp in lobster sauce, why don't you help yourself while I..."

Jim sat up in the bed, leaving Blair half hidden and interrupted "...get warm. Does that answer your question, Simon?"

Fighting a grin, Simon answered, "If you mean he just charged in, yeah, I get it. Why don't I go fix a tray for you, so Sandburg can ..." he stood and turned away, going down the stairs, "get *warm,*" he finished with sly emphasis, letting the grin win.
 
 

Hours later, thinking over the conversation, Simon muttered, "And besides the kid could talk a judge into donating his robes to a con." He flounced on the couch, trying to get comfortable and wondering how he had been talked into spending the night on it. Somewhere between the picnic on the big bed upstairs, with all three of them arguing over who was going to get the pillows, and the card game Sandburg had taught them (Set, is this some kind of kid's game, he had demanded when Blair suggested it.) it had gotten very late.

He had tried to leave, but found that his car wouldn't start, and because of the ice storm that had begun during the game, he couldn't get a tow. Blackly he had accused Sandburg of sabotage, to keep him there for another round of that aggravating (fun) game. Blair had given him his best wide eyed innocent look, then, in one of his one-eighty mood changes, said seriously, "If I had, it would've been because the roads are too bad. Simon, stay. I know my old bed is too small for you, but the couch isn't that bad."

"Maybe not for a half-pint like him," Simon muttered. Punching at an offending lump, he turned on his side and tried to sleep. Both he and Jim had to be in Lizard's court tomorrow afternoon, and the last thing he wanted was to fall asleep in that too warm room. Lizard would probably give him ninety days for obscene snoring.

Idly ruminating on other possibilities - 30 days for aggravated assault on eardrums - Simon drifted into sleep and a dream of a gigantic gecko chasing him with a gavel. One swoosh of it sounded suspiciously like people whispering. It was a tie between the cop and the father of a teenager as to which actually woke Banks to investigate.

Disoriented, he held still, trying to identify a) where he was, b) what woke him, and c) why he shouldn't just roll over and go back to sleep. A moon-changed shadow shifted, catching his eye, and he stared at it until it resolved into the silhouette of Jim and Blair against the balcony doors. They were face to face, inches apart, half dressed, and Jim had both hands on the smaller man's bare shoulders.

"I.. just.. need to .. catch my breath." he panted, softly, trying to whisper. "Stairs .. second, ok?"

Blair placed a palm on Jim's forehead and whispered, "Babe, maybe Simon is right, you should go to the hospital."

"Feel fine... got up too soon, 's all..." Jim leaned to touch his forehead to his lover's. "Prove it to you."

"Babe.."

Jim kissed him, and Simon closed his eyes, trying to block the brief memory of the touch. Blair made a tiny sound, and against his will, Simon's eyes opened again. Holding Blair's face between his hands, now, Jim was dusting small kisses over it, and Blair was the one panting.

"Man, this is *so* unfair," Blair mumbled, "You're too weak to go to the bathroom by yourself.."

"Your opinion, not mine," Jim said around kisses.

"... and you can *still* make my knees wobble." Standing on tip-toe, Blair took Jim's mouth, making the bigger man moan.

Stealthily, Simon brought a hand up and bit it. Unable to stop, he watched as the two of them slowly made their way to, then up the stairs, trading kisses and caresses. Halfway up, they paused, still wrapped completely around each other, and Jim asked, "My way or yours, Teach?"

"Jim, are you sure this is a good idea?" Blair asked, in return. "You're shaking here."

"Yours, then."

//They've forgotten I'm even here.// Simon realized. //His way – a Sentinel's way? How would it be different...// Possibilities flashed through his mind, and Simon bit again, harder. Regardless of the pain, his erection firmed, moving against the seam of his pants.

Dimly, he could see Jim pinch both of Blair's nipples, rolling them between finger and thumb. Blair half fell onto the wall, and gasped, "Bed, lover, bed..."

"Hurry."

Somehow they made it the rest of the way up, and Simon sighed in relief. Out of sight... Then the bed creaked as they landed on it, and he heard Blair order softly, "On your side, like the first time, all right? I'll do everything."

