Broth3rs

For the life of him Don couldn't figure out how, after a long day in the field, he wound up with both his dad and his brother in his car, taking them home. It had something to do with the two of them arriving together in Dad's car, and Charlie having to go back with him to the FBI office in the morning anyway, and there was something about the ingredients for shrimp scampi, too. How that fit it, he didn't know because that's when things got confusing, though no doubt Charlie could come up with an algorithm or paradigm or whatever to straighten it out if he asked.

Grinning, he thought, Welcome to a day in the life of the Eppes family.

Behind him, he caught Charlie's reflection in the mirror, smiling at him as if he'd read his mind, and the way things had been going between them lately, Don wouldn't have been surprised if he had.

Picking up on the interplay, Alan asked, "What?" then repeated himself in bewilderment when both his sons broke up.

Don couldn't help it; he laughed hard, barely able to pay attention to his driving, until he pulled into the driveway at the house.

Only to instinctively reach for his sidearm, all traces of humor gone, when he spotted an unknown woman sitting on the top step of the porch, obviously waiting for them. His dad and Charlie noticed the change immediately, sobering as quickly and freezing in place to wait for Don to make his move. On one level of his mind, Don basked in that trust, even while most of him was evaluating the situation, assessing the danger and the direction it might take.

Before he touched his weapon, his reason caught up with his training and pointed out that a middle-aged woman, stranger or not, sitting in plain view, was probably no threat at all. Probably, which meant that caution was all that was called for.

To Don's astonishment, his dad was the one to growl, "Wait in the car. I'll deal with this."

Before either he or Charlie could react, Alan got out, slamming the door and stalking for the stairs, literally shaking with anger. Don and Charlie shared a single look and got out simultaneously, following their father near enough to lend support but not so near he could grouse at them for invading his privacy. Sparing them a glance that promised a reckoning later, Alan didn't call them on it, though his pace slowed fractionally.

Once he was close enough to speak quietly, Alan said, "Leave, now. You're not welcome here, not ever."

Face turned up to the sun as if that was all she cared about, the slender red-head said calmly, "Your wife's not home; I made sure of it."

"Margaret passed away a few years ago. That doesn't change my complete and total desire to never lay eyes on you again," Alan said, loathing all but dripping from the words.

Again, Don fixed gazes with Charlie. Neither of them had ever heard their father speak that way to anyone, even people that certainly deserved it. It was alarming in a way that made Don wish for the simplicity of a criminal breaking into the house who he could take down and arrest.

"Ah, then, something else she and I will have in common," the woman said, apparently not at all disturbed. Finally looking directly at Alan, she added, "I'm dying. Cancer. Already spread and there's only a few months left for me."

Not in the least mollified, Alan said, "My sympathies. Now leave."

"Or you'll call the cops on me?" she laughed, and pinned a sharp, poisoned look on Don. "Of course, you already have your own personal pig to take care of that, don't you? And the other one consults with them, doesn't he?"

It took everything Don had not to slap the cuffs on her right then and there for the way she sneered at Charlie, her expression dismissing him as so much garbage. Alan stopped him with a gesture and fast look. Charlie just stared back at her as if she were a not particularly challenging puzzle he was required to solve.

Interestingly that got to her as nothing else had, and she fixed her gaze on the wood at her feet. "Another thing we have in common," she said very, very quietly. "My son got tangled with the p... cops, too. But not all cops are good ones. Some are even worse than the ones we protested against, back in the day. Jim Ellison is the kind that gets medals and commendations, gets his name in the evening paper, gets the approval and support of his superiors. The kind who is responsible for my Blair being in the hospital from a beating so brutal we worried that he'd lose his eyesight, and he never worries that his buddies will call him on the abuse. Such a wonderful, dedicated cop would never hit an academic, a teacher who is so much smaller and weaker than him."

Mouth tight, Alan shook his head, but said with less anger, "I'm sorry, but it's not my problem. You made sure that your son would never be my concern long before he was born, though you knew good and well that wasn't what I wanted. Nor my Margaret."

She shrugged carelessly. "And if I tell your sons more about mine if you don't help Blair?"

Rage returning in full bloom, Alan said icily, "I'll tell them myself as soon as you leave. And you will leave. I've said my piece. If nothing else, you should remember that once I've made up my mind on a subject, that's it."

Without another word he went inside, beckoning to Don and Charlie to follow. Don did, putting on his best 'the other person doesn't exist' attitude, but Charlie dawdled, still examining the woman with analytical intensity. She started to speak to him, changed her mind when Charlie gave her a half smile that proclaimed he expected her to sound stupid but would tolerate it, and flushed. Carefully getting up, she left as Alan went into the house.

To Don's surprise his dad froze on the other side of the door as if it had taken all he had to deal with their surprise visitor and there was nothing left, even to find a seat. Standing close, but not touching, he said, "Dad...."

Charlie echoed him as he shut the door, coming to stand on the other side.

Staring into the distance, Alan said bluntly, "Her name is Naomi Sandburg, and before I met your mother, I lived with her." He snorted without humor. "It was my rebellion against my parents in a time when that's what you did to prove yourself as an adult."

Waving that away, he went on, "When you live with a woman, you notice things, personal things, biological things about her, and when I noticed that a certain monthly occurrence wasn't occurring, I asked her if she were expecting. She laughed off the possibility, but left the next day. Just vanished into the crowd of very young, very reckless teens trying to create their idea of a utopia."

Suddenly Alan met Don's eyes. "Yes, I would have married her, disaster though it would have been, to have parental rights to the child. As it was, I heard through mutual friends that she gave birth to a healthy boy. I've never seen him; until today didn't even know his name. I tried, God knows I tried, but Naomi never stayed in one place very long. Each time I learned where she was, she was gone again, child in tow."

"But she's been here before, hasn't she?" Don asked with certainty.

"Don't ask me what motivated her," Alan said. He stumbled toward his chair and dropped into it heavily. "While I was dating your mother and for some years after, Naomi would simply show up at social functions we were attending or giving and chat with your mother as if they were old friends, telling her all about her 'absolutely beautiful and brilliant' son."

"And Mom put up with that?" Charlie blurted.

Alan did a take and found a partial smile. "Only for a while. Before we got married I told her about the possibility I had a son, which Naomi didn't anticipate, apparently. To be very truthful, I think your mother was setting her up by letting her think she had no clue about the father of her child. Not that we saw her often, but finally, during one party, after Naomi finished gloating in the guise of telling charming baby stories, your mother started in with the stories about her two brilliant, beautiful, wonderful sons, most of which easily topped what Naomi had to say about her boy."

Scrubbing both hands over his face, he added, "Sad to say, despite keeping him to herself, I got the impression she didn't have much to do with her son. Most of what she had to say sounded second or even third hand, as if she hadn't been there. And after that spectacular bit of one-up-man-ship from your mother, we didn't see Naomi again until a little over six years ago."

"Mom would have just been diagnosed," Don murmured, thinking it through. Charlie gave a small shake of his head to show that he hadn't known about it.

"I'm ashamed to admit that I didn't bother to hear her out. It's the first - and only - time I've ever manhandled a woman in my life. She was out the door so fast, I hardly registered how much force I was using to get her through it."

"Want to bet that was when her kid hooked up with the cop?" Don said, almost to himself. "Good mother or not, she might have gotten the vibes off him or there might have been incidents that the son explained away with the usual transparent lies, so Naomi came looking for you for help to break it up or stop the abuse, since I'm with the Bureau."

"Walked into a door, fell down the stairs," Charlie murmured, flushing when both Don and Alan stared at him. "Colleague," he added by way of explanation.

"The question is," Alan said slowly, studying both of them thoughtfully, "whether or not we consider it our business."

To his surprise, Don had an instant answer. "Yes. The potential relationship to us isn't the issue; the abuse is. The real question is, do we think she's playing us? Given her attitude about police, she could be causing trouble for her ersatz son-in-law for her own reasons."

"Not the least of which is the probability that she doesn't want to share her son with him, especially if she is sick, any more than she did with me." Alan leaned forward, hands clasped between his knees. "It couldn't hurt to look into it. I'm afraid that puts the ball in your court, Donnie. I mean, I know this isn't an FBI matter, but you do have access to the tools to locate a police officer named Jim Ellison who's apparently got quite the reputation."

"I think you should, too," Charlie piped up. "But very, very carefully. It could be the looking that she wants, if she has ulterior motives." He squatted down next to his dad's chair. "If you want to meet him, and for the record I don't have a problem with it if you do, it's your decision, we'll set it up discretely so that all he knows is that he's been introduced to Alan Eppes."

"Yeah, I'd bet my badge she hasn't told her kid anything about you, not even horror stories to keep him from checking you out," Don put in.

"You think he'd come looking for me before now if she had?" Alan sounded hopeful.

While Don was pretty sure he was going to have to think the whole older brother thing through longer than Charlie had, he said honestly, "Hey, of course. Ask Megan if you don't believe me."

"No, no, I'd rather keep this private for the time being. And it's possible Blair will, too, until he's had a chance to come to grips with it." Alan sat motionlessly, mind obviously very far away.

Abruptly he stood. "We should probably bring in the groceries. I have to tell you, I'm not really interested in cooking now. Maybe call out for Chinese?"

"Sounds good. Charlie, you know what I like," Don said.

Already picking up the phone and taking the seat his dad had vacated, Charlie nodded his understanding. Don detoured close enough to him to give him a brief touch to the shoulder. He had a pretty good idea that he and Charlie would need to talk later, but in the meantime, they'd drop the subject, for Dad's sake.

Hours later, after Alan had dozed off in front of the television watching a game, Don and Charlie quietly retired to the garage to boot up the laptop and begin their search. Despite how common the name 'Jim Ellison' was, it didn't take long to find one the right age that matched Naomi's vague description. A quick look at Detective Sergeant Ellison of Major Crimes, Cascade, Washington, surprisingly turned up the name Dr. Blair Sandburg almost instantly.

"They work together?" Don said, wondering why that shocked him. "They're not domestic partners?"

Scrolling to read, Charlie said distractedly, "He's an anthropologist who consults with Cascade P.D., assigned as Ellison's partner. Most departments don't let couples ride together. I'd think that'd go double for a gay one."

"Doesn't mean Ellison's not knocking him around to make sure he gets all the credit, but, yeah, that does put a point in the 'playing us' column." Hovering at Charlie's shoulder, Don only scanned bits here and there, almost intuitively seeking the same information that Charlie had to slog to get to. From long practice he stayed far enough away that he didn't annoy his brother, tempting though it was to do so for wholly recreational purposes.

"A member of the faculty at Rainier University," Charlie murmured after clicking to another screen. "Good publishing credentials. Often, and in respectable periodicals as well as some popular ones, on a wide variety of topics, though he seems to be something of an expert in evolving immigrant culture and its interactions with local bureaucracies."

"Wonder how that actually plays out case to case," Don said curiously. Charlie had reached the part of Sandburg's life that was the pure academia that he was so familiar with himself, sailing through it so fast that Don was left behind.

"He's cited by other researchers, so he's likely well-considered in his area of expertise, has a couple of grad classes on his teaching schedule along with the obligatory freshman stuff. Done field work - listed as being on expeditionary sabbaticals twice after being hired as a professor at Rainier."

"Wait, wait, Charlie, when was that again?" Don read them, asked Charlie to flip back to Ellison's records, which had a copy of his passport attached. "He went with him? See, same dates. Dig a little deeper into Ellison's record, will you?"

Surprise piled onto surprise: Ellison's solve and convict record was seriously impressive - and Sandburg was credited to the majority of them from the point they'd begun working together. They were considered a specialized unit within Major Crimes; an experiment that was paying off so well for their department that it was being tried out in other cities with large, multiple ethnic immigrant populations. It also explained in a very suspicious way to Don's mind why Cascade Police allowed their so-called best detective to take two long leave of absences without losing his job.

"Check out that passport info again... yeah, yeah, they've done some vacation time in interesting places, too." Don hesitated. "Charlie, can you get in deeper without attracting attention? There's a mention of a military background; I'd like to see that file."

"I have clearance, but this is very close to the edge of what's right," Charlie said nervously, fingers flying.

"If you don't want to, no problem, but I'm going to ask you to try to access Sandburg's hospital records, too. Just if he was seen, nothing private as far as reason or treatment. Now's the time to back off if you're going to."

Charlie nodded, but didn't stop typing. In minutes they'd discovered that, for all practical intents and purposes, Ellison was still active military with the pay grade of a colonel. The files for what, exactly, he did for the Army was classified, and Don didn't want to risk more than he was to find specifics. The worst part was that Sandburg had a military file, as well, starting some time after Ellison's, but mission code names matched from that point on.

"Hell of an angle to work," Don said as they abandoned that line of search and turned back to Cascade and Sandburg's medical history. "Anthropologists go all over the world, and while they're always under scrutiny by the local government, they still get in places where no one else can go. Bet Ellison's usually billed as a security specialist or something like that."

Charlie made a sound of vague agreement, then sat back in his chair, expression unhappy and doubtful. "Looking at this, I have to wonder if Dr. Sandburg's contribution is voluntary. He's got multiple visits to multiple hospitals over the last ten years."

"Which is usually an attempt to hide abuse," Don murmured, looking at the dates for himself. "No one ER sees him often enough to think about just how many 'accidents' he's having."

Rolling back from his laptop so he could turn and face his brother, Charlie said, "Donnie, we're going to have to check this out, one way or another. I don't think Dad's going to be able to let it alone, and I'd feel better if we were with him when he meets Dr. Sandburg for the first time."

"Wish I could argue with you on that." Don hesitated, but asked, "Are you really okay with having a new big brother?"

"I only have one big brother - you," Charlie said calmly. "Even if it turns out that we get along great with our newly discovered half-brother, assuming we go so far as to let him know the genetic connection. Brother is more than who your parents are, and less, too. As long as Dad isn't hurt, I'll be okay. You?"

"No way am I comfortable with Naomi Sandburg turning up out of the blue like this. At the very least, I'm going to insist on DNA. And if that checks out, it still doesn't mean she's telling the truth about why she suddenly came to Dad for help after deliberately keeping his kid away from him all these years. I mean, if it is abuse, it's been going on for a while now, and a sick mother would have all kinds of pull to get her kid out of a relationship like that. Unless Ellison's been threatening to hurt her, too, if she interfered."

Nodding, Charlie wisely didn't insist Don tell him what he actually felt about acquiring an older brother. Which was good, since he didn't have a single clue. Rather than worry over that, Don said, "I guess now we figure out how to meet Dr. Blair Sandburg without him being any the wiser that we're checking him out."

"I think I may have an idea about that," Charlie said, scooting back to the laptop, grinning.

***

Climbing the stairs to the loft slowly, deliberately, Jim let the comfortable scents of the building wash over him, savoring the wonderful melange and drawing out the anticipation of reaching home. The rich smell of pot roast was the most obvious aroma teasing him, and he could tell that it was Blair's own recipe, which was the best Jim had ever tasted. A warm yeasty odor came from the bakery below; he'd have to remember to pick up a loaf of fresh bread tomorrow to go with the leftover pot roast. Mrs. Cooper in 2A was baking as well; a variety of cookies from the buttery smell of things. Her daughter's school must be planning a bake sale.

There was much more, of course, some not so pleasant. Underpinning it all and the reason Jim took his time reaching his floor, was the fragrance of a happy, contented Blair, who, to go by the clarity of his scent, was doing a little anticipating himself. They were staying in for the evening, just the two of them, for the first time in weeks thanks to their insane schedules. For once they had no pressing cases eating their time, they were caught up in their class work, and there was a lull in their social life, such as it was.

Not that Jim had more than the occasional meal with his dad or brother, and catching a Jags game with Simon or maybe Joel now and then. Blair went out more often with a variety of casual acquaintances or colleagues, and there were always functions at the university that he had to attend. Most of the time Jim was happy to wait for him get home, luxuriating in the serenity and joy that he would return, and that Blair would be as eager to see Jim as Jim was to see Blair, full of chatter and casual affection that would spill first into a make-out session, then some serious loving.

Pausing at the top of the stairs to adjust himself in his slacks, he heard the elevator door open and close, then steps going toward the loft. The mild simmer of desire vanished behind a cold wall of alert wariness, and Jim changed his pace so that he could intercept whoever was approaching the loft. The messenger jacket the young man wore didn't reassure him; if anything, it made the barrier of cold thicken.

He reached for his badge even as he read the label on the large envelope, all hopes of a relaxing evening vanishing. "That for me?" he asked perfunctorily, taking the package in exchange for his department ID.

Despite his apparent youth, the messenger looked the card over carefully, then Jim. Nodding in satisfaction, the kid offered the clipboard in the other hand. "Sign for it, please."

With another ritual exchange, this time clipboard for ID and a few bills, the messenger took off, loping away easily as if he had other places to be. Sourly, Jim studied the envelope in his hand as he walked toward the disposal chute, decided it was safe enough, and opened it to take out a file folder with a sticky note attached on the outside. "These gentlemen have been looking into your official records," Jim read. He glanced briefly at the names on the enclosed dossiers before dumping everything but the paper into the trash.

Not recognizing the men whose photographs were clipped to the top sheet, he inspected the pages carefully for tricks and gimmicks. Despite the fact that their handler was only keeping part of the Foundation's bargain with them, Jim didn't trust him any more now than he had when they'd first met. The man did not, in Jim's opinion, truly represent the agency they worked for, not that he wanted to work for any of them. But the Foundation was the best of the bad choices he and Blair had had when the various alphabet agencies had circled them like sharks after the original sentinel dissertation went public. At least, thanks to the Director and his understanding of their unique circumstances, they'd had the means to leverage their way into a tolerable arrangement. They'd been able to keep their real jobs and pick the missions, within reason.

That reassurance, often repeated over the years and never much consolation, did nothing to improve Jim's attitude, and he woodenly retraced his path until he was at his own door. Plastering on a cheerful face that would fool everyone except Blair, he let himself in, his expression becoming real as he took in the sight of his mate bopping around the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on their dinner. Blair was wearing Jim's favorite at home clothes - snug, worn thin jeans and a single Henley, thick socks - coaxing that bit of desire back into view for Jim.

Regardless, Blair took one look at him and his beaming welcome dimmed invisibly to anyone not tuned into his very heartbeat. Drying his hands on a dishtowel, he crossed the room to meet Jim halfway and give him a hello kiss and hug, and for a moment Jim just hung onto him, concentrating on how good Blair felt, always felt, and how much he loved him. He could feel Blair soaking that up, using it to bolster what had to come next.

With a sigh Jim settled his forehead into the curve of Blair's shoulder and, at Blair's 'go ahead' squeeze, slowly unleashed his senses. They had done this often enough in this exact spot that he had no trouble assimilating the information as it poured into him, painstakingly building a mental three-dimensional image of his surroundings with sound, scent, and touch. In his mind's eye it looked like a sonogram, or perhaps MRI, without color, and he compared what he found with what he should find, accounting for small variables such as whether or not Blair had his laptop running.

