Such a small thing to haunt him to the point he couldn't sleep, couldn't close his eyes without seeing it all over again.  So inconsequential, so ordinary he shouldn't have looked twice, let alone not be able to banish the image.

   He had looked up from assisting with a minor fender bender that he had literally been right behind when it happened and saw them.  Ordinarily he would have dismissed the elderly couple, mid-seventies at least, as not being important to what he was doing and never remember them again.  But they were trying to cross a busy intersection that Jim knew from experience that the 'walk' light didn't last very long and drivers had a tendency to rush in the first place.

   With the intention of helping them, he had straightened and taken a step in their direction when they saw a gap they felt comfortable with.  Linking hands, the pair had dashed across with respectable speed for their age, laughing a bit when they made it to the other side.  Then the man had dropped a light kiss on her cheek and they had strolled toward the parking lot that had apparently been their destination all along.

   Mindlessly Jim had watched them go, memorizing the way their fingers curled around each other until he could call up each age freckle and knuckle crease effortlessly.  In the end a honk from a irate motorist had summoned him back to duty, and he shook off his distraction, relagating the couple to the recesses of his mind, never to be recalled.

   Or so he had thought at the time.  Now they inhabited his mind, crowding out more important things, chasing away dreams and peace.

   Now he sat in a good restaurant, surrounded by friends and colleagues, celebrating the successful end of a hard case, and he should be smug, content, happy.  The bust had been his, the key break supplied by Blair in a blaze of inspiration that had even made the uniforms sit up and take notice, and a crook who deserved to be locked in the deepest, darkest cell on the planet might actually end up doing precisely that.  For a man who lived to be a cop, there could be no better moment.

   If that was the case though, he admitted reluctantly, tilting his chair back into the wall and balancing on two legs, unconsciously distancing himself from the raucous group at his table, why did he feel - wistful?  Lonely?  Why did he keep seeing those aged and knarled fingers clinging to each other, one of them adorned with a wedding band worn so long the metal was thinned and fragile looking?  Why did the simple gesture of an old married couple joining hands to face potential danger together make his chest hurt so bad he could hardly breathe?

   Sandburg shot him a look from the corner of his eye, brilliant smile dimming slightly.  It wasn't the first time his partner had caught him brooding lately, but he had been giving Jim space, apparently reading by body language or expression or whatever the hell it was that the perceptive young man used to map Jim's thoughts that the sentinel was too baffled by whatever it was going on to talk about it.  Yet.  Despite himself Jim smiled wryly.  With Sandburg, there was always a yet.

   At the lift of his lips the other man nodded once to himself, then imitated his partner, deliberately doing it clumsily to make a joke, and almost immediately afterward, making a contest of who could balance the longest without touching the wall.  It sucked Jim back into the group, and he was able to push away the memory of a united couple long enough to enjoy the rest of the evening.

   It wasn't until the party began to break up, each detective talking about home and wife or girlfriend that the hot ache in Jim's chest came back, along with his mental spectre.  To his shock, this time he could name the pain; envy mixed with loneliness.  He envied the older pair for a love that was still strong after so many years, strong enough that they faced trouble bound together without conscious intent.  He envied the intimate sharing implied by it, by their laughter echoing in harmony when they were successful.

    It was what he had longed for since he was too callow and young to even know he longed; what he had hoped to find with each woman he dated.  Despite the train-wreck of his love life, he hadn't given up looking, needing the belief that he wasn't always going to have to stand and fight alone.  At times it was all he had to keep him getting up each morning.  Nodding to himself, he silently acknowledged his envy and loneliness, not fighting it any longer, and was relieved that it eased the hurt somewhat.

   That allowed Jim to make his goodbyes with honest cheer, answering the good-natured kidding from the other cops with his own barbs and jokes.  By chance he and Blair were the last to leave, paying their bill as the owner was locking up for the night and putting on his own coat.  Jim hesitated in the cloak room, head turning to listen to the growling storm overhead.  Absently he tucked his partner's scarf a bit closer into his coat, calling Sandburg's attention to the conditions outside.  Grousing half-heartedly, they braced themselves and stepped out into night, almost instantly shrinking back into the recessed doorway.