//Jim lets Blair take him?// Somehow Simon had always assumed Jim wouldn't allow that, that he would have to be the one on top. Then he heard Jim plead, "Open me with your tongue, first? Please?"

A bolt of pure lust hit Simon on the gut, and he used his hand this time to stifle his groan. "Oh, god, oh god, Blair... " came from upstairs.

Simon closed his eyes, then popped them back open again. In the dark behind his eyes he could see too clearly. Better just to listen. Rhythmic creaks, sweet cries, and occasional obscene wet sound - Simon surrendered and moved his free hand down to his cock. Releasing it from his pants, he pumped it in time to the noise from over head.

//I don't think they know how clearly you can hear them from down here? Why would they? Oh God, what if Jim hears, smells, me?// Worried, Simon stopped and tried to even out his breathing.

There was a sound of wood on wood - drawer in the nightstand, Simon identified it - a moan of disappointment, fumbling noises, a quiet curse from Blair. Reaching for lube and condom, Simon guessed

"I love you, Jim. Love you, love you."

"Yes, yes, love you, yes, love you."

Flesh began to slap onto flesh, each slap accompanied by a small sound from one or both of them. Fingers working hard into his thighs, Simon tried to ignore his own desire, tried to analyze what he was hearing into simple data.

It worked, for a moment, then Simon's replay told him a sound had been missing earlier. He had heard Blair fumble for what he thought was a condom. But he had not heard a package being opened, nor had there been time to use one before they had begun in earnest.

//They're bare to each other!// Why that thought was the one that broke the camel's hard-on, Simon didn't know. All he knew was that he had to have some relief, right now! Mindlessly he grabbed his cock and began stroking it ruthlessly.

"Jim!" The shout had a note of warning.

"Want it! Love it, love you."

"OH! OH NO!"

"BLAIR!!!"

Simon screamed, only in his head, fist in his mouth to make sure, "JAMES!"

It was a sleepy mumble from upstairs that stirred Simon, finally. He pulled his t-shirt over his head, mopped up the mess on his stomach, then stuffed the shirt under the edge of the couch with a solid reminder to retrieve it with his shoes, discreetly, in the morning. Listening carefully, he decided Jim had been too distracted to pay attention to anything but Blair.

Simon sighed in relief. At least he was spared that humiliation. He didn't know what he would do if the two of them ever figured out he was bi, let alone that where his feelings lay. Coiling around the coldness in his middle, he at last slipped into an exhausted sleep.
 
 

Though the bright light from the balcony told him he had slept hours, Simon felt like it had been minutes. His eyes were filled with sand, leaking from his head, he was pretty sure, and some cat had tried to take advantage of the sandy conditions by using his mouth as a litter box. "Coffee. Coffee. Coffee," he chanted, and rolled over.

And off the couch onto the floor. "Coffee!! Coffee!!" He moaned pathetically.

Magically, it appeared under his nose. Snarling, he attacked, captured the cup, and tried to inhale it.

"I'd offer to refill it," Blair said from a safe distance, "but I need my fingers, man."

Simon just snarled again, inarticulately, and stomped for the bathroom, taking his cup with him. He stayed there until the caffeine had worked its usual magic, making him presentably human. Barely. Assuring himself he could face even Sandburg, now, he went out in search of a refill.

OK, so he'd overestimated. Tamping down his annoyance, he shook the empty pot and went in search of its owner.

Back to him, Blair was on the phone. "No, I don't know how long. But he didn't have a fever when he went to sleep last night, and it's 102 degrees, now. Yes, yes, yesterday. No, I don't think it's the flu - he was throwing up before the fever.

"No, I understand. This evening! No, no. All right, 7 this evening, then." Blair hung up and glared at the phone. "Witch doctors do it better! But the nearest is too far away to help. OH! Hi, Simon."

"Sorry, kid, didn't mean to sneak up on you."

"No problem. Simon, how much trouble will there be if Jim can't make it to the courthouse today?"

"AWW Shit. He's that bad?"

"He says not, but you know how he is. He took something for the fever, went back to sleep. I gotta get to school; last day for exams and *nobody's* available for subbing." Blair began wandering around the room, picking things up and putting them down again, obviously thinking.