Slowly, carefully, he expanded the bubble of sensory input until it penetrated the floor and roof, then the walls, then encompassed the entire building and part of the street. What was supposed to be present was examined, then, finding nothing unusual, dismissed. What was new was given a thorough scan before being classified as harmless or typical, and set aside for another check later. By the time he hit his limit he was counting rats scampering around a block away.

The soft murmur of his name summoned him back, and he shrank his awareness in onto himself and his partner, taking as much care as he had when he'd started. As far as he was concerned, this was the most useful part of the scan since comparing the before and after often yielded interesting results. Nothing this time, though, and he sighed again to silently tell Blair that they weren't bugged or under observation. He didn't say it aloud, just in case he had missed something.

When Blair had first studied his abilities, they hadn't discovered this particular trick yet or known how far he'd be able to go with it. In fact, his senses had continued to grow in often surprising ways, and while Blair tested and trained him endlessly, now they did it secretly. No one but Blair had a clue as to what Jim was capable of, if necessary, and that was an edge they protected zealously. They hoped they'd never need it, but didn't believe that they'd be given much choice in the end.

Putting aside that depressing thought, Jim narrowed his focus until all that existed for him was Blair. His heartbeat thudded through Jim's body, his breathing moved them both in a gentle swaying, his skin sang to Jim's with cloth no hindrance to the contact. When they were close like this, wound around each other with Blair as his foundation while Jim established parameters for his senses, it seemed Blair's body spoke to him as clearly as if it were Blair's actual voice. Swearing he could almost feel synapses closing, hear cells dividing, he cherished his mate and partner, listening to his unspoken needs.

As usual after an in-depth check, Blair was aroused, leaving Jim to wonder yet again what went through his lover's mind while he watched over him. Blair wanted him, urgently, almost frantically, and in an instant Jim was as hungry, cock hardening in his pants with shocking speed. It took no effort to anticipate exactly what Blair craved, and he moaned so quietly only Blair could possibly hear him before feathering soft kisses along Blair's neck and jaw until he could claim his lips. With a little noise of delight Blair opened to him, driving every coherent thought Jim had right out of his head.

Despite the ferocity of their appetite, Jim took his time to taste and enjoy. As dear and familiar as the mating of tongue and mouth was, it was as incendiary as it had been the very first time, as it always was. When they were both panting, straining to get even closer, Jim broke away to go slowly to his knees, nipping and nibbling as he went. His hands smoothed their way down Blair's torso, taking a brief detour to torment the tight buds hidden under his shirt, then up his back and down again to knead at the full cheeks of Blair's bottom. He rucked up Blair's shirt to bare his abdomen, murmuring his appreciation of the lovely sight and wash of scented heat.

For reasons he couldn't verbalize, Jim loved the small swell of Blair's tummy. His lover was sturdily built, with subtly defined muscles that gave him a wiry, flexible strength, yet had this one curve of downy softness in just the right place for Jim to nuzzle and rest his head before getting into the heavy loving. Though Blair wasn't ticklish there, he was self-conscious and baffled about Jim's fondness for that part of him, so Jim didn't linger when Blair snorted in amusement.

Undoing the top button and zip of Blair's jeans, Jim wasted no time in freeing Blair's thick, heavy hardon, gently scooping out his balls to fondle them. Blair's groan warned him that they were both too close for much more foreplay, and he gave the spongy crown a fast lick before taking it, shaft and all, deep into his throat. Hands on Jim's shoulders for balance, Blair wordlessly shouted and thrust hard, setting a pace that drove Jim as much as the heady texture and taste did.

They had to have it fast and dirty, had to have the joy and peace waiting for them at the end. He swallowed carefully around Blair on the in stroke and massaged the prominent vein on the underside with the tip of his tongue as Blair withdrew. His own dick throbbed in rhythm to Blair's hard use of him, bringing him painfully close to completion. Fumbling out his cock, he jacked himself, barely holding on until Blair keened his name and shot.

He drank down the offering and gently released Blair's dick to rest his forehead on Blair's belly to finish, his cream jetting out to splash everywhere. Not that he really noticed. All that existed for him was the pleasure flashing back and forth between himself and his mate, sending jolts of sheer ecstasy through every part of them. Panting, Blair sank down so that he was astride Jim's lap, arms and legs wrapped around him, head in the hollow of Jim's shoulder.

"Love you so much," Blair murmured into the flesh against his mouth, and there was so much under the words that Jim felt them like a wonderful blow to the heart.

"So much," Jim said in return, brushing his cheek over Blair's temple and trying to hold him tighter.

Blair pressed closer, losing the languid ease that love-making had given him, then reluctantly inched back enough to look into Jim's face. For a split second there was something in his expression - an emotion, a thought - that was fairly new. Jim had caught glimpses of it once or twice in the past months, but it always came and went too quickly for him to call Blair on it. Defenses down from their intimacy and already in synch because of Blair's steadying him while he opened his senses, Jim knew Blair had something unpleasant on his mind. He was equally sure that his partner hadn't processed it yet, and wasn't ready to discuss it with him.

Unhappily letting it go - for now - Jim gingerly traced a careful line over Blair's cheek and brow, double-checking the healing there. The bruises were gone, the bones knit so well he had trouble finding the breaks. "Aching?" he asked because of the tension around Blair's eyes.

"A little. Not enough for meds." Blair nodded at the sheets of paper scattered to one side of them. "That behind the deep scan?"

"Just being on the safe side. Moyer's doing what he's supposed to and letting us know that our records were checked out, this time by some FBI agent. I don't think we have any cases that might intersect with one of theirs, but you never can tell when they're going to drop in with some connection that's more theory than fact." Jim stretched out an arm to snag the sheet with the pictures on it, showing it to Blair. "The odd thing is that he had his brother do it, possibly because he's got more clearance. He's a mathematician who consults with the FBI. Huh. Wonder how that works out case to case?"

Sitting up straighter, Blair said, "Mathematician? Charles Eppes?"

"Yeah, how'd you...."

"He's coming to Rainier as a favor to a friend who works in our physics department; doing a talk on applied mathematics in non-math disciplines. It's been in the works for a while." As he spoke Blair became more animated, slipping away from Jim with a last hug before standing to straighten his clothes. "Like, in anthropology, if you have a location that shows sudden intense population growth, there's a formula that allows a researcher to plug in various environmental factors that could explain the increase. From there you factor in the physical evidence on hand - like artifacts that are dissimilar from the majority - to postulate a viable theory on what may have happened."

"That how you've heard of him?" Jim asked just to keep him going and hiding a grin as he grabbed Blair's forgotten dishtowel to clean the mess off the floor.

Pacing, hands flying to punctuate his words, Blair said, "Actually, no. Reggie's on family leave because of his new twin sons, so I was asked to shepherd Eppes while he's at the U. The chancellor picked me mostly because I haven't had that duty in a while, partly because Eppes'll be using his work with the FBI as part of his talk so the powers that be assume he'll be more at ease with me, and maybe just a little because my connections to the PD, hence the University's connections, might impress him." Blair paused, enthusiasm waning. "That's more of a coincidence than you usually like."

Thinking it over carefully, Jim picked up the rest of the paper. "In this case, I'd say an over-protective brother is checking on who's going to be in charge of his genius sibling while he's away from home. Could be Dr. Charles is the absentminded, can't get from point A to point B without being led by the hand, kind of professor." After a moment's consideration, he added, "Any way to casually find out if Eppes asked for you specifically? That'd give us more of an idea if the FBI is using him as a blind to investigate us."

"Shouldn't be too hard because Reggie is that kind of professor," Blair chuckled, offering Jim a hand to get to his feet.

Doing up his pants before taking it, Jim smoothly stood, catching a glimpse of admiration in his lover's eyes as he did. He had to admit that it did nice things for his ego that he could still get that kind of reaction from him, making all the work necessary for upkeep of his body worth it. God knew that even still shaky and shivery from love-making, he wanted nothing more than to take Blair upstairs and fuck him comatose.

Something of his sudden hunger must have showed in his expression because Blair suddenly smiled his most winsome come-hither smile. "Maybe I should turn off the oven?"

Grinning in return, Jim said, "Or turn down the heat here."

Together they went "Nawwwwww," and laughing went upstairs hand-in hand.

***

Stake-outs were far too familiar territory for Don to feel uneasy or uncomfortable in the slightest, though he knew both his dad and Charlie were both. They sat in a rented SUV outside Hargrove Hall on the Rainier campus, watching teachers and students come and go, usually with an air of distracted hurry about them. To Don's mind, it could have been any campus anywhere in the country on this sunny, warm morning.

Given the way Dad scrutinized each person as they went by, though, everything else might as well not exist. Charlie, as usual when hard emotions were on the line, had his laptop open and was busily typing. That was why Don was the only one to see the Ford pickup drive up at top speed, police bubble flashing on top. He'd heard a siren in the distance a bit before, but it was silent now, telling him that the cops didn't want whoever was inside the building to know that they were there.

A lone man piled out, and Don recognized Ellison from his pictures. More sirens could be heard far away, but it was obvious backup wasn't close behind. Without thinking, Don jumped out of the rental and ran after him, going for his weapon when Ellison pulled his. Students poured out of Hargrove, each more panicked than the last, but Ellison effortlessly navigated the stream, once or twice touching a shoulder and issuing a command or direction.

To Don's amazement, most settled down immediately, just at the sight of the tall man, gun held regulation style as he went through the door. A few looked at Don, then past him, and that was when he realized his dad and Charlie had followed him in at enough of a distance that they probably thought they could run for safety if need be. Resolving to give the two of them a much better definition for margin of error in that situation, Don kept moving forward because he could hear the screams and shouts in the distance.

Using his ears for direction as much as staying in Ellison's wake, he burst through a pair of double doors that led into a lecture hall with tiered seating as Ellison identified himself as police. With a practiced eye, Don took in Ellison standing just past the lectern, posed ready to fire, one faintly groaning man down behind him, a scattering of students lining the wall, most inching along it toward the door, a few crying as they did, and two men rolling back and forth on the floor, hands over their heads as they struggled for control of a gun. To his shock he realized one of them was Sandburg, and all the while he fought, he was talking to the other guy, trying to convince him to give up.

It wasn't his turf, wasn't his call, and Don unwillingly held back, waiting for Ellison to make his move. All the man did was stand, eyes fixed unwaveringly on the fight in front of him. For a split second Don thought Ellison was frozen in indecision, afraid to act in fear of harming his partner, or worse, afraid of being hit by a stray shot.

Before Don could act on his doubt, Ellison barked, "Now!"

Sandburg abruptly twisted away from his attacker, rolling into a fetal ball, back to him. Ellison fired before he stopped moving, blasting the pistol out of the gunman's hand. The man screamed, and tried to lurch into rising, one hand clamped around the wrist of the other.

"Don't move!" Ellison ordered coldly.

Something in Ellison's tone or maybe the pain in his fingers got through to the shooter. He sank down, and unexpectedly rolled to his stomach, weeping uncontrollably. Ellison was on him in a moment, knee in the middle of his back as he gathered both wrists into a punishing grip.

Before he finished cuffing the man, Ellison paused, reaching to cup Sandburg's cheek in his palm only long enough for them to exchange a look that asked, answered, reassured, comforted, and promised, all in less than a heartbeat. Ellison got back to business the next instant, reciting the attacker's rights as he fastened the restraints on him.

The interlude between the partners had been so brief that Don wasn't sure he'd really seen it, and he stared at Sandburg, jaw dropped.

Warily eyeing Don's gun as he sat up, Sandburg said, "Can I help you?"

Jarred back into the situation at hand, Don carefully holstered his weapon. "Special Agent Don Eppes. I'm here with my brother, Dr. Charles Eppes, the mathematician doing a three-day seminar, saw the excitement, and noticed a lack of backup. My apologies for barging in; looks like the two of you have everything in hand."

Getting to his feet and extending a hand, Sandburg said, "Man, talk about timing... I'm Dr. Blair Sandburg; Reggie asked me to show your brother around." He looked past Don, a wide smile in place. "Dr. Eppes?"

"Charlie, please." They shook, and Charlie waved Alan forward. "My dad, Alan Eppes."

"Dr. Sandburg." To Don's ear his Dad's voice was a shade too hearty, but only family would hear it, he thought. "When Charlie told me he was headed up here I invited myself along. I've heard wonderful things about the fishing in Rainier National Forest, and the temptation of the Fleetwood golf course tipped me right over into making this a family trip."

Studying Ellison as he hoisted his captive to his feet, Charlie said distractedly, "Like it was difficult to persuade us."

Seeing where his attention was, Sandburg said cheerfully, "It's not always this exciting around here, I promise. That gentleman was screaming so incoherently I'm not sure why he wanted to take my students hostage, but the football player coming in late behind him had his own opinions of proper classroom etiquette. Unfortunately for Devon, the gunman got in a lucky kick, putting him down, but it gave me the chance to keep him from firing."

"Risky for a civilian," Don said, more to see what Ellison's reaction was than anything else.

"Trained one. Fed?" Ellison asked shortly, escorting his prisoner past them, judiciously putting his body between them and the gunman.

"Yeah. Going to need a statement for the firing board?" Don answered easily.

"Probably. Uniforms should be here in another minute or two."

"Done. We'll be outside. Dr. Sandburg, join us?" Privately amused at his unintentional imitation of Ellison's laconic manner, Don waited for him to answer, somehow not surprised that he was hiding amusement as well.

"In a bit. Paramedics should be on the way, too, and I want to stay with Devon until they do." He glanced over to the young man who was surrounded by a bevy of co-eds, all cooing to him about how brave he'd been. "Not that he'll notice, but a member of the faculty should be on hand."

"Of course," Charlie said, tugging unseen at Don's elbow to get him in motion. "I saw a bench under the trees, on that little hill. We'll be there."

All it took was how eagerly his dad turned to leave to convince Don he should do the same, and he trailed after them as they worked their way through the incoming flood of cops, security guards, EMT's, university suits of various brands, and the usual rubber-neckers. It was a relief to be back outside in the morning sunshine, as far away from the crowd as they could get. His dad sat on the bench, but Charlie settled onto the grass, knees up, legs crossed at the ankles, arms around them. Don didn't feel like sitting and wandered back and forth between the two, never more than a few feet away.

After a pregnant silence, Alan finally said, "We were being played."

"Most definitely," Don muttered in agreement.

"Yes," Charlie added.

Apparently somewhat surprised, Alan said, "We're all in agreement. That, gentlemen, may be a first. Can I ask you why you're so certain?"

"Sandburg did exactly what Ellison needed him to do the instant he needed him to do it, no hesitation, no questions. That kind of trust can't be earned with fists." Don stopped behind his dad, close enough to be a comfort to him, he hoped.

"For me it was the look they shared." Alan stared into a distance Don wasn't sure he wanted to see. "Believe me, I know a 'married look' when I see one, and that one could have discussed War and Peace. You don't get that without time, patience, love and understanding, and even then you might not get that lucky."

"Not just partners on the force, but life partners, too," Don said, thinking it through. "I can't begin to imagine how tight you could get, if you don't tear each other into tiny pieces before you got there."

The silence stretched out again until Alan leaned over to put a hand on his younger son's shoulder. "Charlie?"

Idly plucking at the grass, Charlie said, "You know how much harder it is for me to explain my subjective reactions - and they're not usually that subjective, since I take into account things like the area of personal space, boundary crossing and consequences, implied and real social hierarchies based on contextual dynamics...."

"Charlie," Alan broke in gently.

Grinding to a stop, Charlie put his cheek on his knee. "A little of both of what you and Don saw, I guess, plus some other stuff."

It wasn't a lie, exactly, but Don could tell it wasn't the whole truth either. He didn't think Charlie was bothered by the violence surrounding their first meeting with Sandburg, but he had to admit it was possible. Maybe he was feeling the odd one out yet again because Sandburg seemed to handle it so easily.

Resolving to tackle him about it later if he stayed so, so strange even for Charlie, Don said, "I guess the question is, what next? Give Sandburg a few days to get use to us and talk to him, keep who he is to ourselves and head back home, what?"

"We tell him the truth," Alan said promptly. "That whole business with Colby, we saw up close and personal how lies, no matter how well-meant, taint everything. That or we say we have a family emergency and get out of here, forget the whole thing."

"We stay," Charlie said, cranking his current weirdness up a notch, in Don's opinion.

"Yeah, we stay," Don said slowly, more because that was what they wanted than because he felt any need to. Well, other than a mild curiosity what Ellison and Sandburg did besides police work.

"Okay." Alan took a deep breath. "Okay. That's that, then."

"How do you want to handle it?" Don asked.

"Good question."

They tossed around a few approaches while the crowd below slowly dispersed. First the ambulances left, then the police cruisers, then the people, talking animatedly among themselves and dragging in those passing by to share speculation and mutated facts. By the time the only vehicle left in front of Hargrove was Ellison's classic truck, the morning had worn away to afternoon, a breeze promising rain sometime later that day.

When Ellison and Sandburg walked out side by side, Alan stiffened, shoulders going back. Don inched closer, behind him and to his left, almost as if guarding over him while Charlie scooted over so that his leg knocked against their dad's. The mutual support, along with the serious attitude, was enough to raise Sandburg's eyebrow and put Ellison on alert, though the only indication of it was the cold, flat, assessing look in his eyes.

Don couldn't help but think about what a mismatched pair they were. The military had left its influence on Ellison's posture, his build, his vigilance, even his close-cropped hair, and he had a measured, steady pace. Sandburg, short and curly to his partner's tall and balding, bounded along, taking a step and a half for every one of Ellison's, talking all the while despite Ellison's silence. Yet they arrived together, Sandburg's gestures somehow communicating that Ellison had wordlessly commented all along on everything he'd said.

Obeying the sweep of Alan's arm, Sandburg sat beside him on the bench, opposite Charlie, and Ellison took up station behind his partner. "I've got the feeling there's more going on here than a close brush with a seriously disturbed young man," Sandburg said by way of greeting.

"That's because there is." Alan closed his eyes, opened them again and said, "In 1968 I met and fell in love with a lovely young woman named Naomi Sandburg."

Just as he had with Don and Charlie, Alan told his oldest son the bare facts, ending with Naomi's latest appearance at his home and her claim that Sandburg was in danger. All the animation leaked out of Sandburg as Alan spoke, and Ellison put both hands on his partner's shoulders, standing intimately close, in broad daylight where anyone could see them. That impressed Don far more than he would have believed, and he absently wondered how he could have ever doubted the man's courage.

When Alan finished, Sandburg asked in a very small voice, "You looked for me? Wanted to be my dad while I was growing up?"