   The thunderstorm had given birth to hailstones which were ticking and bouncing on the sidewalk and cars, sounding absurdly cheerful and welcoming.  A gust of wind rushed into their skimpy shelter, peppering the pair of them with the cold, sharp ice.  As one they glanced back at the locked entrance, then out into the worsening downfall.  In the distance Jim could see a heavier curtain of hail coming closer, and he warned Blair with a soft curse and uselessly hunched deeper into his jacket.

   At his nod they made a break for it, hands automatically coming up clasp together as they ran hard for the truck half a block away.  Circling around to the passenger side, Jim unlocked the door with his free hand and opened it for his partner, becoming aware of the warmth enfolding his fingers only as he tightened his grip for Blair to use him as a brace to climb in.

   Stunned, senses going off line, *mind* going off line, Jim raised their joined hands up to eye level, staring at them wonderingly, seeing an older, more worn pair.  A blink cleared the vision, leaving the sight of Blair's hand in his.  His guide's were shorter than his own, but more muscular, and the palm was easily larger.  The back was lightly dusted with hair; the knuckles prominent and turning white from the intensity of Jim's hold.  The whole fit into Jim's more slender hand perfectly with even the differing hues of the skin complimenting each other.

   Blair's hand was warm, and as his sense of touch kicked back in, Jim could feel the callouses roughly dragging over his sensitive palm, the slight friction making it tingle and hum.  Reflexively he rubbed a tiny circle with his thumb, enjoying the liquid flow of satiny skin over firm muscle.  Here and there he found a minor imperfection; an old scar of a insignificant wound, long healed and imperceptible to anybody but him.  Not a wimp's hand, he thought distantly, or even a scholar's.  It belonged to a working man who lived and loved and played fiercely, with enthusiasm, not minding the few nicks and scrapes that came along.  A hand that matched the life pulsing in the person who owned it.

   That brought his attention to his hearing, and Jim focused on the distant swish of blood running through the treasure he held.  It was running fast, furious - too fast for it to be from the short run they'd just made.  Blair's heart was beating frantically, too, and his breath was coming in harsh pants.  Tearing his eyes away from their joined hands, Jim jerked his gaze up to meet his partner's, periphially aware of the continued tick, click, thwack of hail coming down around them in a strange counter point to the hiss of silence between them.

   Curls wet and clinging from the rain falling with the hail, face pale in the half light of street lamps and distant, inconsistent neon signs, Blair was staring at him with growing wonder and fear, eyes dark as the most beautiful sapphire.  In the sudden cold of the storm his breath was fogging between them, and Jim inhaled it, automatically adding scent to his increasing awareness of his guide.  There was the aroma of dinner of course, and the beer the other man had drunk with their friends.  Underlying that was a hint of tea and a bean sprout sandwich from lunch earlier, along with the expected smells of laundry detergent, soap, etc.  But the rest was Blair's natural fragrance, both breath and body, both as well known to Jim as the blue eyes watching so carefully.

   That left only taste, and the sentinel part of the big cop propelled him into lifting the hand he still held, using the union between them to brush away the drops of moisture clinging to his guide's lips.  They trembled weakly under that touch, dashing away the half formed idea the Jim had of sipping the liquid he had gathered from his own fingers.  Suddenly uncertain that he should take what he wanted, he diverted himself by gently laying the back of his hand, still holding onto Blair's securely, against the side of the smaller man's face.

   Swallowing hard, eyes drifting close, Blair leaned into that caress, and the tenderness in his expression lured Jim nearer.  When they were thigh to thigh, chest to chest, he bent down to rest his cheek on his guide's, relishing the bite of Blair's five o'clock shadow.  There didn't seem to be any reason to move from that position, and they might have been there when the morning came if an enormous crack of thunder hadn't sounded right over their head, releasing a fury of rain and hail.

   Blair jumped, then fell back into the cab of the truck, dragging Jim with him, his laughter drowning out the last echoes of the storm.

The End.