"I heard you say he had an appointment for seven, this evening?"

"Yeah, first available. Bug going around, *again*. At least they're keeping late hours today."

"How bout you give me a lift to the precinct? Jim's truck is still there. I can come back just before the court date, meet the tow for my car, check on him. If he's up for it, we'll go together, then I'll meet you at the doctor's with him. If not, I wrangle him into the truck and get him to the hospital."

"Simon..."

"I know, but this isn't the flu, I don't care what the symptoms look like. And I know that we can't take anything for granted because of his senses.."

"Simon..."

"But the man's really sick, here, and maybe witch doctors might have a better clue, but don't eliminate modern medicine just because..."

Blair came to stand in front of Simon, reaching up to snatch away his glasses to get his attention. "It's a plan, Simon. And I think we should *not* tell Jim. Just do it, right?"

"Sandburg, you are definitely the brains of this partnership."
 
 

"Detective Ellison, please describe to the court what happened next."

"The bus skidded sideways, but missed the tanker. It came to rest, tilted, against the rock face. I had already stopped; I ran from my vehicle toward the accident." Jim's voice was steady, even, controlled, as it had been during his entire recount of the events of that day.

Simon wasn't surprised; he had seen Jim testify before. He had learned from his experience with the twins, though, and had carefully kept all his information to what was normally considered humanly possible. But he was a trained observer, and his testimony was every bit as damaging as the prosecution had hoped.

"The one of the vehicles hit by the tanker had begun to burn, but I saw the driver exit, and had seen no sign of passengers. I went to the bus, because I could hear the children getting panicked. Front door was held close by the bus' position on the cliff face, and, as I arrived on the scene, an older boy managed to get the back door open.

"One or two children jumped off, but most were focused on the front of the bus. I worried about controlling them, but an older woman and a teenaged male joined me. She caught one of the kids just as he was about to take off, got a name from him, Michael, told him he was the line leader, and yelled 'Fire Drill. Line up!’ Pulled another kid into line.

"I could see she had them in hand, so I got onto the bus and started ushering the other children off. Teenager was handing them off the bus, hustling them into line. Woman asked me "Where," I pointed to a spot I felt was far enough away and she led the line to it.

"By that time the older children noticed me, and were turning back to exit from the rear. Some of the younger ones were crying, scared to move. I started pairing smaller children with bigger ones, pointing them to the back.

"Several were injured, but mobile. A few were too scared to move, even with the older children helping - I carried several of them off the bus. The young man who had been helping at the door carried some. Four were too shocked or injured to move voluntarily. I trained as a medic, in the military, and I judged that their danger was greater from the fire that was too hot and too close, than from being moved.

"I did so, then went back onto the bus to see to the driver. From that point, I have no other clear memories of the day."

Unconsciously holding his breath, Simon waited. "I beg your pardon, Detective, how could you 'not remember?'" Good, the prosecution was going to bring it up.

"I had an allergic reaction to something present at the scene, though that was originally misdiagnosed as another condition. My next coherent memory begins at the hospital."

"Thank you, Detective Ellison. Prosecution rests."

The defense stood, smiled charmingly, and proceeded to try to pound Jim's testimony into the ground. He nit-picked on the tiniest detail, worked every observation from every angle, trying to cause Jim to stumble, hesitate, or mis-speak. The only blessing was that he apparently *did not* want to bring Jim's hospital experience into play.

Relaxing, Simon began to mentally rehearse his part in the bust at the chemical company, wanting to sound as competent as his officer. But, as the defense wore on and on, he began to worry. Though Jim had been warm when he'd picked him up at the loft, he'd looked and sounded fine. And Banks had not been willing to be convinced.

As minutes bleed away from the clock and the questions kept coming, Jim's voice stayed even and steady, but he began to look ghostly pale, except for hectic redness on his cheeks. When he began to rasp as he spoke, air rattling, Lossario astounded Banks by stopping the defense and leaning over his bench. "Detective, are you ill?"