"Yes, and I have proof. Letters I wrote to friends asking where Naomi was, if they knew where her son was. I have no idea what your mother said about me, but please believe that I never abandoned you." Alan rubbed at his eyes, words suspiciously thick. "It might be a little late in your life to have a dad, but I personally believe that you can always use another friend. It's your choice; I won't pressure you in any way."

"I... I... Thank you." Sandburg got up abruptly and ran away.

Blocking Alan's move to follow him, Ellison said quietly, "He needs to think, that's all." He hesitated, looking in the direction where Sandburg had gone. "Things between him and his mother have been, well, saying strained would be putting it mildly, since he went against her wishes and became my partner, on duty and off. Some of the things she's done since have really hurt him."

"I can't imagine what she wanted to accomplish with this," Alan confessed.

With a grace that caught Don's eye against his will, Ellison dropped into a squat in front of Alan so they were face to face. "Neither can I, but I'm certain she has an ulterior motive besides finally allowing her son to know anything about his father. By coming forward the way you did just now, there's a good chance you've derailed whatever scheme she has."

"From your lips," Alan muttered, scrubbing at his face.

"Amen." Ellison straightened. "Rainier has a meet and greet scheduled for Dr. Eppes this evening in the ballroom of the hotel where you're staying. We were supposed to join you in the lobby at seven so we can make the introductions as the faculty arrives. If Sandburg's not there, I will be. I've accompanied him to enough faculty events I can get you through the preliminaries."

"Thank you, detective," Charlie murmured.

"Don't thank me yet; this is Blair's call, all the way, as far as I'm concerned." His gaze caught Don's and it was all cop talking to cop. "In fact, I owe you one."

Ellison turned on his heel and left, heading for his truck.

"Now why do I have the impression that most of him is going in the opposite direction, toward Blair," Alan muttered.

Charlie said for them all, "Because that's what he wants to do."

***

Going through the formalities of paperwork and meetings kept Jim busy enough for the rest of the day, at least on the surface. Below, where he'd learned long ago to hide it, he worried about Blair, almost obsessively turning over the possible reasons behind why Naomi would boot Alan Eppes and sons into their life. If cornered, he was positive she would claim that it was because she was dying and didn't want Blair left entirely without family.

If it were true that Charles and Don Eppes were Blair's half brothers, it was seriously out there that one was a species of cop and the other a consultant who worked with him. The echo of Blair's own life was too much a coincidence for Jim's taste, and he had no doubt the thought had crossed Agent Eppes' mind, as well. No matter what, he was going to suggest DNA testing, if Eppes didn't beat him to it.

By the time he let himself into the loft, Jim was exhausted and on edge, desperately wishing he could just burrow into Blair's presence and stay there for the rest of the night. That wasn't going to happen. Blair was in his office, door closed, muttering to himself in a variety of languages, telling Jim in no uncertain terms that he wanted to be left alone.

That also made the evening's festivities his responsibility, and Jim reluctantly went upstairs to lay out a suit and the necessary accessories. A shower was next on the agenda, and he had time for a long one. Feeling at least a little refreshed when he was done, he lathered up to shave, but wound up simply standing in front of the mirror, staring at his reflection.

The years that had passed since meeting Blair had been relatively kind to him. He was a little balder, his face was a little more lined and weathered, but he was still getting the looks from both genders. Staying on top at the job took more effort, but not so much that he worried about the competition. Blair seemed as aroused by him as ever; their lovemaking had never degenerated into routine or boring. For all practical intents and purposes, he felt like he was in his prime, nowhere near ready for the downhill slide of middle age.

So why was he so damned tired? Dreading the stress and aggravation of the new complication in his life? He was used to facing challenges head-on, with a take no prisoners attitude, but the very idea of dealing with whatever Naomi was throwing at them this time made him want to bundle Blair up and spirit him off to someplace sultry and laid-back.

"If you're trying to shave by will alone, it's not happening," Blair said lightly, leaning on the doorframe of the bathroom.

Spurred into activity, Jim scraped off a line of foam and beard, "Woolgathering," he said shortly.

"Looked more like worrying." Blair came up behind him, put his arms around Jim's waist, and rested his face between Jim's shoulder blades. "I can't figure out what she's up to, either."

Much of the tension drained out of Jim, and he closed his eyes, soaking up Blair's warmth and scent. It had taken so very long for Blair to learn to turn to him for comfort. For him to seek it out, if only by leaning against Jim, was a big step each time he did it, and Jim did not want to ever take that for granted.

Covering the hands clasped over his stomach with a gentle touch, Jim said, "You going to meet with her, if she asks?"

"Only in a public place with a couple of people I trust watching. I still can't believe she tried to have me kidnapped by a deprogramming expert." Blair squeezed gently, nuzzling at Jim's spine. "And you are not going to meet her, no matter what she says."

"No problem, there, Chief, after what happened the last time."

"Man, how could she think that just anybody could guide a sentinel? She almost got you killed trying to prove it!"

"Not on purpose." Jim sighed and hung his head. "She just wants what's best for you. The problem is that she thinks she should be the only one to decide what that is. I keep hoping we managed to convince her otherwise, and maybe that's what this business with the Eppes is. Maybe Naomi's taking a step toward reconciliation, and she accused me of abuse to make sure he contacted you."

Blair bumped his forehead into Jim. "I'm sure she never came out and said so in as many words; probably said you were 'responsible' for my injuries, which, technically, is sometimes the sometimes the truth, maybe, though it doesn't feel like it. Do you think Alan is my father?"

"I think it's possible, or that he thinks it is, at least." Carefully petting the fingers under his, Jim asked, "You?"

"I don't know. I'm so mixed up - scared, excited, worried, angry, curious. All I'm certain of is what he said - too late for a father, but not too late for a friend - rings true for me. I can get behind that." Blair gave a ridiculously sloppy and loud smooch to the part of Jim closest to his mouth. "Which means you can skip the social activities for the night, if you want."

Rinsing his razor, Jim went back to shaving. "Since I'm almost ready, might as well go with you. Food and booze'll be good, at least, and I haven't had dinner yet."

"Thanks, man," Blair said softly, apparently content to stay where he was.

Guts unclenching in a wave of relief almost as intense as sex, Jim lingered at his task, storing up the comfort to take him through the rest of the night.

It turned out that he didn't need it as much as he'd expected. The gathering was better than most faculty functions he'd attended, probably because Blair had been in charge of organizing it. He had gone for an eclectic group designed to be entertaining for Dr. Eppes, or at least not boring. Using the knack he had for putting people at their ease, Blair soon had half a dozen different conversations going in small pockets all over the room, ranging from mathematical applications for social dynamics to how the Jags were doing.

Jim circulated at first, putting in a few comments here and there designed to stir the waters when needed to keep the talk lively. Like always, though, he soon found himself with his back to the wall, soft drink in hand, warily watching the proceedings. He'd chosen his spot to allow him to go unnoticed while he did, and he wasn't terribly surprised to see that Agent Eppes was doing pretty much the same thing.

After a bit he casually drifted toward Jim, and for a few minutes they stood side by side, on the surface sharing a companionable moment. Finally Eppes gestured toward his family where Blair was chattering away animatedly to Eppes' senior's obvious pleasure. "Sounds like he really got around when he was a kid. Anthropology must have been a natural for him."

"Not just when he was a kid. He was on some major expeditions while earning his degrees," Jim said with pride.

"And since?" Eppes said, and from the punch of his heartbeat, that was the opening he'd wanted to make. "Two of you been to some exciting places?"

Abruptly deciding that the Eppes family needed the facts, or as much as he could give them, Jim said humorously in case they were being overheard, "That's need to know." At the agent's penetrating glare, he added only a shade more seriously to alert the man he couldn't and wouldn't speak freely, "You know much about covert ops?"

"Enough that I would have to worry about whether or not any of it could come back on my family if I were involved," he said shortly.

Jim nodded his acknowledgement that it was a legitimate concern. "If it were an issue on this side, the setup you've got going here - the seminar as cover and checking us out because we're working with your brother - would hold except maybe under close scrutiny. Blair and I have ways of knowing that if that happened. I take it you haven't mentioned Blair to anyone else?"

"No, Dad wants to keep it private for the time being."

"You'd be covered then, unless Naomi decides there's a good reason to share the information with whoever."

"Great," Don muttered irritably.

"It's the best you could expect under the circumstances. Can you say with one hundred percent confidence that one of your own cases won't rear up and bite you?" At Eppes' wince, Jim said more gently, "Blair and I have our own families, such as they are, so when we 'travel' we stay out of our backyard and keep our faces as anonymous as humanly possible."

"Sandburg doesn't seem like the type to get into the cloak and dagger stuff. In fact, from first impressions and given what Dad's told me about Naomi, I'd have guessed he was the pacifist type."

Eppes didn't try to disguise how intently he was focused on him, though Jim had no clue why. Because he didn't want Blair judged badly by people who might have a reason to care for him above and beyond friendship, he said shortly, "I've said all I can, Eppes." For a single moment he met the man's eyes directly, unshielded, aware that his own were burning with the suppressed anger, frustration, worry and sorrow that came from being forced into service, dragging Blair along with him into situations that no one should have to deal with.

Clearly taken aback, Eppes still snapped, "New variation on don't ask, don't tell, Ellison?"

Not answering him, Jim visually sought out Blair, catching his gaze almost immediately, as if Blair had sensed his agitation and was looking for him in return. Without thinking he moved toward him, and they met in one corner of the room, away from other people. Jim didn't touch, though he wanted to badly, for fear they couldn't keep it casual enough for potential watchers.

Dropping his voice to an intimate level that was both private and soothing, Blair said, "Had enough socializing for a while?"

"You know me, Chief." Jim shrugged irritably, but flashed a glance back at Agent Eppes for Blair to see. "Got to talking shop and then couldn't stop thinking about work. I have to say this, Eppes is good, very good at what he does, and it looks like his brother's talents dovetail nicely with his. I get the feeling he's not above using him, either, for research on less official matters."

Blair's expression tightened fractionally in understanding of Jim's hint that his newly discovered family suspected their off-the-books activities. "I think Charlie likes his involvement with the FBI, and while Alan worries, he's grateful too. It seems to me his sons didn't get along too great when they were younger, so he's glad to see them find common ground."

"As protective as the agent is, I don't see him letting Charlie get too far away from the chalkboard." In his head, Jim said, He doesn't want us to get too close to them because of our covert work; doesn't want it to endanger them.

Apparently hearing what was thought as well as what was said, Blair replied, "Field work isn't for everybody. Doesn't mean he would object if Charlie chose a more active role in their cases, though."

Jim translated the comment to, I don't blame them, but I don't think that's going to stop Alan and Charlie from making up their own minds about how far to take their relationship with us.

Suddenly tired of the double talk, Jim asked gently, "You like them, don't you?"

Chin dropping to his breastbone, and swaying forward as if to put his forehead on Jim's chest, Blair said, "Yeah, I do. There's a good chemistry happening between us. Even if this is the only time we have a reason to get together, I'm going to want to stay in touch."

"Then we'll find a way to protect them from any backlash from our cases, if it comes to that."

"Man...." Blair choked, then took a deep, cleansing breath. "Love you."

"Always, Chief." Reluctantly Jim put aside personal matters and nudged Blair toward the buffet in preparation for rejoining the party. Blair went without protest, but Jim had no doubt he wanted the same thing he did at that moment: their own home, their own bed, and not enough space between them for a whisper to slip through.

***

Don thought he knew what would happen after Ellison stalked away from him, full of righteous indignation at being informed that he and Sandburg weren't worth the potential threat they represented. He was actually looking forward to watching them back off, big time, turning a cold shoulder to his dad and Charlie. But Sandburg rose to intercept his partner as if summoned with a word or gesture when none had been issued, and then had wilted at what Ellison had to say.

Without a touch Ellison comforted, and the aching pain that flashed through both of them, unseen by anyone not looking closely, roused a guilt that Don wasn't prepared for. Unwillingly, he remembered that Sandburg had been in and out of hospitals, most likely for injuries received during their 'travels.' Ellison was obviously the kind of man who would hate himself for not protecting his partner.

A hunch surfaced and Don made himself look at it honestly through the agony and fury he'd seen in Ellison only minutes before. Not everyone went into covert operations willingly. A few, not as many as the conspiracists and shock writers would have the public believe, were co-opted against their will. Blackmail was the most common tool, but a few of the blacker, less scrupulous agencies weren't above direct physical threats or worse if they wanted use of a man's talents or connections.

It would explain why Ellison had been more than willing to make sure that Sandburg's potential heritage remained a secret, to the point of not speaking about it directly, as if enemies might be listening. For all Don knew, that might be the case, despite reading Ellison as the type to be excessively suspicious and cynical. Uneasy, he studied his surroundings, suddenly wishing he'd taken more precautions to insulate his family from Sandburg before bringing them here.

Ellison, on the other hand, seemed to have decided the company was innocuous enough. He stayed at Sandburg's side as they circulated through the party, turning on a reserve of charm Don would have been willing to bet didn't exist. Eventually the festivities wound down, and Ellison did the formal farewells as if he'd been an official co-host with Sandburg. Since none of the Rainier faculty had a problem with it, Don had to admit that might be precisely the case.

So they were out, if discreetly out, which meant blackmail was unlikely, giving more weight to the possibility of threats. According to his files, Ellison's parents were alive, if divorced, and he had a brother who traveled internationally. Was that the leverage?

Distracted by his own thoughts, Don made his way upstairs to the small suite he shared with his dad and Charlie, remotely grateful that neither was in a talkative mood. Charlie, in fact, was as introspective as Don had ever seen him, which startled him once he realized it was the first time numbers weren't behind one of Charlie's deep silences. He couldn't imagine why, but couldn't bring himself to ask, either, half dreading the answer. Instead he went straight to bed, pretending exhaustion, not that Charlie noticed how he tossed and turned all night.

***

Next morning was more of the same until they arrived at Rainier for the first of Charlie's seminars. Don made himself comfortable in the back of the room, fully intending to doze away the lecture, while his dad sat closer to the front, next to Sandburg. Against his will, Don got caught up in his brother's enthusiasm, reliving a few of the cases Charlie used as examples of how math had more applications than balancing checkbooks.

When the question and answer session at the end devolved into an impromptu lunch for those who wanted to chat more casually with the famous Dr. Eppes, Don smirked to himself and slouched in his chair. A menu from a vegan restaurant was passed around, and just as he was trying to make the best of what he considered a poor selection, Ellison dropped into the seat beside him. He took a moment to assess the situation, shook his head with a suggestion of a smile on his face, and took the menu out of Don's hand to pass it on.

"Like chili?" Ellison asked blandly. "I know where you can get the best bowl in the entire state, and eat it in relative peace since half the cops in the city get lunch there."

Curious at the offer, Don accepted on impulse, standing as he did. "Even a bad bowl has got to beat a tofu burger with sprouts."

"Don't let this horde hear you say that. Between the ecologists and environmentalists who think beef should be outlawed because it's resource intensive, and the PETA devotees, and the health nuts, we're seriously out-numbered, with no allies in sight because of political correctness," Ellison said dryly.

Despite himself, Don laughed and led the way out of the hall, pausing long enough to catch his dad's eye and gesture his intention of finding more palatable food. Alan grimaced his opinion of both being abandoned and the menu, but stayed put. The look Sandburg and Ellison shared after that exchange was enigmatic, to say the least, but Don got the feeling the invitation wasn't as spontaneous as it appeared on the surface.

Interestingly, the drive to the restaurant was made in comfortable silence, giving Don the impression that was Ellison's normal state of being. It was backed up when their progress to their table was marked by greetings from a half-dozen officers and detectives, none of whom were surprised when he didn't follow up with more than a nod or wave. Most of them asked after Sandburg, as well, surprising Don on a number of levels.

After they were seated, Ellison asked bluntly, "What, a civilian can't get respect from a bunch of cops?"

"You have to admit it's a little unusual." Don looked the room over, well aware that he was on the receiving end of his own share of assessing once-overs, and taking for granted that Ellison had read his reaction correctly.

"Blair's earned it. The three alarm will scorch your taste buds, but it's worth it."

"Ha. Did a stint in Albuquerque. Got some places there that really know how to make chili. How's the five alarm? And how could an anthropologist win over cops?"

"Delicious, but make sure you've got antacids." Ellison leaned back, one finger tapping the table, as if to punctuate his point. "By being as much of a cop as they are, if in his own unique way, like the time he convinced a strung out suicide-by-cop that his uze wasn't loaded right."

A cop wandering by, probably to check out the Fed for himself, Don thought dryly, butted in, despite Ellison's less than inviting expression. "Oh, man, I was there, and I don't believe it," he said and promptly filled in the details.

The rest of the meal was punctuated with stories of Sandburg's escapades, each prompted by the last speaker from someone else passing by to look over who was with Ellison. While humor was the prevalent theme, it was obvious he was well-liked, well-regarded, and considered one of their own despite the lack of badge and gun. By the time they finished up and left, Don was convinced against his will that Ellison was right; Sandburg had earned his place.

"Okay, you've made your point," Don muttered as they walked slowly toward the police station he could see in the distance. "Sandburg's a hell of a guy, worthy of being an Eppes, honorary or otherwise."

"That's not what I'm getting at," Ellison denied quietly. "Blair is the one who's most likely to get hurt in this situation, and through no fault of his own. He's a good man and doesn't deserve to be painted with the same brush as Naomi."

Don couldn't argue with that, much as he might wish otherwise. Before he could think of a comment that was neutral enough, Ellison changed the subject. "You said you'd file a statement for the shooting board. Serious about that?"

"Yeah, no problem. It was a righteous shoot. What was that guy's issue, anyway?"

Ellison made a sweeping away gesture. "Who knows? He's tranq'd out to the max and so far has been either asleep or totally incoherent when questioned. Probably just a random nut case, which I'm sure you don't deal with on a regular basis."

"Damn straight," and Don deliberately put an edge of satisfaction in the words.

With a snort, Ellison said, "Bet your nut cases are worse when you do get them."

"Don't remind me."

The conversation wandered desultorily over different varieties of criminals they had to deal with, each trying to out-do the other with extreme examples. The talk flowed naturally after that until they reached the Major Crimes bullpen, and Don found himself in a repeat of the entrance into the restaurant. Ellison returned the welcome with more warmth this time around though, volunteering messages sent on by Sandburg that always brought smiles to the recipients.

Despite that, in short order Don was at an empty desk with the proper forms called up on the computer for him, a cup of wonderfully bad cop coffee sitting at his elbow. Once or twice Ellison stopped by to see how he was doing, usually with a load of his own case files in hand. With a casualness that Don could see right through, he left a few of them behind, and once he was done with his own report, Don glanced through them.

By the time he was done reading he had a grudging admiration for Sandburg that he didn't want to acknowledge, and an irritated suspicion that his family would feel the same way if they knew how good a cop he was, official or not. Before he could work himself into anger at the way Ellison was making his case to give Sandburg a fair shake as a member of his family, a tall black man stopped by the desk.

"Special Agent Eppes? I'm Simon Banks, Captain of Major Crimes."

Taking the offered hand for a shake, Don stood. "Pleased to meet you. Anticipating any problems with Ellison's review?"

"Not really, but I like my details lined up military fashion. I appreciate you taking the time to make a statement. Mind joining me in my office for a few to discuss it?" Banks didn't wait for a reply, but went ahead, a subtle show of authority that Don had to appreciate in spite of himself.

Once comfortably resituated, he quickly went over the events of the shooting at Hargrove, somewhat surprised that Banks listened attentively since he doubted the verbal report was the reason for the private conversation. After a few penetrating questions, Banks relaxed enough to take out a cigar to play with. As if it were a cue of some kind, though Don couldn't see how it could have possibly been, Ellison knocked, let himself in, and shut the door behind him.

"Hey, Simon, got a moment?" Again without waiting for an acknowledgement, Ellison leaned one shoulder on the closed door. "Eppes, this is going to be a personal conversation regarding Naomi. You've got the right to sit in on it, since she's dragged your family into one of her messes."

"God," Banks groaned, sitting back in his chair, fingers pinching at the nose of his bridge. "What's she up to this time?"

To Don's utter astonishment, Ellison told him everything, though he explained the Eppes' role by explaining with utter honestly that "Alan Eppes and Naomi go way back, and she went to him because his son's with the FBI."

When he was done, Banks said with an exhausted sort of comprehension, "Well, that changes my opinion on the visit I had from I.A. about you a few days ago."

"Internal Affairs?" Don asked, hoping for clarification. "Before the current shooting?"

"Ellison has a history with I.A. that does not make them look good," Banks said almost absently. "Because of it, the new captain came to me directly when several complaints of police brutality against Ellison came across his desk. The thing that bugged him was that it was easy to prove that it couldn't have happened. Ellison wasn't in on either bust and was, in fact, in court for one of them. The other was as easily alibied."

With deceptive mildness, given how fast the muscle in his jaw was throbbing, Ellison said, "You didn't think to mention this to me?"

"Believe it or not, that was next on my agenda," Banks said with just the right amount of steel under the words to make Ellison relax fractionally. "The original take on the complaints was that they were an attempt by three-time losers to muddy the water, using your name because you'd gotten some air time last week. Then you busted Sutliff, and he sang the same song."

"I was never alone with that particular slime-ball," Jim pointed out. "And half a dozen cops can back that up."

"They did, and when I.A. sweated Sutliff about it, he admitted he was trying to get the money being offered to anybody who could get you busted for brutality. Word on the street is that it's a substantial chunk." Banks drummed his fingers once, taking Ellison's shock for granted. "Given Naomi's latest move, I'm thinking she's behind it, trying to set you up for an assault and battery against her."

Flushing with anger, Ellison shook his head as Don said, "She'd go that far? Take a beating just to accuse him?"

"Once I would have said no, but if she's really dying, she might be desperate enough," Banks said thoughtfully. "It's about the only thing she hasn't done to pull Jim and Blair apart. I still think you should have pressed charges when she poisoned you, Jim. Yeah, yeah, I know she was only trying to make you miserably sick by exploiting your allergies, but even Blair thought you should."

"It would have just made her more determined. It wasn't until Sandburg threw her out of our loft and told her not to come back until I specifically invited her that she realized that she'd gone too far." Ellison went to stare out the window. "It didn't convince her that she was any less right, only that Blair was rebelling against her maternal authority as all young men do at one time or another."

"Young man, huh!" Banks muttered. "If he was willing from age five to obey a direct order from anybody without making up his own mind about it first, I'll eat this stogie, not smoke it."

"If you're going to mess up your stomach, you should go for the five alarm chili at Wooster's," Don said, wondering why he felt the need to lighten the atmosphere a little.

Taking the opening, Banks said with mock severity, "Jim, you didn't! You promised me you'd play nice with the Feds, for a while at least."

With an obvious effort, Ellison summoned a small smile. "I did play nice; I warned him first."

"Remind me at a later date to give you a better definition of nice." Banks picked up a pen and waved at the door with it. "In the meantime, make sure you have someone watching your back until Naomi makes her play."

With a wave that all but shouted 'yeah, yeah,' Ellison left, and Don went with him. Though what he really wanted was to find a batting cage and slam baseballs until his brain had sorted through all the information that had been thrown his way, he sat quietly in the truck while they headed back to the university. It was a repeat of the ride out, except this time Ellison's hands clenched and unclenched on the steering wheel, his jaw so tight Don thought it might simply shatter.

He thought about how he'd react if his mom or dad had rejected one of his girlfriends as vehemently as Naomi Sandburg had rejected Ellison and winced inwardly. Without thinking, Don said, "This must be tearing Blair to pieces."

Ellison shot him a look of pure rage, then miraculously softened at whatever he saw in Don. "If I thought for a moment it would truly help, I'd take myself out of his life in a heartbeat, no regrets. But he's made it clear that letting her win this battle will destroy him as effectively as stabbing him in the heart."

"Not a good place for you to be; either of you."

"Believe it or not, it's not an issue most of the time. Sandburg's positive she'll accept us sooner or later, and I'm more than willing to leave it all out of sight, out of mind."

They fell into silence again after that - the comfortable one that had Don ruefully admitting to himself that he wasn't sure about the whole big brother thing, but the brother-in-law part of it was something he could learn to like. It didn't hurt that the closer they got to the university, the more mellow Ellison got, the more he looked like a man seeing a cold beer and hot meal at the end of a long day.

They went into the classroom as quietly as they could, finding Alan in the very back, studying the two men leading the tutorial as if he were committing the moment to memory. It didn't take Don long to understand why.

This was the portion of the visiting professor gig that Charlie usually didn't like very much: individual students with specific questions about math applications to their own projects. No matter how bright they were in their own field, they were bush leaguers trying to play ball in the majors, and it was hard for Charlie to hold onto his patience as he tried repeatedly to explain what was so vividly clear to him. Usually by the end of the session he was short-tempered and holding it in with pure stubbornness.

Usually, but not this class, not this session, and it only took a few minutes of eavesdropping to realize that Sandburg was the reason why. Almost effortlessly he translated Charlie's math to the student's work, adding traces of humor that made the collaboration easier on everyone concerned. Even when it was clear he didn't understand Charlie himself, he somehow managed to tease out enough clarification that suddenly both parties would click onto what was being said.

As one satisfied student left, making room for the next who slid eagerly into the vacated seat, Alan whispered, "He's brilliant. Absolutely brilliant."

"He may not have Dr. Eppes depth of genius," Ellison whispered back with so much emotion in the words that Don ached with an odd kind of envy, "but he more than makes up with breadth. I've never met anyone with a greater love of learning, and who can soak up knowledge faster."

Alan yanked his attention away from the students with their teachers and pinned Ellison with a compassionate look. "My God," he murmured. "How on earth can any mother, even Naomi, object to a spouse that loves their child the way you love Blair?"

Closing his eyes in pain, Ellison swallowed, but said levelly enough, "To her that's my worse sin, compounded by the fact that he loves me just as much."

"I don't, I mean..." Alan looked down at his hands, obviously uncertain what to say next.

Don would have said something to shut Ellison up, totally uninterested in hearing another paean to Blair Sandburg's virtues. Before he could, his father stopped him with a single glance that spoke its usual volumes of paternal weight, forcing him to wait patiently while Ellison found the words to continue the conversation.

Finally, he said, "Naomi raised Blair to be self-reliant, self-sufficient, self-sacrificing, independent to a ridiculous degree. From the time he was a baby, if he grew too attached to a thing, a person, a place, she took it away from him, telling him that love was too beautiful and fragile to try to hold onto. That clinging to it would only destroy it and the purity of the memory of the moments it existed. Change was to be embraced, encouraged, and if that meant leaving important things behind, well, that was the way of life, and new, better things were always ahead."

Visibly controlling anger, Alan said sharply, "That woman should be arrested for child abuse. I don't care how old Blair is now or how he turned out. Refusing to provide stability and security for a growing child is criminal."

"You'd have trouble getting him to agree to that," Ellison said tiredly. He scrubbed his face with both hands. "A constant barrage of new faces, new places made him adaptable, flexible, fast on his feet mentally and physically. Even his thirst for knowledge comes from that background. It was something she couldn't take away from him. Make books inaccessible and he questions every person he meets about everything under the sun. Isolate him and he studies the natural world around him, accumulating questions until he can satisfy his curiosity."

"She made herself the only constant in his life; the only thing he could count on," Alan said bitterly. "Classic abuser behavior."

"Then as soon as he was old enough, he practiced what she taught and stood on his own, refusing to turn to anyone for money, help, advice, you name it - including her. Has ever since, much to her utter mystification." Ellison shifted uneasily in his seat, but added, "He loves her unconditionally, despite what she's done in recent years. He isn't blind to her faults, and I wish to god he was immune to the pain she's caused, but he forgives her repeatedly because she is his mother, no matter what. And on more than one level, in his honest opinion, he had a wonderful childhood."

"How can...." Alan started, but an imperative "sssshhhhhh" stopped him, and a female student flounced by, her attitude reminding them where they were. He subsided grudgingly and gave his attention back to the front of the classroom.

Don thought Ellison was glad of the excuse to end the discussion; it was probably far more personal that he wanted to get with total strangers. As far as Don was concerned, the whole situation was getting too personal. They were supposed to fly in, check out the possibility that Sandburg was in an abusive relationship, decide what to do about it if he was, then get the hell out. If his dad wanted to get to know Sandburg better, that was what email was for.

Given how much Charlie hated change, Don fully expected him to be of the same mind, yet it was Charlie who suggested at the end of the last one-on-one that they eat out together. The topic of which restaurant was tossed around lightly until Sandburg suggested one called Maxwell's. At Ellison's 'oh, yeah,' he laughed and mentioned incredible home-made soup, mile-high sandwiches on fresh home-made bread with all the best fixings, and the ice-cold beer on tap. To Charlie he added as an aside that all the science majors hung out there because the food was as cheap as it was tasty.

By common accord that Don didn't remember adding his opinion to, they decided to walk, accumulating a flock of like-minded students during the leisurely stroll across campus and down the few blocks to the restaurant. The pairings and trios shifted constantly, but Alan and Ellison were at the head of the pack, sharing an intent conversation that Don recognized from gestures as one about golf. By some chance that Don didn't believe for a moment was one, Sandburg ended up between him and Charlie, the three of them bringing up the rear.

Neither of them seemed willing to start a conversation, but their quiet pressed on Don until he said irritably, "What?"

Apparently not in the least put out by his bad temper, Sandburg said, "I'd like to thank you, but I'm not sure you'd understand why I want to. There were a lot of ways you could have chosen to handle Mom's accusations against Jim, but the method you used, well, the most good will come out of it with the least amount of hurt, I think. Hope."

"You sound as if it were my personal decision, not a family one." Don didn't like the lift of eyebrow he got in response, but it did make him add, "Yeah, they trusted me to plot the course, but let me tell you, if they hadn't liked the destination, I would have heard about it."

Charlie snickered, though Sandburg settled for a grin before he said, "Like that would have made you change your mind if you were sure you were right."

Despite it all, Don had to chuckle, too. "I have been known to listen to reason. Not often maybe...."

"Like if that aforementioned 'course' was taking us over a cliff," Charlie put in.

"So it takes drastic measures to get me to hear you. At least I do."

"Eventually."

This time Blair was the one who chuckled, and the delight in the noise finished off the resentment that Don wanted to hold against him. Dropping his chin to his chest, he put his hands in his pockets and waited for the amusement to fade before he asked quietly, "Blair, I have to ask, just for the record... all those hospital visits we found... there's way too many of them for a police consultant. Hell, there are front-line uniformed cops who don't see as many injuries as you have."

Rubbing his thumb over the cheekbone under his right eye, Blair said, "Not all of them have anything to do with that; not even most. The last one was from a bashing, which could have and has happened to me for no other reason than because people hate. I've gotten roughed up for being Jewish, for being a nerd, for being the smart kid who ruined the bell curve for everybody else. I survived the last one because I work with Jim.

"A bashing?" Charlie asked softly.

Blair shrugged with both hands, then spread them wide as if releasing a whole host of words that wouldn't fit what he wanted to say. "Not really; more of a twisted rite of passage. There were attacks all over the campus or near it, late at night, always on young men traveling alone. A few were pulled out of cars, but most were walking or, once, biking. The description of the assailants was the same: four or five young men, Caucasian, tall, muscular, short-cropped hair, Rainier letter jackets with the letters removed, faces painted with camouflage. The weapons of choice were cue sticks or broom handles, heavy enough to seriously injure but not necessarily kill."

"It escalated, didn't it?" Don said shrewdly.

"That's the nature of packs like that," Blair said without the cynicism or bleakness Don expected. "When they came after me and another teacher, though, they made the mistake of thinking we couldn't fight back effectively or have a chance to call for help. They didn't see the Bluetooth in my ear, didn't realize I was talking to Jim."

Blair closed his eyes in pain for a split second. "He was nearby, running an extra patrol on the campus like a lot of cops had volunteered to do when the attacks first started. He squealed to a stop, weapon out, identified himself, and one of the bastards pulled a gun. Because of how many there were, the way they were moving to do the damage to Anthony and me, Jim didn't see it. It was pure luck the bullet only skimmed his skull instead of going through his head."

At Don and Charlie's expression, Blair smiled without humor. "She didn't mention that, did she? That Jim's been hurt as often as I have, if not more so, because he's always trying to get between me and trouble."

"And we didn't think to look at his medicals," Charlie confessed. "He wasn't seriously injured?"

"Bad enough - the kind of concussion that leaves your ears ringing for weeks and gives you triple vision that might just be double, but you can't be sure because everything's spinning so much." Blair stopped where he was and sucked in a huge breath, obviously trying to calm himself before continuing. "Despite that, despite bleeding the way head wounds do, Jim waded in bare-handed and between the three of us, we managed to hold them at bay until backup arrived, in force, moving so fast that the gang didn't have a chance to turn it into a hostage situation."

A split second later Blair said in an entirely different tone, mind obviously racing, "My God. Eddie Kohler, the ringleader. He tried to claim self-defense, but when his lawyer, his lawyer mind you, told him he'd never win the case with the evidence we had against him, he cried police brutality. That went nowhere, too, because of how badly injured Jim, Anthony and I were and how minor his and the rest of his gang's were. And the whole gun thing, too." With a quick tap to Don's arm, he added, "Thank you; gotta talk to Jim."

He maneuvered his way to the front of the gaggle and drew Ellison to one side with a smiling apology to Alan. Don couldn't help but be impressed by how quickly Blair had made the connection and the implications of the bogus charges that had been brought against his partner. Frowning, he wondered when Ellison had had a chance to bring him up to speed on what their captain had told them, but before he could figure it out, his dad dropped back to join him and Charlie, chattering away a mile a minute about the world-renown golf course in Cascade that Ellison had access to through his brother.

Don and Charlie shared a pained grimace before trading quips across their dad about his playing, starting a round of sports jokes that ran through the group until they reached their destination. As Don went through the door Ellison held open for everyone, Blair sweet-talked the wait staff into letting their party take over one corner of the room. He paused for a moment to study the arrangement and slowly, unwillingly, admitted that his dad had it right. He might not need or want a new big brother, but Ellison and Sandburg were the kind of men he wouldn't mind having at his back.

Not that he needed to admit that to anyone but himself, of course.

***

With an effort that only Blair could appreciate, Jim acted the part of a man enjoying an impromptu outing. His straightforward plan to win over the most skeptical of the Eppes family into Blair's corner had gone places he would have never anticipated when he put it together. That was so characteristic of Blair himself that he had to speculate if it was a genetic trait that his partner got a double dose of thanks to his parentage.

Not that he could realistically blame either the news of the 'reward' for pinning him with a brutality charge or the tail they'd acquired that afternoon on Blair or the Eppes. It would have just been nice for once to have an easy solution in sight for the complications that life threw at him. Catching sight of Blair describing some exploit or another to the obviously captivated Eppes - including Special Agent Don - he shook his head at himself and honestly grinned for the first time in hours.

His cell vibrated against his hip, and he held onto the stretch of his lips through sheer willpower. He stole a quick glance at the caller ID to make sure who sent the text message, then rose from the table. "I have court early tomorrow morning, so I've got to get out of here. Chief, you want to ride home with me? We'll have time for me to take you back to the U first if you don't."

Picking up on the code phrase 'court early' without a bobble, Blair said, "I wanted to stop by my office first and take care of a few things. Charlie's doing a talk that's open to the public tomorrow evening - yes, it's really a fund-raiser in disguise, but it should be more interesting than most - and you know I like to double check all the arrangements ahead of time."

Keeping up his part of the conversation on auto pilot, Jim made getting ready to go motions, unsurprised when other members of the party took it as a sign the festivities were over. Most of those who came with them straggled out, some taking off in different directions to head for home or where ever, but the majority clumped up for the walk back to Rainier. Their unseen watcher would hopefully be confused as to who was where in the pack, a possibility he and Blair encouraged by shifting back and forth through the group, encouraging others to do the same. Thanks to Blair's natural flare for stirring up the mix, this time literally, not even Don twigged onto the fact that anything was going on except a pleasant evening stroll.

When the collection of students, teachers, and assorted associates clustered under the lights nearest Hargrove to say their goodbyes, Jim slipped away long enough to get his truck and park next to them, engine still running. Opening the passenger door, he casually leaned on it as if waiting to say goodbye to Sandburg, but in reality waiting for something else entirely. With typical timing, Simon came up the sidewalk moments later, accompanied by Stephen and two uniformed officers.

As if it were a complete surprise, Jim crowed in pleasure, "Stevie! I thought you'd be in Bangkok for another week, at least." He crossed the distance at a good clip, gathering his brother into a genuinely welcoming hug.

Pounding on Jim's back, Stephen said, "Sandburg's advice worked its usual miracle. Tso Tze agreed to the stipulations in the contract with a minimum of the obligatory machinations."

Switching to Blair to give him the same treatment, he added, "There go the last of your student loans, bubba. My company agreed to add a bonus to your consult fee without so much as blinking, you saved us so much time and cash."

"Man, that wasn't necessary, not that I'm going to complain." Beaming happily, Blair stepped back, hands still on Stephen's shoulders. "So what brings you down here with an armed escort of all things? Did you run into trouble?"

"You are going to absolutely love this. Know that exhibit your senior project's class is trying to put together on the advancement of household goods as an indicator of cultural development?"

"Stevie," Jim put in laughing, "You have been spending waaaaaay to much time with that lovely professor Sandburg introduced you to."