Giving a half smile, Jim answered, "Yes, but I'd like to finish here, if I may, your honor. I have a doctor's appointment immediately after the hearing."

Lossario eyed him, as if deciding how to decipher Jim's attitude, then, apparently taking it as a cop just wanting to get it over with, nodded once to the defense.

Simon had to bite back a laugh. Defense visibly wilted. If he carried on his cross-examination too long, now, Lizard would slam him for badgering or grandstanding. Hopefully the fool would finish as soon as possible, and let him get Jim out of here. Appointment be damned; he was going straight to the hospital.

Valiantly, Defense continued, but dismissed Jim after less than 15 minutes, after obviously skipping parts of the testimony that should have been as hammered as the rest. Maybe he was going for compassion points with Lizard, Simon thought. Mistake! Lizard hasn't got any.

Clearly bracing himself, moving slowly, Jim stood and stepped down. Intuition had Simon standing, running even as Jim collapsed slowly, like a redwood heading for the forest floor.
 
 

"Damn it, Jim. You are not leaving this hospital." Banks shouted.

Picking up receiver for the payphone, Jim dropped in a coin and called the cab company number scratched into the wall behind it. He completed his call before answering. "Yes, I am. AMA – against medical advice - but I am leaving, and I have the right."

"You're delirious."

"Doctor tried that. Fever's not that high...

"..yet.."

"..and all you can do for pneumonia is give the patient antibiotics, fluid and bed rest. Oxygen if breathing's too much of a problem, which it's not..."

"..yet! Jim..."

Whatever Simon had been about to say next was lost as Jim whipped around, catching him by the front of his shirt and spinning him to pin him onto the wall. "I can't feel Blair! He should have been here before the ambulance got me here, hours ago. We both know that."

Steely cold, at least to Jim's face, Simon pried Jim's hands from his shirt. "Either he can't or he won't be here, and if it's the first *you* are in no shape to help. I've sent Taggart to look for him – as a personal favor to both of us. If it's the last, going after him is the not what he wants."

The strength poured out of Jim so fast, Simon hoped for a second he would be able to convince the idiot to check back into the hospital. Instead, Jim staggered away, to the exit to wait for his cab. Fists clenching and unclenching, Simon ground his teeth, damning Sandburg to whatever hell is worse for anthropology grads. When he felt calm enough, he went after his detective, barely in time to hop into the cab with him.

Jim ignored him. Simon ignored him back, mostly, but flashed a look from the corner of his eye when he could. Halfway through the ride, Jim went from bad to worse. Simon could feel the heat radiating off him, and Jim began talking to no one.

"He promised me. It almost killed me the last time. He promised me. I didn't want to believe him, but he proved it to me. He promised me."

Eyes closed, leaning on the door, Jim mumbled his litany under his breath until Simon scooted close and asked, "Promised you what, Jim?" Feeling, no *knowing* he was taking advantage, but impelled by morbid fascination, Simon repeated, "What did Blair promise you?"

Jim stirred fitfully, opened one eye, seeing Simon but not connecting to him, really. "That he wouldn't shut me out, again. You think you're spooked by us? He could hardly handle being a straight man in love with another one. Finding out how deep it went - he freaked. Wouldn't even sleep in my bed." His eye slid shut, and a tear began to wander its way unchecked down Jim's cheek.

"I thought it was because he didn't want to stay with me, that he wanted other lovers, women. I couldn't handle it. Then Naomi interfered... even if I hadn't believed he wasn't willing to stay with me, I couldn't fight her for him. It would kill him to have to chose between us. He still doesn't know.

"Oh, god, I was so sure I was losing him... Damn, Simon, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He began shaking his head back and forth, another tear following the first.

Cautiously, Simon put one arm over the back of the cab seat, sparing a warning glance at the driver through the rear-view, and one hand on Jim's arm. "Shh, shh, you don't need to apologize to me, you didn't do anything wrong, shhh."

Jim clicked into awareness suddenly, and opened both eyes, fixing them on Simon. "Yes I do. I didn't care if I lived or died; I shouldn't have been on duty. I endangered you. I didn't care if that sniper bullet hit me or not - and it almost hit you because of it. That was wrong, and I'm sorry Simon, which isn't nearly enough.