With a solid smack to Jim chest without looking, Stephen went on as if uninterrupted. "I got into a discussion about it with Tso Tze. He was impressed with the endeavor and the students' enthusiasm for it and loaned this to the University for a few years - oh, hell, it's easier to show than tell." He unslung the bag he had over his shoulder, opened it and took out a beautifully crafted leather box.

"I tried to call Jim to get him to pick me up at the airport, but I think he's got his phone off, so I called Simon instead," he lied effortlessly. "Then I called Dr. Portman, who agreed to come down to open the museum so we can put this safely away tonight."

As he spoke, Stephen opened the box enough to show an exquisitely crafted porcelain bowl that was such a pure white pearl color that it practically glowed in the dark. Even expecting the beauty from Stephen's description when he'd called a few days ago to arrange security for his surprise for Blair, Jim had to fight not to zone on the intricate structure underneath the seemingly simple dish. Jaws literally dropped all around them, and after a respectful silence, a small chorus of 'oooo' murmured through the group.

"Oh, man, oh, man," Blair breathed in excitement. "This will be the centerpiece of the exhibit, and I am seriously in Tso Tze's debt." Carefully closing the box, he bounced toward the museum. "I can't believe you hand carried that into the country."

"Best security we could have provided for it," Simon countered. "For exactly that reason. Who would haul a treasure around like a piece of carry-on luggage?"

As one the small gathering flowed after Blair and Stephen, but Jim caught Eppes by the arm and forcefully pulled him into the truck. "Stay down," he ordered sharply and shut the door. He did it so quickly that not even Eppes senior noticed the maneuver, and Jim leisurely strolled around to the driver's side, with a casual wave to the departing group. Getting in carefully so that his tail couldn't see he wasn't by himself, Jim drove for home.

Anger in his expression, Eppes opened his mouth to make his demands, but Jim touched his lips gingerly, shushing him. Taking out a state-of-the-art detector he had liberated as a bonus from his last 'travel' job, he quickly scanned the truck for electronic devices, backing it up with his own hearing. It picked up three cells, one obviously Eppes' from the location and his own two, so no bugs or homing devices.

Nodding in satisfaction, Jim said, "Yes, this is what you think it is. We're clean, and I don't think a parabolic will work with the traffic the way it is."

"Trying to impress me with your spy skills, Ellison?"

"Trying to impress me with your FBI contacts, Eppes?"

"What!"

"We're being followed, have been since we left for lunch, by that '99 silver Monte Carlo three cars back, left lane." Jim flashed a glance into the rear view to check if it was still tailing them. "I'm sure he's after me because he had to choose between following the truck or the crowd that I set up and he thinks you're in the middle of. My sources tell me that the car is an unmarked Fed vehicle, commonly used for surveillance here in Cascade."

Eppes raised Jim's opinion of him by a notch when he angled to get a look in the side view mirror without raising his head above the seat. To prove his point, Jim put on his emergencies and pulled to the side of the road, lifting his phone to his ear as if answering a call. Their tail turned into a convenient parking lot, circled through it before crossing the street to where the driver could keep an eye on Jim's truck without being conspicuous about it.

"I don't know a thing about it," Eppes said, not hesitating to meet Jim's eyes.

Jim's senses said he was telling the truth and he nodded again fractionally. "If I were officially under investigation, I'd know, and I can't think of any reason why the Feds would be doing a covert op on me. From what Charlie's said, your team is the best. Would they think they'd be doing you a favor by watching me, see for themselves if I'm excessively violent or angry?"

"They don't know about Blair; we didn't tell anybody, like I said," Eppes said distractedly. "Covered our tracks as best we could so that a casual check wouldn't show we'd been looking at you, which was mostly covering my ass at the time, but now I'm wondering if I tripped an alarm of some kind."

"None that would warrant this." Jim closed the phone and put the truck in gear. "Question is, do we let our unwanted company know we're onto them, or do we try to turn the tables and see who they're reporting to?"

Clearly thinking it through, Eppes said, "I'd like to get in touch with my own people, first, and see what they can find out."

"Sounds fair to me."

Jim waited a beat, and wasn't disappointed when Eppes said nonchalantly, "Sandburg obviously knows about the tail, but not my family?"

"Not our place to tell them." Because he had asked instead of accusing or demanding, Jim added as offhandedly, "Sandburg and I have a habit of exchanging text-messages when we can't connect any other way during the day. He's an expert at reading them without being caught at it, even in the middle of meetings with the head of his department. It was pretty easy to set up cutting you from the herd we pulled together without doing anything that would arouse anyone's suspicions."

"So what now?"

"Blair's going to talk Alan and Charlie into coming back to our loft with him. They'll come in the back way, since our tail will likely watch the front because that's the way I'll go in. One person can't keep an eye on both at the same time, so when you leave with your dad and brother, they won't know you came in with me." Jim couldn't stop a feral grin. "That is, if you can move fast enough."

Eppes grinned back, a streak of competitiveness showing. "Try me. Maybe later we'll see if we can surprise our uninvited visitor."

"Works for me." Jim pulled away from the curb.

Falling silent, Eppes studied the car following them, frowning as the miles slid past. "He's good."

"Very. I thought I might have to help him a little because of the lack of traffic in this neighborhood at this hour, but looks like that isn't going to be the case." Jim leaned forward to peer through the windshield, doing as wide a visual scan as he dared while driving. "Okay, Prospect is coming up, but I'm going to cut through the alley where the back entrance is. This guy's going to have no choice but to go past because it'd be too easy notice anyone following me there."

Fishing a key out of his jacket pocket, Jim handed it to Eppes. "Door's locked, but there's a bit of an alcove, deep enough to hide you while you let yourself in. I'm 307; meet you up there."

Judging it carefully, he turned into the back lane, coasting so that he didn't have to hit his brakes until the Monte Carlo went by. As he brought the truck to a momentary stop, Eppes slid out through the barely opened truck door and into the concealment of the building's threshold. Accelerating a tiny bit to compensate for the pause, Jim cruised to the end of the alley, gliding into the parking spot just opposite as if that were his reason for the detour and glancing back in time to see Eppes go inside. With a mental reminder to himself to reactivate the security light there, he headed inside, trying to project the air of a man glad to be home at the end of a long day.

He took the steps two a time, in a hurry to reach his floor, only to find Eppes with his hand on his weapon, head against the wall, listening intently. Switching to stealth mode himself, Jim eased up beside him, pointing at the barely visible tell-tales he left, indicating they'd been disturbed with a precipitous drop of his hand. With a jab of his thumb at himself, and a shake of his head, Eppes denied the FBI would be behind whoever was inside the loft, and Jim nodded his acceptance of that, cautiously stretching over to use the peephole to find out who was inside.

It was Naomi, restlessly roving back and forth in front of the balcony doors. To Jim's practiced eye, she didn't look well - too thin, red hair brittle and lusterless, hunched in on herself as if in pain. Re-holstering his gun, Jim turned to lean his back on the wall beside the door, reaching for his cell phone with the other hand, tugging at Eppes to put him next to him.

Letting Eppes read over his shoulder, Jim texted Blair, telling him who was in the loft and asking him to drop everything to head for home. At Eppes' sweeping gesture, he added a request to come clean to the rest of the agent's family and bring them along. That done, Jim took a deep breath and settled in to wait.

Clearly confused, Eppes took out his own cell and texted, "Not going to throw her out?"

"Promised Blair he'd deal," Jim sent back.

"Why?"

"No my word against hers."

From Eppes' expression, Jim guessed that the agent had no problem imagining the sorts of lies that Naomi could generate if given the slightest chance, and that was all he really needed to know. Jim had no intention of so much as hinting that he wasn't going to allow a situation where Blair felt compelled to dismiss Naomi completely from his life. It was bad enough she was already a source of pain; Jim would do everything in his power to make sure that it didn't turn into agony for Blair.

Keeping track of Naomi with one ear, he summoned up the predator's patience he had honed so well, absently approving of how well Eppes did the same. Far quicker than he expected, he heard Blair's car drive up at full speed, then his footsteps charging up the stairs, two more sets echoing behind him. Though he slowed to a fast walk once he reached the hallway, Blair didn't stop to question Jim; he only caught his hand in passing for a quick squeeze.

Alan and Charlie made it up the stairs as Blair unlocked the door and went inside, leaving it open behind him. Opening his mouth to question his son, Alan shut it again when Don chopped the air sharply, expression pleading. Obviously nonplused, Alan traded a look with Charlie, before gingerly laying a hand on Don's shoulder as if he needed support.

At that instant, Blair said so loudly they all had no trouble hearing, "Get out. Get out, now. You're not welcome here, you're not wanted here. Out!"

"Sweetie...." Naomi began.

"I don't know how you got in because I'm damned sure you don't have a key, and that makes this breaking and entering. I don't want to turn my own mother in, but so help me, if you don't leave right now, I will, Naomi."

"This isn't you talking, sweetie. It's that pig that's taken over your life. Please, listen to your heart, not what he's told you."

"I am listening to my heart. The ironic thing here is that Jim's the only who hasn't bad-mouthed you since you started your little campaign to run my life. Now, go. I mean it!"

"Blair! I just want to talk!"

"Like I told you the last time you invaded my home, call me if you want to see me. Or email me. Or write me. And I'll let you know when and where we'll meet. Have I given you any reason to believe I'd changed my mind about never permitting you in here again?"

"Young man, I am your mother...."

"What the hell does that have to do with invading my privacy? I'm not a child, I'm not incompetent, and I have a right to demand respect for my boundaries. Now, out! Go on!"

"I deserve the same respect, and that means not being tossed out like yesterday's garbage because you're having a temper tantrum."

"No, you don't. Any respect I ever had for you is long gone, and the love I still have is the only reason I'm not literally kicking you to the curb. I'm taking out my phone now, Naomi. I'm dialing. Once I reach Dispatch, your chances of ever talking to me again under any circumstances, or seeing me anywhere but in a courtroom, are gone. You hear me? Ringing once. Ringing twice...."

Naomi backed out of the loft, clearly shocked at the rage and determination filling her son's expression as he leaned into her personal space to bully her into moving, loudly repeating, "Out, out, out, out...."

As soon as she was clear of the doorway, Jim scuttled into the loft behind her, bringing the Eppes family with him with a wave. He spun on his heel, grabbed Blair by the collar and hauled him inside, slamming the door behind him in almost the same motion. Not giving a shit about the hum of electronics sawing at his nerves or their bewildered, upset guests, he wrapped Blair up in the tightest, fiercest hug he could manufacture, as much for himself as for Blair.

Sparing a moment to take the phone from Blair to tell dispatch that officers were on the scene and the incident had been resolved, Jim murmured nonsensical reassurances, not hearing his own words, only the silent fall of Blair's tears. He caught Alan's eye and nodded toward the kitchen, mouthing the word, 'tea.' When Don asked with a lift of his hands what he could do, Jim carefully tossed him the electronics detector, then forgot about the Eppes until Blair surreptitiously dried his face on Jim's shirt and gave him a small push to ask for room.

Jim nudged him into a chair, standing behind him, and Alan gave him a mug while Charlie closely examined one of the cameras his brother had found. Don continued his search for more devices, doing such a thorough job of it that Jim decided he had no reason to leave Blair's side just yet. Wanly smiling his thanks, Blair took a sip of the tea and sighed tiredly.

"I am so sorry...."

"Stop right there," Alan said with just the right amount of warmth and authority. "As your partner has pointed out on several occasions with varying degrees of ire and stubbornness, you're the injured party in this situation."

"This," Charlie said holding up the small gadget, "was the goal from the moment she showed up on our doorstep. She obviously planned to goad Jim into a physical assault on her, then present the tape as evidence of his brutality, either to you or the authorities or maybe the press. If Don had done an official investigation, if Cascade's IA hadn't already been burned with false claims against Jim to the point they refused to investigate him again, if he had been angry and frustrated because of the repeated accusations, or if he hadn't kept his promise not to be alone with her, she might have succeeded."

Shaking his head, Blair said with flattering conviction, "No, Jim would have never raised a hand to her, no matter how much she pushed him or how furious he was."

"Obviously she doesn't believe that," Charlie said. "Her prejudices are working against her. Even so, it must be clear to her that she's failed."

"That doesn't mean she's given up," Blair said miserably. Jim massaged his shoulders, as much for the comfort of the touch as to combat the frightening tension in them. "I'm terrified of what she'll do next. There's no way to anticipate her, and, damnit, thanks to me, she has more information about us than we have about her, and in some ways, more resources."

"Resources?" Don asked, putting another bug on the table. "Intel?"

"Like, who does she know in the FBI to get a tail on Jim so Naomi would know that he was on his way home alone? She always knows somebody or knows somebody who knows somebody - at times I think she invented social networking." Blair reached up to pat Jim's hands and rose to pace, his own describing manic arcs and slashes. "As for intel, she's my mother and before I ever suspected she was capable of using what I told her against me, I talked to her about anything and everything, including stuff that most people would consider too private or confidential for their mother to hear. I can't even begin to remember most of our conversations, or imagine how she can make use of them.

"For instance, once I shared that Jim can drink coffee no matter how bad it is, because of his stint in the army. In fact, he doesn't really taste it at all, because there are so many variables that determine the quality: purity of water, brand of coffee, consistency of the roast, how long ago it was made to name only a few. So when she wanted to make him sick, believing I'd never stick with someone who was physically helpless and needy and cranky, she dosed not just the supply here, but what was in the break room, in Simon's office, my office, and Jim never paid attention to it because it was all bad."

"So we neutralize her insider info." Don said, taking Blair's chair at the table. Poking one of the cameras with a finger he added, "This is short range; she has to be close by. I'm betting Charlie can tell us where by triangulating from the location of each camera or by analyzing local terrain or using some arcane mathematical formula based on how they were placed. We turn the tables, plant a bug on her, follow her, wait for her to plan her next move. You had the idea that she might be working with, who was that guy, responsible for the bashing who wanted to cry police brutality, Kohler? Maybe he's not ready to give up, either, and the two of them will talk about how to eliminate Ellison. That moves it from domestic to conspiracy to commit, and we can arrest her."

Before Blair could turn on Don and rip him a new one, Jim wrapped Blair up in his arms again. "Easy, Chief, easy," he whispered so only Blair would hear. "He's seeing criminal activity, not a desperate mother. His dad will handle him. I know we can't imprison her, especially since she's sick."

"Is she, really?"

Without hesitation because Blair would not want the truth hidden from him, Jim said, "I'm pretty sure of it. She might have a clue or two about the senses, but not about how we use them. She'd go strictly by appearances, and yeah, I don't put it past her to starve herself to the right shade of shade of pale and skinny. But she's got that bitter smell that comes from chemotherapy and her heat signature is wrong for her in a way that shouldn't come from simple malnutrition."

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Blair chanted softly, hitting his forehead against Jim's chest. "Caging her would kill her as surely as a knife in her heart, but if we don't, Jim, I'm really afraid of what she'll do. She literally has nothing left to lose."

Feeling more helpless than he ever had in his life, including when his chopper crashed in the jungle, Jim beat at his brains for an idea, any idea, that would spare his mate from the seemingly no-win situation they were in. From far, far away he heard a knock at the loft door, but it didn't seem important enough to move away from Blair. From the corner of his eye, he saw Alan walk toward the door, apparently feeling the need to be useful any way he could and having the presence of mind to use the peephole. "Agent Edgerton," Alan said in surprised recognition.

He stepped back to let the man in and Jim reached for his gun, sweeping Blair behind him as he recognized the driver of the Monte Carlo. Without hesitation Charlie stepped in front of the agent, blocking any potential shot either of them might have, and the man allowed it, though not without a minute grimace of distaste.

"This is Ian Edgerton; I trust him," Charlie said simply, hands up in surrender.

"He's also been following me all day long," Jim ground out.

"Not as a representative of the FBI," Edgerton put in, raising his own hands and slowly shifting to one side so Jim had a clear view of him. "Occasionally I get loaned out to other agencies, and this is one of those times. You and Sandburg are very valuable assets to certain parties, and they wanted a double check on why the Eppes were suddenly interested in the two of you. I was asked because I've worked with Don and Charlie before."

"Ian," Charlie said with a hint of hurt under his voice, "This is private, between Blair and my family, with no legal or ethical ramifications."

The agent frowned again, but didn't argue with Charlie.

"You've got no business prying here," Don bit out. He turned to face the other agent directly, clearly showing whose side he was on. "No one does."

"Convince me," Edgerton said levelly, meeting Jim's eyes as if understanding instinctively he was the one who was the most dangerous. "Don asked for personal time out the blue, Alan takes off with both his sons, none of them tell anyone where they're going or why, not even Charlie's girlfriend or Don's second in command. That's suspicious on the surface, and when I looked into the timing behind Charlie's seminar, he checked you two out before you were involved with the planning of it. It was only 'in the works' because Charlie had promised his friend he'd do it the first opportunity he had to get away. All of them cancelled other plans to be here."

"Dad, Don," Charlie said urgently. "I trust Ian." With a glance over his shoulder at Edgerton, he walked forward until he could lay his hands on Blair's shoulders. "I trust him," he repeated, speaking directly to Blair.

At Blair's reluctant nod and Jim's hiss of breath as he took his hand away from his gun, Charlie said formally, "Ian Edgerton, I'd like you to meet my half-brother, Blair Sandburg, and his life-partner, Jim Ellison."

"Brother!" Edgerton sputtered.

Unperturbed at the blurted word, Charlie added, "We only recently found out. His mother's been hiding his whereabouts from Dad since he was born. You just missed meeting her, too."

"The red-headed woman who hurried out looking as if she had murder on her mind?" Edgerton asked.

Facetiously, Jim said, "I don't suppose you noticed where she went? We need another word or two with her."

Glancing around the room as if to orient himself, Edgerton pointed. "Two buildings that way, across the street." At the chorus of 'what?' from everyone in the room, he admitted to Jim, "When your partner arrived at top speed, Alan and Charlie in tow, I knew I'd been made. I had a police scanner on in case you were called out on duty, heard the aborted request for uniforms to this address and figured she had something to do with it because of the state she was in. I followed her thinking she might provide a clue as to what the problem was and whether or not it concerned my mission."

Uncertain whether to thank him or take a swing at him, Jim snapped, "As of right now, you don't have a mission."

"As of right now, I'm helping a friend and his family with a personal problem," Edgerton shot back. "Now, is anybody going to tell me exactly what that is?"

"Oh, what the hell," Blair sighed tiredly. "Sit down; this will take a while."

It probably wouldn't have taken so long, Jim decided later while pouring out yet another round of coffee and tea, if only one person had spoken, giving a professional style briefing. Instead the story bounced from speaker to speaker, events told out of sequence or repeated by different people at different points. Through it all Edgerton clung to the facts with a dogged determination that made Jim hide a smile. Here he'd been thinking Blair's ability to muddy the waters in any conversation was a Sandburg trait; apparently it had been an Eppes one, all along.

Finally, Edgerton propped his elbows on the back of the kitchen chair he straddled and scrubbed a hand over his face. "You have my sympathies; in-law troubles are the worse and usually have no solution. It'd be easier to treat Naomi like a criminal."

"No," Charlie said abruptly, an odd expression on his face, twisting in his seat on the end of the couch so he could face his brother and dad. "Not a criminal. An opponent, an enemy with whom you have to reach a truce."

"Game theory," Alan and Don chorused, and for a moment Blair seemed lost - a child staring through a window at a happy family sharing a special occasion.

Before Jim could bristle, Don leaned over and gently punched Blair's arm. "When Charlie gets that look, be ready for him to come up with a solution that you won't understand, but works great."

To Jim's pleasure, Blair grinned at Don. "Game theory I get. It's how to apply it here that worries me!"

Everyone chuckled, including Charlie, but he quickly grew serious again, getting up to pace. "We know what Naomi wants; Jim out of your life. You won't agree to that. That doesn't mean there aren't other needs that you could meet for her, other points that you're willing to surrender in exchange for her relinquishing her machinations against Jim."

"You want us to negotiate with her?" Jim said in astonishment.

"Why not? If she doesn't uphold her end of the bargain, you've at least won a reprieve that I'm sure you can put to good use." Charlie crossed to the easy chair that Jim sat in with Blair balanced on the arm. "And you'll know you've done everything in your power to end the strife between her and Blair before she passes, leaving that legacy for him."

"As long as he'll have me, I won't give him up," Jim said stubbornly. "God help me, not even for his mother's sake."

"That goes for me, too," Blair chimed in.

"So that's the bottom line for any concessions. But would you leave him for a while? To travel with her, if that's what she wants, or maybe to stay with her in a hospice?" Charlie said eagerly.

Thoughtfully Blair said, "For a specified period and only If she doesn't put Jim down or criticize what I've done with my life while I'm with her."

"Jim?" Charlie asked.

It was hard, but Jim was proud that he said without hesitation, "Whatever Blair wants. I have to admit, I'd rather keep him close, but I won't refuse an agreement that gets her off our backs, however temporarily."

"Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer," Edgerton murmured so softly Jim was fairly sure he was the only one who heard.

Because of that, Jim added, "I'm a trained medic. If she wants to travel or stay in a remote location, I'd be willing to provide medical care for her in exchange for visitation rights with Blair."

"Any other limitations or provisions you'd make?" Charlie asked.

"You going to act as our go-between?" Blair asked in return.

Clearly thrown, Charlie said slowly, as if in thought, "I'm the best candidate. She has no history with me, like she does with my dad, and I'm not an authority figure the way Don is, and on the surface I have no vested interest in the outcome of the negotiations."

"You are not meeting with that woman on your own," Alan said sharply. "Pacifist though she claims to be, she's not keeping good company these days."

Surprisingly Edgerton said, "I'll go with him. I'm an unknown factor, though she'll probably recognize me as a cop of some kind, that'll keep her on her best behavior without directly threatening her."

"Edgerton, this isn't your fight," Don argued.

"No, it's not, but I'm involved now, so you might as well put me to good use."

That didn't end the debate, of course, not that Jim had any doubt that Charlie would eventually get his way. In the end, after a wide variety of warnings and cautions, he left with Edgerton, declaring that the sooner it was done, the better, before Naomi had time to regroup from her latest failure. At a sharp glance from Blair, Jim scratched at his ear to silently tell his partner that he would listen in all the way, and went to his usual place by the balcony doors, leaving it to Blair to handle Don and Alan.

***

For the life of him Charlie had no idea why he volunteered to be Jim and Blair's spokesman. He had no delusions about his people skills, especially when interpersonal hostility was involved. And while he did like Blair, he didn't feel brotherly toward him; certainly not anywhere close to what he felt for Don. At the same time, he recognized an odd, surprisingly strong urge to render aid to the beleaguered couple that he didn't want to examine too closely as yet.

Regardless of what brought him to this juncture, he told himself firmly as he followed Ian out of 852 Prospect Street, he was here now with no choice but to go on as best he could. Vaguely reassured by the silent vigilance Ian displayed - holding him back with an arm over his chest to inspect the entryway to 1011 Prospect, preceding him silently up a dingy stairwell - Charlie imagined himself facing his first dissertation committee and straightened his shoulders, spine straight like his mother had taught him.

Charlie won the small, wordless debate with Ian as to who would knock, though he obeyed the commanding gesture to do so from one side. An unknown man answered, and acting on mathematical probability, Charlie said, "Good evening Mr. Kohler. May I speak with Ms. Sandburg, please?"

"I don't know you," Kohler mumbled, unwilling to meet Charlie's gaze.

"No, we haven't had a chance to make an acquaintance yet. I'm Dr. Charles Eppes, and while Ms. Sandburg isn't expecting me, I'm sure she'll want to see me."

"It's okay, Vick," Naomi said quietly from the shadows of the room. "Let him in."

Smiling vaguely in the direction of her voice, Charlie entered, familiar enough from visiting Don and his team while on stakeouts to not be surprised by the sparse, shabby furnishings or bank of high-tech equipment, let alone the high-powered scope at the window. Aware that Ian was behind him, back against the wall, Charlie crossed his wrists in front of him, feet slightly apart, as if ready to address a classroom. His eyes adapted to the gloom quickly, and once he could make out Ms. Sandburg on her perch on the end of a cot, he nodded at her in greeting, patiently waiting for her to make the first move.

"Just deliver your threats and ultimatums then get out of my sight," she said with steely dignity.

Politely, almost dispassionately, Charlie said, "That's not my purpose here, Ms. Sandburg. Your son asked me to convey a question to you on his behalf."

Clearly taken aback, she waved a hand to order him to go on, lips pinched tight on words she didn't want to voice. Obediently, Charlie asked, "What do you want, Naomi?"

"I beg your pardon?" she said, seemingly truly shocked.

"What do you want?"

"That is none of your business!"

"Very well. Before I leave I must counsel you that Blair will no longer accept any form of communication from you, including speaking with any intermediary that you may choose. I also assure you that as his chosen representative, he has empowered me to, ah, 'make it my business,' as far as the answer to his question and the discussion that may follow."

Charlie waited a beat. "What do you want, Naomi?"

"What's best for my son," she snapped.

Tilting his head to one side, considering the statement, Charlie countered, "Blair is a well-published doctor of anthropology who is on his way to becoming renown for his expertise in his specific field. That gives him the freedom to travel extensively to places few others can go, and he has the ability to share his discoveries during those journeys with a wide audience upon his return. He is a respected, sought-after member of the Cascade police department, responsible for saving an unknowable number of lives. Spiritually, emotionally, and physically, he has a solid, enviable life. I would say he already has the best."

Charlie waited a beat to give her a chance to argue, but her mouth was a white line again. With a shade more insistence, he repeated, "What do you want, Naomi?"

"What makes you think I want anything for myself?" She managed an almost perfect tone of self-sacrificing love and maternal pride, but Charlie heard a quaver of weakness under it.

"If you did not want something from him, why would you expend energy and resources that could be better used for husbanding your health to interfere in your son's eminently satisfactory life? You seem to be willing to accept whatever pain and sorrow for Blair that may result from that interference, you risk total alienation from him, which tells me your need is great. Also, why else would you form an alliance with the father of the man who beat your son for no reason if not because you have requirement only Blair can fulfill?"

"There, now," Kohler blustered. "Eddie is a good boy; he just fell into bad company. It happens. He's learned his lesson. Prison time is too extreme a punishment for his mistake."

Naomi couldn't quite hide her grimace of distaste at the pronouncement, and Charlie pressed his advantage. "Naomi, what do you want?"

Hugging her middle tightly, she finally broke. "I want my son back! He's my child, my flesh and blood, my legacy. For nine months I carried him in my body, making him the center of my world, and when he was born, I was the center of his." Rocking slightly, mind obviously turning inward, she muttered, "When did he slip away? When did his eyes stop following me everywhere when he was with me? When did I become part of his past, not his future?"

The effort of will necessary to refrain from answering those questions caught Charlie off-guard. He'd thought himself sufficiently distanced from the conflict to be unbiased. "That is doable," he said when she paused.

"Right," Naomi drawled sarcastically. "Jim Ellison is going to simply let his prized pet take off to parts unknown."

Blandly, Charlie said, "When Blair made a mistake that nearly resulted in the loss of his Ph.D, you and Jim formed an alliance to correct that error. First you worked to reassure Blair of his worth and esteem to others - the offer of a detective's badge in Major Crimes - then the two of you leveraged that to the restoration of his reputation and position at Rainier."

Though she flinched minutely, Naomi said, "So?"

"The conflict between you and Blair is causing him harm, therefore Jim Ellison will do whatever is necessary to resolve it. The last thing he wants, Naomi, is for Blair to bear a burden of guilt and regret because his last words to you were in anger." More gently than he truly wanted, Charlie added, "You may not approve of it, but I don't believe that you doubt Jim's love for Blair."

Suddenly angry again for some unfathomable reason, Naomi said, "No, I will give him that. But don't expect me to believe that there aren't any strings attached to this offer."

"Of course not." Charlie hesitated, not wanting to press too hard, but ultimately she was the one who would benefit the most by agreeing to an armistice, giving him the advantage. "You lost Blair's unconditional love the first time you attempted to intervene in his relationship with Jim. He's afraid of you now, Naomi, of what you will do to achieve your goals. You can't love freely where there's been fear."

"Oh, but it was love that motivated me," she whispered, easy tears coming.

"Let it motivate you now. Blair is your legacy. What do you want his memories of you to be when you are gone? What do you want for him, then? His life should be a celebration of yours that continues until the end of his. How can that happen if your death damages him with the tremendous grief and pain of losing a mother he is at odds with, the woman who he constantly measures all other women by to find them lacking?" Charlie slowly crossed to kneel in front of her. "Speaking as a man who has lost his mother, all of the good shared can be overshadowed by what went wrong at the end."

She didn't answer him, averting her head so as not to face him. Statistically, the posture indicated that she had absorbed as much as she could for the moment, and he took a business card from his pocket to place it on the bed next to her. "If you wish to discuss the matter further, please contact me."

Standing, he backed away, hiding a sigh of relief when he was beside Ian again. "Mr. Kohler," he said in farewell. "Ms. Sandburg."

Ian opened the door for them, drawing Charlie through it with a guiding hand on his elbow, apparently unsurprised that he was unwilling to turn his back on the pair in the room. Stubbornly, Charlie maintained a steady, unhurried pace until he was free of the building entirely, and only then did he give into the emotions that were shaking him. Hiding his eyes with a hand, he paused in the first deep shadow he could find, bracing himself with the other hand on a wall.

Trusting a sniper's expertise, Charlie asked, "Can they see us?"

"No," Ian said instantly. "And even with the scope all they could get of Ellison's place is glimpses as people move through it, and that's the best view you could get from all the buildings on this street, too. Bet Ellison knew that when he moved into the place."

"Likely," Charlie agreed distractedly. He took a deep breath, chin almost on his chest. "She's jealous of her own son, isn't she? Insanely, stupidly, ridiculously jealous. He's not supposed to love anybody but her, and no one else is allowed to love him in return. That's why she hid him from my dad; so she would never have to compete for his affections, never be compared and found lacking."

Moving so close Charlie could feel Ian's chest move against his back with his breaths, Ian said in the softest tone he'd ever heard from him, "Yes. I have no idea if she is simply that selfish or if she thinks she's proving a point, not that it matters."

"No, the result is the same." Charlie swayed slightly into Ian, finding his warmth an unexpected comfort. "What does it say about me that I find it easier to understand parents who physically take out their anger, frustration and cruelty on their own flesh and blood than I can a mother who emotionally isolates and cripples her child?"

"It says you're human," Ian breathed and the delicate swirl of the words over Charlie's skin did wonderful things to jangled nerves.

It was the wrong time and place to be noticing such things, but Charlie did not begrudge it to himself; not while he still had so much pain to deliver. He peeked through his lashes at Ian, captivated by the tenderness in the dark eyes and the glitter of deeper emotions under it. Uncertain how to respond, he smiled shyly and straightened, not unhappy that he brushed firmly along Ian's front as he did.

Smiling back as tentatively, Ian retreated a few steps with flattering reluctance, assuming the silent role of guardian again. Bolstered by it, as well as relieved, Charlie continued on his way to Jim and Blair's loft, suddenly eager to extricate himself from the drama of their lives and get back to the logical, pure flow of numbers. Thankfully, it only took a few minutes to report his progress, or lack of it, and press for a return to the hotel. A flick of his eyes asked Ian to remain on guard for Jim and Blair, and he received a slight nod in answer.

Uncharacteristically passive, his dad and Don went along with his wishes, not talking for the most part during the drive. It was late enough that bed was the goal for all three of them once they reached their rooms, and he and Don went through their nighttime routine without exchanging more than a few grunts of necessary information. After he was settled under the covers, though, listening to Don's soft snores and restless tossing, Charlie couldn't sleep.

He felt glutted with too much information from too many incompatible sources and no clear guidelines as to what to process and what to discard. Initially he had believed the trip to meet Blair had been solely for his father's sake, with no practical relevance to his own life. That had been proven a major fallacy the instant he saw Jim briefly cup Blair's cheek with an adoration that verged on worship. The gesture had stirred something in him, and Charlie had no idea what it was or why it made his throat tight.

As quietly as he could, he turned to his side, back to Don in the other bed, and mentally searched for a problem that could keep his mind occupied until morning came. Nothing presented itself, at first, but after a bit Don's comment about 'triangulating from the location of each camera or analyzing the local terrain or using some arcane mathematical formula based on how they were placed' came back to him. While his brother's confidence in his skills amused Charlie, his notions also presented intriguing possibilities.

It would be easy enough to test each theory. He had handled several of the devices and remembered their serial numbers, as well as Blair's laptop's IP address. If he....

Slipping out of bed, Charlie went to his laptop and booted it up, careful to block the light and sound so as to not disturb Don. There really were several very elegant theoretical solutions to using the short-range camera signals to backtrack to the location of the feed source. Activating one of the bugs through the wi-fi on Blair's computer, he played with tracing the output, not noticing the picture it generated.

It wasn't until movement caught his eye that he realized that he was seeing Blair sitting naked on the couch in his home, legs folded into a lotus position as he meditated. Jim was at what Charlie supposed was his favorite brooding place by the balcony doors, equally bare. For a moment he couldn't help but stare; not because of the casual nudity but because of the beauty delineated by the many grays on the screen.

Jim was power and male elegance carved from palest moonlight and highlighted by long, slender, black shadows. Blair was more ethereal - misty grace and lissome lines of diffused form that suggested his presence more than it announced it. Together they were both the essence and the substance of masculinity; what was presented to the world and what was contained beneath it.

By itself the vision was breathtaking, but when Jim prowled toward his mate, expression intent, Charlie was enthralled. Unconsciously leaning forward as if that would make the image sharper, he watched as Jim glided to a halt behind Blair, mere inches from the back of his head. He had moved so smoothly that Charlie doubted Blair had heard him, and his utter stillness implied he was correct.

That or he was so completely at ease with Jim that he wasn't disturbed at all by having him stand motionlessly at his shoulder, almost looming over him. Except... except Jim wasn't looming. Somehow he was offering support, encouragement, though Charlie couldn't define what he based that impression on.

Before Charlie could distract himself with an intellectual analysis of what he saw, Jim traced one of Blair's curls where it lay on the back of the couch. It was the most loving gesture Charlie had ever imagined, and he sucked in a soft breath when Jim did it again, apparently being careful not to distract Blair from his contemplation. With the tiniest, surest movements, Jim smoothed each lock, gradually making his way from the only the very tips to the full length of every strand. After a bit, Blair's head rocked slightly with the caress, and Jim worked his fingers deeper into the tresses, massaging at the skull holding them before combing them out.

Charlie could almost hear Blair's breathing deepen, and there was no mistaking how his mouth opened slightly, lips suddenly more full and lush. The straight line of his spine relaxed, legs slowly unfurling until he was sitting with his knees up, ankles crossed, arms around his shins. Only then did Jim's hands rove farther, more possessively, petting Blair's face with small strokes along cheekbone, eyebrow, jaw, chin. There was nothing particularly erotic in the touch to Charlie's mind, but as Blair let his head rest on the back of the couch, pleasure and passion colored his features.

It was the intimacy of the exploration, Charlie decided, hunching in, almost protectively, around his laptop. Or perhaps it was the coaxing, enticing nature of the seduction, as if Jim needed to woo Blair to him. The thought of that, of being lovingly cajoled to share physical closeness, sent a hard shudder through Charlie that left him half erect with twists of desire in his middle.

Apparently Blair enjoyed the persuasion as well. As Charlie watched, he dropped his feet to the floor, revealing a sturdy hard-on gradually filling and lengthening. Despite the obvious evidence of his arousal, he made no attempt to return Jim's attentions or encourage more sexually obvious fondling. Nor did Jim seem to be in a hurry to move past his slow foreplay, though he was as obviously excited as Blair was. His shaft rose tall and hard, cap tapping against his belly, leaving a glistening residue.

Jim paid no mind to his condition, but went on with feathering invisible trails over Blair's shoulders and arms, occasionally stopping to savor the texture of a special place - the inside of an elbow, the tiny hollow where collar bone met breast bone. Before long Blair had all but melted into the cushions, arms loose at his sides, thighs lolling apart.

Blair spoke, and Charlie leaned in as if that would tell him what the single word had been. Repeating himself, clearly saying 'more,' Blair languidly rolled to face Jim, putting his face level with his lover's groin. Expecting their contact to turn carnal, Charlie braced himself to look away, but Jim only cradled Blair's head in long, elegant fingers, urging him to kneel so that he could claim a sweet, almost chaste kiss.

Like everything else that had gone before, the kiss was unhurried, filled more with adoration than passion. Unable to tear his eyes away, Charlie could see it turn deeper, hungrier in slow increments, until Blair was visibly trembling, hands clinging to Jim's biceps to hold himself upright. Finally Jim lifted away to scatter soft pecks over Blair's face before returning to his lips, lifted to nibble his ear and down his neck, back to feast on his mouth - all done slowly, with exquisite care and delicacy. Except for his hips, which rocked with the instinctive bid for relief, Blair submissively soaked up Jim's touch, though Charlie could almost feel the need throbbing between them.

His own body echoed it, both heartbeat and the pulse in his erection, and he worried that he would be the one to cry out for release. He put his hand over his mouth, the other in his lap to absently knead the mound there. Belatedly he remembered Don and glanced over at him, to make sure his back was still turned, snores punctuating his breathing. Scolding himself, he closed his eyes to summon the will to turn off the laptop, but he couldn't resist a last peek.

It was his undoing.