"All I can say is that it wouldn't have happened again. I made arrangements to do a deep cover with a death certificate as my shield. I couldn't take the chance of someone being hurt, Blair being hurt, because of me."

"You were going to leave?!" Simon demanded, incredulously.

"I had to, I had to," Jim's eyes closed again, and he slipped back into the lethargy of his fever.

"How could you do that to me?" Simon hissed, hurt beyond belief. "You were going to let me think you died, not a word of what you were really up to, let me *grieve* for you! Why didn't you come to me?!"

He shook the detective, hard, until Jim's eyes opened again. They were glazed, and Simon didn't care. He wanted the truth between them, no matter if Jim didn't understand or care because of his illness. "Without a body, I wouldn't have believed it. I couldn't have believed it. I would have looked for you, understand me, Jim? Damn you, do you understand me?"

A funny smile crooked Jim's lips. "Pretty much what Blair said," he murmured, oblivious to Simon's pained reaction to his words. "Hunted me down, pretty good detective work to do it. Handcuffed himself to me until he got things straight between us. Used the link between us to trip my deepest trigger. Proved to me I was all he wanted. Promised me not to shut me out again, to always sleep in my bed, no place else."

Jim's words had grown softer and softer, and he slumped into Simon, leaning heavily on his upper chest. "He promised me," Jim whispered, barely audible to Simon, close as they were, "Promised me, promised me."

Uncaring of the driver, Simon wrapped both arms around the barely conscious man, holding him tightly. To have come so close, - without knowing! - to losing Jim, had shaken him to the core. Emotions beyond name or reason stirred through him madly, and all he could do was ride it out.

Paying the cabbie, he hauled Jim out when they arrived, mentally taking a strong grip on himself to be able to get through whatever was next. Something - the smells or the sounds of home - penetrated Jim's fevered mind, and he pulled himself together, as well.

Stumbling along as fast as he could manage, he made for the loft, calling Blair's name as he went. By the time he opened the door, Jim had stopped, and Simon knew the rooms would be empty. Jim turned, and Simon had to bodily stop him and push him through the door.

"We wait."

With a shove, Jim tried to turn back. "I can't feel him, Simon!" he shouted. "I have to find him; I have to know why!"

Latching onto Jim's upper arms, Simon shook him as he had earlier. "You're too sick to look for him! Pneumonia can kill, Jim! Where would Blair be then? Whatever's going on, all you can do wait."

Swaying from the shaking, Jim tried to wrench free of Simon, nearly tumbling both of them to the ground. Though Jim was too weak to win, Simon was terrified of what damage could be done if they continued to fight. "Jim," he pleaded, then demanded, "JIM! I'll find him, I promise. Right now, I swear it. Just go up to bed and wait."

Shaking, sucking in great gasping breaths of air, Jim sagged in Simon's hold. Encouraged, Simon whispered, more in his voice than he knew, "Trust *me.*"

An eternity later, Jim nodded, once, reluctantly. Not quite believing him, Simon held on and began to steer him for the stairs. "No," Jim rasped, "go on, start looking. I can manage." From somewhere he managed to dredge up part of a smile. "In two hours I start looking on my own."

"Three." Simon wagged a warning finger in Jim's face, using his best Captain's face. "Three, Detective."

"Yes, sir." With a hard squeeze to Simon's arm, Jim shuffled slowly away, leaning on furniture as he went. Torn, Simon watched his progress for a minute, then spun and left, making sure the door locked behind him.
 
 

Glad that he had decided to leave his car here this morning, Simon headed for the garage, pulling out his cell as he went. It rang before he could dial, and giving it a suspicious glare, he flipped it open and answered, "Banks."

"Captain, I'm in Sandburg's office at the university," Taggart replied without preamble. "It was locked when I first got here, so I checked to see if his car was parked in his spot. Still here and the schedule on the door says he didn't have any other classes today. In fact, most of the campus is closed down for the recess. Took me forever to get a key to get in."

"So now we know he's not there. See if you can..."

"Simon, there's fresh blood on the floor."