Blair climbed up Jim's body until he had his arms wrapped around his neck, his legs around Jim's waist, frantically biting and licking at whatever skin he could reach. Charlie was sure he was begging, both from his expression and the shape of the words spilling from his lips. He could almost hear the chant of Jim's name, pleas for more, faster, harder, oh, god, now.

Awkwardly sprawling backward, clearly counting on Jim's strength to hold him, Blair fumbled in the table beside the couch, and surged back into the security of Jim's arms. Presenting him with a tube of some kind, he buried his face in the curve of Jim's shoulder, undulating against him as if to meld their bodies into one. For a moment Charlie didn't understand, then Jim squeezed out a dollop of glossy cream onto a fingertip, put aside the tube, and slid his palm over Blair's back until he reached the cleft of his bottom.

Dry mouthed, Charlie stared in fascination at the finger probing into Blair's body, unconsciously matching on his own cock the unhurried rhythm Jim used on his lover. Blair obviously loved the intrusion, rising and falling on it, pausing only when Jim added another finger to the penetration. Overcome with curiosity, Charlie used the wait to reach behind himself to brush over his opening, the first time he'd tried any contact there except hygienic necessity or by a doctor.

The shock of sensation nearly threw him off his seat, and he gasped, snatching away his hand before he gave into the temptation to do more. On the screen in front of him, Jim hoisted Blair up a few inches, high enough for Charlie to see his cock aim for Blair's pucker. Wishing he could get more resolution, he peered at the shaft vanishing into the dark recesses, sharp jolts of lust hitting him hard in the gut. When it was gone, reappearing again by fractions, he surrendered entirely to his voyeurism, taking his hard-on out of his shorts to stroke it time to Jim's thrusts into Blair.

It seemed to Charlie they strained to get closer to each other, muscles tightening until they stood out in bas relief. Nature demanded they draw apart, but they returned again and again, each time faster and harder, until they were a blur of motion and urgency. This was what Charlie had expected from gay sex: the brutal meeting of flesh into flesh, the raw demand for relief, animal rutting at its most basic. Yet he could still imagine the sound of Jim's name on Blair's lips, murmurs of pleasure and praise in return, the overwhelming need to be connected as completely as possible.

Suddenly Blair threw back his head, mouth wide with a scream, and he shuddered so violently Charlie could all but feel the quakes himself. A moment later Jim shook his head from side to side, his thrusts erratic and that shade more powerful that shouted to Charlie of his completion. It was too much, it was all he needed, and Charlie laid his head down on the table next to his computer, and climaxed.

The spurts burned out of him with more pleasure than he'd ever experienced before, yanking and turning his mind inside out with ecstasy. For a small eternity he was blind and deaf, yet more aware and alive than he had known was possible. He sobbed in relief, automatically keeping the noise inside himself, though he couldn't remember why at that exact moment.

He sat that way long after the aftershocks faded from him, long after awareness of where he was and what he had done returned, confusion owning him entirely. Finally Don mumbled incoherently, tossing to his other side, and Charlie straightened, reaching for the off switch on the laptop. But not before committing to memory the image of Blair and Jim entwined, forehead-to-forehead, smiling contentedly into each other's eyes.

***

Jim snapped awake, curling his arm more securely around Blair's shoulders and reaching for his gun under his pillow with his free hand. For the moment he had no idea what had set off his internal alarms; his senses reported that all was secure in their home. Frowning, he nosed into the curls under his chin and concentrated, going beyond the boundaries of the loft, and heard a cry of pain and fear.

Even as he recognized Naomi's voice, he sat bolt upright, swiveling on his backside to grab the sweatpants left by the bed for emergencies. Still pulling them on, he slid into a sloppy pair of sneakers and raced for the door at top speed, well aware that Blair was hot on his heels, fumbling into clothes as he ran. Not pausing, he snatched up his keys and barreled down the stairway two steps at a time, barely keeping his balance.

Once on the street he charged toward the sound of Naomi's calls for help, aware on one level of his mind that it could be a trick, a set-up to follow through on her plan to paint him as an abuser. His instincts didn't listen to that possibility. The pure panic under her words rang true, as did the meaty thud of a fist slamming into an unprotected body. All he could do as he crashed into the building she was in was pray that Blair's quick wit and determination would see them through if she were playing them.

Picking up on a third set of footsteps pounding behind him, he spared a quick look over his shoulder, surprised to see Charlie's FBI friend chasing after them. That was good, he decided distractedly, skidding to a halt on the landing on Naomi's floor so he could wrench the door open. The one she was behind was right beside it, and it gave way to a single hard kick. He twisted to one side to allow Blair to go through with him, aiming for the heavy-set man holding a slumped Naomi off the floor by the hair so he could punch her in the face.

He barely had time to realize that Jim was there before Jim jerked him into the air by the collar of his shirt and threw him across the room. Blair was by his mother's side so quickly that he was able to cushion her head as she dropped. Leaving her to his care, Jim went after her attacker, body-checking him as he rushed Jim, fists flailing wildly. Subduing him took almost no effort, despite his determination to fight.

When he was cuffed to the radiator next to the window, Jim went to Blair, snagging a pillow off the bed as he passed to use as a pressure bandage. Naomi's nose was broken and bleeding, her lips were, as well, from several wide cuts, but he was more concerned with the rapidly spreading stain on her chest. Leaving her draped across Blair's lap, head on his shoulder, Jim ripped away the blouse she was wearing to reveal torn sutures, blood pooling copiously around all of them.

"You won't get away with beating her," the man said over dramatically, obviously reciting a rehearsed line. "You can't just break in here and trust your cop buddies to cover what you did to her."

Without looking up from his mother's face, Blair said, "Kohler, shut up. It's a waste of breath until the cops get here, and yes, they're on the way." He absently waved a cell phone, setting up an explanation for Jim's knowledge of the attack. "I dialed 911 after Naomi called, and they've been listening to everything since."

"Not to mention they have a witness," Edgerton said from the doorway, leaning on it negligently. "An impartial one with no connection, personal or otherwise, to Ellison."

Kohler's eyes went wide, and he pulled desperately at his cuffs, struggling to get free. Regardless, he stuck to his story. "Then you saw, you saw. Ellison hitting on that poor woman, then going after me when I tried to stop him."

"There's not a mark on you," Jim said absently, trading a look with Edgerton that gave him custody of Kohler so he could work on Naomi. Pressing down as much as he dared on the tears in Naomi's flesh, he examined the rest of her as best he could. She was so thin and frail, her bones showed clearly, and he found several cracked ribs, a broken wrist and collar bone, along with signs of internal bleeding. As careful as he was, she whimpered in pain, and she stirred restlessly, trying to get away.

"It's okay, Mom, it's okay," Blair crooned. "I've got you, the ambulance will be here in a minute; the EMT's will give you something to dull the edge. Yeah, yeah, I know you don't believe in polluting your system with man-made poisons, but trust me, you'll be glad when the drugs kick in. You can always do a purification later, once you've healed a bit. In the meantime, hang in there, you're safe, we've got everything under control."

As he spoke, Naomi's eyelashes fluttered, then her eyes opened. She stared blearily at her son and muttered. "You came. I needed you, and you came."

"Of course, I did," Blair said thickly, barely holding in tears.

Naomi peered down at herself in confusion, at the careful work Jim was doing on her, then up at him. "You came," she repeated, her astonishment plain.

"You were in trouble; how could I ignore that?" Jim said gently, wishing he could do more for her agony.

He saw something change in her, literally saw a shift in her physical being as if what happened in her head had to be reflected in her person. She shook her head slowly, weeping silently. Clutching feebly at Blair's shirt, she found strength and said loudly, "Vick Kohler did this to me in hopes he could pin it on Jim Ellison after I refused to cooperate any longer with his plain to discredit Jim's credibility as a cop."

"You bitch!" Kohler shouted. "You promised you'd help me keep my son out of jail. Said a few bruises, a little discomfort, was a small price to pay to show your precious Blair how wrong he was about his faggot lover."

"I didn't volunteer for a beating from you!" Naomi snapped, her small show of will fading rapidly. "You call what you did to me a 'little discomfort!' My god, like father, like son. No wonder he's in trouble."

Kohler howled his outrage, but Jim dismissed him from mind, too worried about Naomi's rapidly dropping blood pressure and clammy skin to spare him another thought. Dragging a blanket off the bed, he covered her for warmth against shock, tucking in the edges as Blair gingerly patted her cheek. Understanding that Blair needed to give more than his presence, Jim caught his fingers, and, on a hunch, placed them on the back of Naomi's head, where her spine met her skull.

Guiding them in a small circle, Jim said, "That should help her relax, not tighten up against the hurt. Just this much pressure, no more."

Blair nodded, still staring down at his mother, rocking with her ever so slightly. It wasn't until uniformed officers burst into the room, EMTs right behind them, that he looked up at Jim. This time Jim was the one to nod, telling his mate, his lover, his life that he had no problem with Blair focusing completely on his mother for as long as necessary. Jim could wait, would wait.

Sparing him a trembling smile filled with love and gratitude, Blair went back to taking care of Naomi, leaving Jim and Edgerton to handle practicalities. Letting him go alone with his mother in the ambulance was difficult, but Jim would keep the bargain that Charlie had offered to Naomi. For a while, she would be the center of Blair's universe again, and Jim would provide what was needed for both of them to have that time.

As he went through the paces, first, with the officers, next with the department, then with the hospital, he was surprised to find that he rather liked being their guardian, despite all the bureaucratic bullshit. It felt different from being a cop; closer to what he had been while watching over the Chopec - more personal, more satisfying. Using the accumulation of tactics from a life-time of coping with recalcitrant administrators, assistants, and assorted authorities, Jim arranged leave for Blair at the University and the force, set up hospice style care for Naomi at the hospital so visiting hours wouldn't be an issue for Blair, even called Alan Eppes to let him know what had happened.

All during the long phone conversations and face-to-face discussions, Edgerton hovered in the background, much to Jim's private amusement. He guessed from the change in scent and heartbeat whenever Charlie's name came up that the man was acting on Charlie's behalf and in lieu of more private services Edgerton wanted to perform. The agent's attendance seemed to make people nervous in a way that was useful to Jim, so he ignored his unexpected bodyguard as he did his best to provide for Blair and Naomi.

During her brief bouts of consciousness, Jim stayed out of sight, sending in a nurse or orderly if service was needed. When she was out, he did everything he could himself, seeking ways to make her more comfortable without intruding, such as providing heating pads when he sensed she was too cold. He held Blair when he could, literally letting him lean on him, almost feeling Blair draw much needed energy from the contact before returning to his vigil. At times Blair read to his mother, awake or not, often he mediated, but mostly he simply sat beside her and held her hand as if willing her to be better.

Late that day, during one of those times Naomi was awake, the Eppes family arrived to say their goodbyes to Blair. Charlie's delighted smile at seeing Edgerton sharing the waiting room with Jim was enough to convince Jim that something very fragile and new was there, and he added it to his growing list of things to hash out when Blair was up for it. Delaying the Eppes' departure until Naomi was out again, he did the ritual exchange of phone numbers and email addresses, willing to bet that none of them would be used unless Blair was the one to reach out.

A few minutes later Jim changed his mind. When Blair came out, only Don held back, and even he offered a sincere smile and handshake in farewell. To his surprise - and clearly everyone else's as well - Charlie gave Jim a fast, hard hug.

Using the cover of the babble of conversations around them, Charlie said softly, "She finally saw the math, didn't she? That Blair didn't divide his love for her to love you, too. He multiplied it. She doubled what was available to her by allowing you to care for them both."

"I don't think she sees it exactly that way," Jim admitted. "And if she beats the cancer, she might go back to trying to force Blair into her ideal mold of solitary freedom. But for now, I'm not worried about her plotting against us. Thanks, in part, to you. I owe you, Charlie. I can't begin to guess what I could do for you that your brother can't, but please keep me in mind if you ever need a hand."

"I will," Charlie said, as he turned away to rejoin his family.

Jim could tell that it wasn't an empty promise or socially polite answer, and he smiled, giving a last pat to Charlie's back. Charlie waved good-bye, an awkwardly stiff thing that somehow reminded Jim of one of Blair's child-like, hand opening and shutting, waves. Catching the brief exchange, Don raised an eyebrow, but only sketched a half-salute for Jim before vanishing around the bend of the corridor.

He watched them go, Edgerton in tow, thinking that maybe having a brother-in-law or two wouldn't be half bad.

Broth3rs, Part 2

Pacing along the glass corridor wall that separated him from the team working on the sudden flood of hate crimes in L.A. and its suburbs, Don rotated a rubber band around his hands and fought the impulse to burst into the room. He wanted very much to demand that they stop watching the same footage over and over again and do something, anything, that might be useful. The image from the security camera was as sharp as technology could make it, clearly showing three poster boys for the Third Reich dragging a fourth man off the street and into what should have been a locked store front, for all the good it did the team.

"In broad daylight," Don said to himself. "In a well-traveled, well-populated area of the city, with enough potential witnesses to scare off anybody with half a brain, never mind potential security cams."

"The New Brotherhood doesn't require intelligence in its members," Sinclair said dryly. "Just blind loyalty, obedience, and enough hatred to fuel the violence they all seem to thrive on. Any clues yet as to why this outbreak and here of all places? Most of these militia types have been keeping a low profile since 9-11; hard to claim to be a patriot if you're trying to bring down your country while it's at war."

"How would I know?" Don snarled. "I'm not allowed near the evidence or to meet with the witnesses or even talk with the lead on this." He stopped and stared as someone froze the tape, focusing on the victim's face. "Hell, even Larry Flynheart is more useful than we are. As Charlie's best friend and mentor, not to mention colleague at CalSci, he's helping track down all the people Charlie might have contacted."

"That's the rules, Don, and for a damned good reason." Placing his hand on the glass as if that would allow him to comfort the person in the picture somehow, Sinclair said softly, "It's too close when it's family. You know that. You know that."

Studying the terror in Charlie's eyes, but seeing the stubborn set of his jaw as well, Don shook his head. "Sometimes it's what the family knows that solves the case, too. Charlie would have left me evidence, information, in ways that only he would use, counting on me or maybe one of you guys, to recognize it as his particular brand of bread crumbs. Maybe we can ask Megan to use her relationship with Flynheart to find out if there's anything odd or mathematical in the evidence."

Grainger burst off the elevator and ran straight for Don. "You have to see this. Your Dad and Amita are holding a press conference." Without waiting to see if he was followed, he went into one of the war rooms and turned on the flat screen television. It only took a moment for him to find the right channel, just in time to catch Amita walking up the steps at the front of CalSci's Admin building, Alan at her side. She took her place in front of the podium, expression composed, note cards in hand.

"My name is Dr. Amita Ramanujan, and two days ago my fiance, Dr. Charles Eppes, one of the most brilliant mathematicians in the world, was brutally beaten, then left for dead by three men who had convinced themselves they were ridding the world of another 'child molesting pervert fag' by doing so. Their evidence for making this judgment concerning Dr. Eppes was based on witnessing him sitting in a cafe openly frequented by the gay community, drinking coffee and working on his laptop."

Amita looked up from her written statement and smiled, a little shakily, a little demurely, and Don had to admit she probably had the press eating out of her hand with that one emotional touch. "If you knew Charlie, you would know that if he had noticed the clientele at all, it would have been to wonder at the statistical anomaly of so many males clustered in a location that should have been equally habituated by both genders. He almost always sees the world through the framework of numbers and their pure scientific relationship to each other."

She grew solemn again, glanced back down at her notes, and put them aside. Behind her, Alan dropped his chin to his chest, so his expression couldn't be read. "Charlie was at that cafe because he liked the coffee, because the wi-fi connection there is particularly reliable and well-shielded, because it's a very short walk to his office. But even if he had been there to have repeated sexual liaisons with unknown males, he would not have deserved to be so viciously attacked. No one does, not that the New Brotherhood would agree with me."

Swallowing hard and blinking back tears, Amita said in a tight voice, "In any case, Dr. Eppes has been missing since that assault. The FBI has the perpetrators under arrest, but the evidence indicates they are not directly responsible for his disappearance. It is possible that his injuries have left him confused and disoriented, perhaps unable to return home on his own or to respond appropriately to attempts to aid him. If you have knowledge of Dr. Charlie Eppes' whereabouts currently or at any time during the past forty-eight hours, please contact either the FBI, the local police, or the call-in tip line.

"Thank you for your time and attention." She stepped back from the mike, turning into Alan's huge hug.

Leaning over her, Alan said, "Please, if you've seen my son, call. The phone numbers will be posted at the bottom of this broadcast." He led Amita away, ignoring the questions shouted out by the press corps surrounding them.

Turning off the set with the remote, Don muttered, "Did a good job; Megan must have coached her. That or somebody at the U."

"It'll bring the crazies out," Sinclair pointed out. "But sometimes you get a nugget of gold in all that bull."

"Not that we'll be used to sift through it." Running a hand through his hair, Don added ruefully, "Looks like even Dad and Amita are going to be more useful than we are. That just isn't right."

Grainger plopped down into a chair with a muttered expletive that he seldom used but said it all for them very neatly.

By the time twenty-four more hours had stomped by on steel-toed shoes, Don was ready to turn in his badge and go vigilante. To a man the members of the New Brotherhood who were arrested pled not guilty to hate crimes, insisting they were committing simple robberies, car-jacking, assault, rape, vandalism. If he hadn't been half out of his mind, it was the sort of puzzle that Don would have loved to sink his skills into. As it was, convinced by the lack of life-threatening injuries or deaths in all the assaults, he reluctantly dismissed them as part of the missing Charlie equation, and tried to use it as leverage to get more involved in the search for his brother.

It didn't work, and when Simon Banks of the Major Crimes Department of Cascade PD bullied his way past a variety of people trying to shield Don from intrusions, Don was sure he had a scapegoat for his temper. Deliberately adopting a casual stance by perching on the edge of his desk, he forced a friendly smile. "Hey, Banks, isn't it? What kind of trouble did Ellison and Sandburg get into this time? Or did they figure to horn in on Charlie's missing person case to get some more air time for themselves?"

Banks' level, unimpressed, disdainful, supremely confident gaze didn't so much as flicker. "They're still on bereavement leave. It's only been a few weeks since Naomi passed."

Despite his belligerence, Don winced. "Look, I'm...."

As if not hearing him, Banks went on. "The only reason I'm here is because you apparently can't be bothered to answer your own phone during this crisis, and the Bureau has put so many layers around you, I haven't been able to get through official channels. So I took a red-eye down from Cascade to tell you that your brother isn't missing; he's with Jim and Blair."

"What?!" Don's shout brought his team running, not that he paid the slightest attention to anything but getting in Banks' face. "Where?"

"Stand down, now, Special Agent Eppes," Banks said very, very softly. "I am not your enemy, I am not a suspect for you to interrogate, and treating me like anything but a friendly witness coming forward is not going to unsnarl this mess."