"Shit," Simon breathed. "Signs of a struggle?"

"No, but I was thinking, remember the last time Ellison was in the hospital?"

Vividly the image came to mind of a trickle of blood running from Blair's nose as Taggart lowered him to the floor. For the first time, Simon wondered what price both men paid for their awareness. "Shit," he said again, thinking fast. Blair knows something's wrong, knows Jim's sick. Jim's right, he's got good skills, he'd start calling. "Taggart, hit the redial on Sandburg's phone."

In the background he could hear Taggart doing as he was told, then, "The hospital where the ambulance took Ellison answered."

"Right. Ask them when they took the call checking if Jim was there."

When Joel answered, Simon ran through the visit in his mind. "Jim was on his way home by then. Did the desk tell Sandburg that?" Waiting for Taggart to relay the question, Simon asked himself out loud, "That was still a couple of hours after Jim hit the deck. Why the delay before Sandburg called the hospital?"

"I think he passed out or was knocked out or something. There's a *lot* of blood." Joel answered, thinking the question was for him. "And yeah, Blair knew Jim was on the way home. Wouldn't he be,too?"

"But not in his car?"

"Broke down? Got a lift?"

"From who? You said the campus was shut down. Either he called a cab or he's walking. Start driving toward Prospect, use the route a pedestrian would take, and call cab companies while you do, to see if they've gotten a fare for Prospect. I'll start from this end. Taggart, hurry. It's cold out there, and I don't think Sandburg's thinking clearly."

Taggart repeated back Simon's instructions, then hung up. Only half listening, Simon got into his car, prayed the new battery the tow company put in it worked, and started it. Already mapping the best foot route to the university, he put it into to gear and started his search.
 
 

"Well, at least it isn't snowing," he muttered to himself, half an hour later. He and Taggart had met once in the middle, then kept going. There were simply too many paths a pedestrian could take that a car couldn't. Deciding, that if he didn't spot Sandburg by the time he got to the university, he would walk part of the route, he slowed and shone a light up another ally.

He saw movement, then dismissed it as another drunken homeless man lurching along. Swinging the light away, he caught a glimpse of curls and jerked the light back. Head down, depending on a wall to keep him upright, Sandburg stumbled a few steps and fell.

As Banks braked sharply, and got out of the car, Sandburg hauled himself back to his feet, using the wall for support, and took a few more steps. When he fell this time, Simon caught him, holding him up by the elbows. Head falling limply back, Blair stared blankly up into the taller man's face.

"Sandburg!" Transferring Blair's weight to one arm, Simon lightly touched the blood flowing down one side of his face. "Sandburg!"

Blinking blearily, Blair shifted to take his own weight on his feet. "Simon? Simon!" Blair took handfuls of the front of Banks coat. "Where's Jim?!"

"He home, worried as hell about you!" Simon started angrily.

Before Simon could release his full tirade, Blair whispered fervently, "Oh, thank god!" Then his eyes rolled up into the back of his head, and he became a dead weight on the captain’s arm. Startled, Simon swung him up into his arms, holding the smaller man easily.

Heading for his car, he stopped under a street light, trying to get a good look at the blood on Blair. It was from a long, but shallow gash along the hair-line, and there was already signs of bruising around it. There didn't seem to be any other wounds, and Simon went on to his car.

Standing at the passenger door, he froze. Though his first thought was to take the kid to the nearest emergency room, he could practically hear Jim begging with him to bring Blair to him. //Kid isn't that badly hurt, looks like. We can check him out there, get him to a hospital if we need to, then. Maybe get Jim to go back.// Simon thought.

Irrational anger exploded in him, and he had to throw back his head, biting back a bellow of frustration. //Jim should be in the hospital, anyway. Damn you, Sandburg. I should just take you back to your office and leave you there. Tell Jim you were seen leaving with some young co-ed. Maybe then he'll listen to me!//

**Promised me not to shut me out again, to always sleep in my bed, no place else,** Simon heard Jim say in his mind, and the thought, //What would Jim do if he thought Blair broke that promise?// snaked behind in that memory's wake.

** It almost killed me the last time** //But I'll be there, this time. I'll know what's going on. I'll be able to get him to turn to me.//

**He could hardly handle being a straight man in love with another one** //All right, Jim still thinks of himself as straight. But he's had a taste of it. Heard him last night, he loves it, now. I can seduce him. Maybe let him think its payback to Blair.//

The vision that rose in Simon was so clear, he could *feel* the satin glide of skin over skin as he covered Jim, placing sharp bites in ownership on his back as he did. One hard thrust and he was inside, Jim arching up to take it, and it was good, so good. Not enough though, he wanted to see his prize as he claimed it. With-drawing, he flipped Jim over, lifted his legs over his shoulders, shoved back in, shouting in pleasure.

Riding hard, he filled his hand with Jim's cock, stroking it roughly. Still not enough and he rumbled in frustration, leaning in to use his tongue to complete connection. Jim's face was turned away, half-hidden in the pillow. That would never do, and Simon took his chin between thumb and forefinger, forcing Jim to look up at him.

He did, with dead, empty eyes and no pleasure at all on his still features.

Gasping, Simon dropped back into reality, nearly losing his burden as he did. //No, no, it wouldn't be like that. He'd be hurt, devastated at first. But only for a while. He would love me, I know he would. After a while. He would.//

Breathing harshly, as if he were the one with pneumonia, Simon adjusted Blair's limp form, half-leaning on the car as he did. //There is nothing this, this over-active, half-sized, new-aged brat can give him that I can't,// he insisted to himself.

Awkwardly he reached for the door handle, tugged it, and swung the door open with his hip. Half kneeling, he put Sandburg into the car, automatically buckling him in. The overhead light came on, and he got his first clear look at Blair.

For the first time he realized that the blood from the head wound wasn't the only blood on the kid. Both palms and knees were scrapped raw, with trickles of wetness soaking into the jeans and shirtsleeves. Blair must have been falling, crawling for blocks to get them into that condition.

Simon circled one slender wrist with a thumb and finger intending to turn Blair's hand up to take a closer look at his palm. As he did, he saw Jim doing the same thing, or Blair doing it to Jim, over and over in a dozen different contexts. Almost always on seeing each other after being separated, and as they parted. There would be a tug, a trace of a smile, and then they would be all business.

//They're saying 'I love you.'// Simon thought with a flash of intuition.

**Hunted me down... Handcuffed himself to me ... Used the link between us to trip my deepest trigger. Proved to me I was all he wanted.** //Reminding each other of that proof, every day, a dozen times.// There was awe in that understanding, and Simon looked at Blair with new eyes.

How many times had he seen this young man hold it together in situations that would panic seasoned, trained officers? Always thinking, never backing down, and always, *always* putting Jim first. This evening - dizzy, weak, bleeding, hurting - and the first words out of his mouth were "Where's Jim?"

Timidly, Simon brushed away the matted locks from Blair's face. He had never been blind to this beauty, and it was perfectly natural than anyone with half a brain would be attracted to the energy and enthusiasm Blair gave off. Painfully, he acknowledged the spirit that came with the package was more than equal to the rest. More than worthy of having Jim, and he was Jim's choice.

//Wrong, very, very wrong to try, to *think* of trying to come between them. How can I claim to love Jim enough to replace Blair, and still consider destroying him to do it? That's not love, Banks. That's obsession.//

Divided between shame and despair, Simon backed away from Blair, shut the door and hurried around to the driver's side. //Jim trusts me,'' he reminded himself, //Blair trusts me. I don't deserve it, but I'm damned well not going to lose it.// He pulled out, heading for Prospect Street.
 
 

"Captain Banks? I'd like a word with you, before you see your officer, if you don't mind?" Simon turned to the speaker, and successfully stifled a yowl of reaction.

Dressed in a doctor's white coat, the most incredibly beautiful young Asian male he had ever seen in his life was standing, waiting for something. //Words, words, Banks. You're supposed to say *something* right about now, remember? Remember words?//

"Can I help you?" //Well, I remembered words, just not the right ones. Maybe he won't notice. Probably use to it.//

The doctor blinked, in confusion, then smiled slowly. //Oh, no. Oh, no. There went ... what were those things ... sounds.. shit..//

Unaware of Simon's mental confusion, the young man consulted a chart in his hand, then looked back up at Simon. "Detective Ellison is cleared for duty; fastest recovery from this kind of pneumonia I've ever heard of. However, there is something he feels you should be aware of, and he gave me permission to discuss it with you, in case you had questions."

Vacantly, Simon remembered something he could do to keep the man talking, and he did it. Taking the nod as encouragement, the doctor began to explain that Jim's pneumonia was actually a form of allergic reaction to the same chemical that had made him nauseous. Smell and taste had accounted for that, and he had countered it with the medicine from the apothecary - a very, very good one, by the way, you should try some of remedies yourself when you have a cold. At any rate, the chemical was irritating the detective's lung tissues, particles of it actually imbedding themselves, ...are you listening, Captain?

Shaking his head so hard, his glasses slipped Simon exerted every ounce of will he had, and focused on the man. "Yes, but I don't understand why he was ok at home but not at the office." //Good, a coherent question. Bit off target, but..//

"Well, this chemical is commonly used in cleaning mixtures. Mr. Sandburg checked, and it's being used by your department maintenance. Ellison was being exposed to it at work. It *is* a hazard for him, now that he's been sensitized, and if he's to continue there will have to be a change. That's why he called you here and asked me to speak with you."

The rest of the conversation went well, and when Jim stepped out, buttoning his shirt, the doctor finished by telling Simon that if he had any questions, please feel free to call. With a smile for Jim - Simon inhaled sharply - the doctor left.

Head tilted to one side, Jim did his top button, then patted Simon on the shoulder. "Give him your phone number, Simon. He's interested, too."

Staggering as if hit, Simon goggled at his friend.

"His heartbeat spiked as hard as yours did, and the scent is unmistakable, to me." Jim explained, gently.

Mustering his dignity, trying to hide his fear, Simon asked, "How long have you known?"

"That you're bisexual? From the first time you came to work after spending the night with a man. You can't wash the aroma away, Simon. The rest of it?" Jim shrugged. "I don't think we need to go there. Do you?"

Though Jim's tone still gentle, there was a firmness under it that Simon understood. "And you still trust me?" he asked.

"With Blair's life. You didn't ask for what you feel, and you've never done anything to make me think any less of you for it. If anything..." he hesitated a long time, and Simon waited fearfully for him to finish. "I have *never* known anyone I respect or admire more. Especially, now."

With a nudge towards the back of the young doctor, Jim sent his friend down the hall. "If you won't give him yours, at least ask for his. Even if it's under the pretext of being able to contact him for more info. It'll make his day, I guarantee."

At a snail's pace, Simon went after the doctor. As he got close enough to address him, he looked over his shoulder at Jim. A smiling Blair was joining Jim, slipping an arm around his waist and looking up into his partner's face.

A ripple of emotion moved over Simon as he saw again the completion he had first witnessed days before, the night he had placed the unconscious young man into Jim's bed. Jim had reached for Blair, and as he did, Simon had gotten the impression of water flowing into water to meet itself - seamless union.

Jim's sensitive fingers had spidered over the wound Blair had gotten when he fell in his office, assuring himself it was minor. With a prayerful, "*There* you are!" Jim then lapsed into fevered insensibility, while Blair groaned and shifted toward wakefulness.

"*There* you are!" he had said, immediately cupping Jim's face, hissing at the pain in his sore hands. He had pulled one away, looked at it, shrugged, and snuggled into Jim's chest, closing his eyes again.

At Simon's grunt of surprise, Blair had reopened his eyes and told him, very seriously, "We need to be together, touching, right now. Ok Simon? I don't understand why, but we've got to be skin to skin. Don't let anybody separate us, please?"

//As if anybody could,// Simon had thought. Pulling himself out of his revere, he looked at the doctor, who was turning with a pleased expression on his face, then back one more time at Jim and Blair. //As if anybody could.//

He turned his full attention to the man in front of him, smiling as charmingly as he knew how. "I'm sorry, doctor. But I didn't get your name."

The End