Before Don could lose it entirely - a very real possibility, he belatedly realized - Megan deftly inserted herself between him and Banks. "I'm Special Agent Megan Reeves, and I consider myself Charlie's friend as much as his ad hoc team mate. You say you know where he is?"

Not breaking his stare at Don, Banks corrected, "I said I know who he's with. Look, this might be easier all the way around if you let me start at the top."

"Now that's a good idea." Pushing gently, she moved Don back to his desk and took his former place on the edge of it. Grainger and Sinclair took up posts at the door; close enough to hear, but still in a good position to stop anyone from interrupting. Or eavesdropping. At a wave of Megan's hand, Banks took a chair in front of the desk, but didn't relax into it.

Clearly adopting the attitude of giving an official briefing, Banks laced his fingers together over his stomach and studied a place no one else could see. "Two days ago I aided Detective Sergeant James Ellison and his partner, Dr. Blair Sandburg, in loading Ellison's pickup for a camping trip into Rainier National Forest. Both men are on bereavement leave, and, after closing Naomi Sandburg's affairs - Dr. Sandburg's mother - were planning on spending two weeks off the grid in the forest, survivalist style."

"Weird way to mourn," Grainger muttered.

"Not if you knew Naomi, one of the original Flower Children," Banks said in aside. At Don's impatient snort, he went on. "A dark green Forester, California license plate Alpha, Alpha, X-ray, Niner, Eight, Two, Two, pulled up beside Ellison's truck. A gentleman later identified as Dr. Charles Eppes staggered out of the vehicle, and I do mean staggered. It was obvious he'd been severely beaten in the not too distant past. I reached for my weapon and my cell phone; Ellison and Sandburg ran to assist Dr. Eppes."

Despite himself Don had been listening intently, and Banks' description twigged a memory. "Green Forester, green.... Millie's car! And her place is only a few blocks from where Charlie was attacked."

"Isn't she on a research sabbatical?" Megan asked.

Don got up to pace. "And she told us where the keys were to her place so that Dad could check on it; asked him to take the car out once in a while to maintain it. She has a habit of keeping a cash stash on hand, too, in case of emergencies."

"Why not use his own car, his own money?" Banks inserted deftly.

Without thinking Don said, "The men who assaulted him stole his laptop, wallet, watch, that sort of thing." He spun to face Banks. "Did he say why he was there?"

Going back to his narrative, Banks said, "I held back to survey the situation. Ellison is a trained EMT, and I trusted him to ascertain how severely injured Dr. Eppes was and if there was any immediate danger. After a few moments of conversation, Ellison left Eppes in Sandburg's care and gestured to me to stand down. I approached, was introduced, and at that point Dr. Eppes insisted he didn't need medical attention or police assistance. In fact, when I offered to contact you on his behalf, he told me that he had left messages for both you and his father as to his location and well-being."

"Left messages?" Almost automatically, Don reached for his cell phone, only to find a blank spot on his belt. He'd lost it during a foot chase after a suspect, and while he'd received a replacement, it was in the charger at his place. He hadn't been back there since Charlie's disappearance.

"He wasn't particularly concerned about not speaking with you directly. In fact, somewhat relieved would be my assessment. But he made a joke about his dad being technologically challenged at times, and that somebody named Larry had talked him into buying a phone that he hadn't been able to figure out yet."

A slight snicker from Grainger earned him a glare from Don, but he couldn't deny his dad had his problems with that cell. He turned to Megan, but she was already on her way to find Alan. Thwarted, he turned back to Banks who returned his glare without flinching. "So Charlie's at Ellison's place?"

Shaking his head slightly, Banks went back to giving his statement. "After the introduction, Ellison returned to his truck to get first aid supplies, and I went with him because I felt Dr. Eppes would be better served by going to the hospital. After being reminded that Dr. Eppes was an adult and capable of making his own decisions, Ellison told me that he was confident that he wasn't seriously injured - mostly in pain and emotionally traumatized.

"While we were talking, Dr. Eppes and Dr. Sandburg had an extremely intense discussion, then called Ellison over, obviously to confer with him. After a few minutes he agreed, grudgingly in my opinion, to whatever the other two had planned. He and Dr. Eppes spoke at length while Dr. Sandburg went upstairs and came back carrying another backpack already filled. Apparently, Dr. Eppes wanted to go with them on their camping trip."

"In the condition he was in!" Don blurted, fighting the urge to get in Banks' face again.

"That was my reaction, but Dr. Eppes was determined, and called in a mark Detective Ellison felt he owed him." Relaxing only slightly, Banks added, "It was two against one, and if a partner can't talk you into going against your better judgment once in a while, he's not much of a partner. The last I saw of Dr. Eppes, he was in Ellison's truck, on his way to Rainier National Forest."

He held up a hand to stop Don's automatic question. "I have no idea precisely where. Or even generally. I don't know if you've been told that Ellison was a Captain in the Rangers, but when that man goes off-grid, he goes off grid. He might as well be on another planet for all the luck anyone would have tracking him."

"Have you gone with him before? Maybe be able to give us a general layout of the land?" Don asked.

"Yes, but the best I can do is tell you where he'll park his truck; I'm hopeless at orienteering. More than likely, he'll check in with one of the forest rangers and tell him the general area he'll be in, along with approximate time he'll be there, but there's no guarantee he'll tell the truth about either if he feels it's in his, Blair's, or Charlie's best interest to fudge the details."

"That's awful risky," Don said, settling into interrogation mode, aware that Banks was amused but believing he might still be able to slip past the man's guard to get to anything useful he might know.

"Less than for most of us, given his background and expertise."

Carefully, almost humorously, Don poked and prodded, not learning anything that could help. In the end he had to let Banks go, with a promise that the Bureau would reimburse him for the plane ticket. Not five minutes after the Cascade cop left, Megan was back, and with a few keystrokes on a computer keyboard called up the messages left for Don and Alan. Charlie had called while on the road, using pay phones.

"Dad, I ran into some trouble today - got mugged on the way back to my office. I'm a bit banged up - more upset than hurt, really. With everything you've got going on, I didn't want to worry you with this, so I decided to take off and see Blair for a couple of days. We've been exchanging emails about homeopathic medicine, and Jim was a medic, so they can patch up the bumps and bruises I've got. I borrowed Millie's car and the cash she keeps in it because the thieves took my car keys and wallet; I'll drive carefully, I promise. I'll call Don and ask him about how to file a complaint, report, whatever. Call you again in a couple of days."

Charlie's message to Don was more or less along those lines, except he gave a brief - much too brief - description of the attack and the attackers. He ended with, "I don't think they anticipated that I might fight back, and I managed to hurt one of them badly enough to get away. I ran for Millie's because they would likely expect me to go back toward CalSci for help, and once I got there... well, I'm more shook up than I want Dad to know; for lots of reasons that I'll get into later. So I'm taking some time to settle down, get my head straight before we tackle the legal stuff. Dad's got Blair's numbers if you need to talk to me before then. See you soon."

"If that's the case, why'd you take off for the mountains as soon as you got there? What's going on in that brilliant brain of yours, bro?" Don swiveled his chair idly, mind racing. "Ellison might be good, but he's not the only wilderness expert in the world. In fact...."

Don came to an abrupt stop, eyed his team, and made his decisions. "Sinclair, you and Grainger go tell the task force about this new piece of evidence; hint that Charlie's too traumatized to be questioned. Megan, do you mind handling my dad and Amita? I'd like to get on the road for Cascade, now, before anybody comes up with objections that I don't want to deal with."

"You're going to call Edgerton, aren't you?" Grainger said with a grin. "I don't care if this Ellison guy is as good at hiding as Bigfoot, Edgerton will find him."

"That's what I'm counting on." He stood and adjusted his gun. "What are you waiting on? Go!"

Faster than he would have thought possible, Don was at the Cascade International Airport, waiting for Edgerton's flight to land. He hadn't wanted to admit how relieved he was that the sniper was free to join him, though he had to admit he was a little flattered at how quickly Edgerton agreed to work with him. Or maybe he'd taken a liking to Sandburg and Ellison, which seemed odd, but Don wasn't going to be troubled by it as long as it got him the man's services. Hell, if he wanted to be honest about it, he liked the pair himself, after a fashion. But Charlie was his brother; he should be the one he turned to for help.

Edgerton greeted him with his usual off-hand casualness, but he was already geared for a long-term hike over rough terrain. Since Don had left with only the clothes on his back to avoid any orders that might come down to stop him, they had to make a side-trip to shop, but were at the entrance to the park that Ellison had used in short order. Along the way Don filled Edgerton in on the attack on Charlie, the New Brotherhood, everything, vaguely relieved to have an impartial ear to listen to him.

Once they reached the vintage truck that Don recognized as Ellison's, though, he stepped back and let Edgerton do his thing. He snorted in derision when his fellow agent found the trail almost immediately, but had to swallow it down less than ten minutes later when Edgerton squatted, touched a scuff in the dirt, and muttered, "Clever bastard. False trail."

After two more attempts to locate the right tracks, a Ranger noticed them and, when fed a semi-truthful story that they needed to speak with Detective Ellison on an important, life-or-death case, volunteered the direction he thought Ellison might go. Apparently he and other rangers had seen Ellison in that area, possibly because he favored the rougher, more demanding trails there.

It felt like a shot in the dark, and it didn't help that Edgerton couldn't find any evidence that anyone had been that way recently. Since there were three of them, one injured, that just didn't make sense. Regardless, after studying the terrain for a while, and mulling over what he knew about Ellison, Edgerton volunteered, "If I were trying to stay as far away from people as possible, this is the way I would go."

A few hours later, as if rewarding him for his insight, he found a few faint traces that promised someone had hiked through within the past few days. Trying not to make too much of it, especially since Edgerton seemed suspicious himself, Don trudged along behind him, paying more attention to the treacherous footing than to his surroundings. Finally he muttered, "I can't imagine Charlie making it here; it's too rough for anybody not in top condition."

"Doesn't make sense, but it feels right," Edgerton countered. "Understanding your prey is half of tracking."

A cold, hard barrel touched Don on the temple, attached to the gun Ellison held. "That why you're making a habit of following me, Edgerton?" Ellison said. "Honing your skills?"

Blinking at the voice that was colder and harder than the weapon at his head, Don said, "Don't be stupid. We're here to check on Charlie. Security cams got a good look at the beating he took, and we're all worried out of our heads for him."

Eyeing Edgerton who had left his hands in plain sight despite his relaxed, easy posture and expression, Ellison said, "I told him you'd probably come after us. Didn't expect you to bring him."

"Well, you might have made it easier for me, then," Don snapped.

Putting away his gun, Ellison snorted in amusement. "This way I've kept my word to Charlie."

He exchanged a look with Edgerton that seemed to communicate something, but before Don could question it, Edgerton said, "How bad is he? How'd you get him this far?"

Clearly surprised, Ellison said, "I flew him in on a chopper. Sandburg and I do volunteer work with the Search and Rescue assigned here; they were happy to do me the favor. Isn't talking to them how you knew to come this way?" At their head shake of 'no,' he grinned and walked past, heading up the mountain. "Not bad work, then."

Automatically following him, Edgerton said, "The ranger gave us some hints."

"Must have impressed him with how important it was to find us," Ellison said. "He's usually pretty closed-mouthed."

"Got that impression."

"Yeah, yeah," Don mumbled to himself. "You hunter/survivalist/rugged individualist types all stick together." Louder, ignoring another snort from Ellison and Edgerton this time, as well, he added, "You still haven't told me how Charlie is. What'd he tell you?"

With amazingly few words Ellison described the injuries, pointing out that none were serious. It was the accumulation of them that was the problem, along with the stress they placed on Charlie's body. He said in ending, "By the time he got to us, he was barely hanging on; I can't imagine how he managed to make it all the way to Cascade. He hasn't spoken much since; you probably know more about the attack than I do."

For the second time that day Don did a brief, a much more abbreviated one, which included Banks' appearance at the Bureau and his statement but not much else. While he talked he noticed that he was between Ellison and Edgerton, and the two of them were making sure they left no trace of their passage. It made the climb harder because they used rocky paths as much as possible to avoid leaving prints or disturbing the vegetation. Before long he was too breathless to do anything but place one foot after the other.

Eventually they reached a small meadow in a hollow nature had carved from the mountain that opened to a sheer drop on one side and was surrounded by bluffs on two others. Don was halfway across before he saw the A-frame house nestled against the cliff face, deck wrapping around it on the front three sides. The wood was weathered to the point it blended in perfectly with the rock behind it, and the glass mirrored the trees and shrubs behind them so well he had to blink to confirm it was only a reflection.

"That thermo glass?" Edgerton said softly.

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry, Ellison."

"No problem. Blair considers the Eppes family. You do what you have to for family."

Before Don could make a sarcastic comment on the exchange, he caught sight of a familiar spill of curls nestled into a hammock strung to one side of the house. Without thinking he broke into a trot, quickly passing the other two men. He dropped to his knees beside the low slung bed, every thought in his head suddenly evaporating as he looked into Charlie's bruised and swollen face.

Slowly, tentatively, he reached to brush a few curls away, reluctant to disturb his brother's sleep. It didn't seem possible that Charlie could be so battered and yet be resting so peacefully. The warmth of the sunshine had to help, as did the pile of furs cradling him, but surely he should be in a hospital or under a nurse's care or something.

Sandburg uncurled from a pile of cushions beside the bed, startling Don into falling on his backside. He hadn't even seen him there, cliched as that was.

"Nothing broken, which I'm sure Jim told you," Blair murmured. "All he needs is rest, comfort, and basic care, like cold packs and hot wraps."

"You're not a doctor!" Don snapped.

Though he'd tried to keep his voice down, Charlie stirred restlessly, eyelids fluttering before lifting. "Oh, hey, Don," he said, blinking to awareness, smile blossoming. "What're you doing here?"

Absently tucking in the edges of one of the furs, Don said, "Well, you were missing, and we didn't get your messages, then witnesses reported the attack, which led to a tape from a security camera, and the next thing you know, there's this manhunt on for the FBI's premiere consultant, Dr. Charles Eppes. When I found out where you were - well, let's say showing up myself was the only way to keep my entire department, not to mention Dad and Amita, from trooping up here, too, to make sure you're all right."

"I'm fine. Well, not fine, but...." Charlie's smile died as Blair touched his throat as if checking his pulse, then quietly left. Once he was out of earshot, he added, "Don, you shouldn't have followed me here. This is Jim and Blair's safe house, and now they're going to have to abandon it because all anybody would have to do to find them is follow the trail you left looking for me."

"Whoa, whoa there. Nobody could track me with Edgerton and Ellison erasing the signs."

"Ian's here?" Charlie looked around bemusedly as Edgerton squatted down next to Don. "You should have known better."

"I was worried, too."

"Now, look," Don started.

"Charlie's right. They're going to have to walk away from this place, just when they really need it." Edgerton said. "And don't accuse me or them of being too paranoid, Eppes. Usually the only way out of any black ops organization is either by dying or disappearing. You know that; hell, anybody knows that.

"Ellison and Sandburg have done their best to make sure there's no reason for their handlers to worry about them - they never do anything that could be used for blackmail, for instance, or that's so top secret that it's still dangerous to know a hundred years later. But they specialize in search and retrieval, with an amazing success rate, though some of the 'successes' weren't exactly what was expected. Once they were sent after a diplomat's runaway daughter, then came back without the girl and with the evidence that he was sexually abusing her. No way will they be allowed to simply retire; they're too valuable."

"So? That's a problem for the future, and there'll be no reason to connect Charlie's disappearance to them by then," Don said irritably.

Not rolling his eyes, but somehow giving the impression he wanted to, Edgerton said levelly, "It's a problem now. They work for one of the better agencies, one that considers its assets people and not expendable rounds. It's a foundation, really, since it's privately run and funded, but it's got strong ties to the government. The man with the money and control is dying, and there's a power struggle going on as to who'll be his successor. Anyone who could get Sandburg and Ellison under their thumb would have a major asset to buy himself a new position."

"Ian," Charlie said worriedly, "You know an awful lot about their situation."

Gently, Ian said, "I'm not as vulnerable as they are. I already work for the government in a thoroughly documented, well-recognized capacity. And before you ask, I checked into them so discreetly, I wasn't sure I was doing it. Visible or not, I didn't want anybody noticing me in particular, either."

Trying hard to hold onto his temper, Don thought he heard a subtext in the conversation, but wasn't sure. "Why do it at all?"

"For when you asked, if you asked," Ian said reasonably. "So you wouldn't have to take the chance yourself. And because of some curiosity as to why a man who hates cov-op work as much as Ellison does is doing it."

"Have to admit, I've wondered that myself," Don said, running a hand over his head.

"Rumor has it that they're paying off a major favor to the Director, but he's the only one who knows what it is. Not unusual for him. Most people close to the man think he means to shut the agency down, believing that the power would corrupt anyone in line to replace him, and he's holding the info on his agents close to his chest to protect them. Reportedly there's only one complete set of files for the entire Foundation, and he's the only one who can access them."

Thinking it through, Don asked, "If Sandburg and Ellison do vanish, there's not going to be a knock on my dad's door, is there?"

Ian shook his head. "Sandburg is just another professional acquaintance as far as anybody knows." He half-reached for Charlie, as if to pat his shoulder or something, but dropped his hand. "Coming to them when you were hurt might call that into question. Would you mind telling me why them, and not Don, so we can put some official spin on it when the time's right?"

To Don's utter amazement, Charlie blushed, which had to hurt as banged up as his face was. He slanted a worried, unhappy glance Don's way and stroked the fur nearest his chin with suddenly restless fingers. "You're not going to like the answer to that."

"As long as it's not because you thought they could do a better job of protecting you than I could, there won't be a problem." Don dug his fingers into the webbing of the hammock, rocking it a little, as if that would encourage Charlie to talk.

Managing a half-smile, Charlie said, "Actually I wouldn't want to put David through that again. He was not happy as my bodyguard when he was protecting me from the thugs who kidnapped Bonnie Parks for Taylor."

"Maybe we should ask Megan next time." Don pushed at the hammock a bit more insistently. "Come on, give. I won't get mad. Probably."

Clearly unable to look at him, Charlie said, "Because I didn't want to have to answer the questions the police would ask me about why I was at the cafe, why those men chose me as a target, not while my mind was muddled with pain and fear. And I was worried about what their attitude would be when I reported what the attackers said while they were beating me. I'm not ready to go public now and maybe never will be at all."

"Charlie," Don began, warning clear in his voice.

"I think I'm gay."

"What? No. Look, this...."

As if he didn't hear him or Ian's soft inhalation, Charlie went on. "I was there because of the mix of customers. I wouldn't stand out because so many CalSci students and faculty, straight or otherwise, frequent the place, and I could gather more data on the interpersonal behaviors for a gay population without being conspicuous. When... after I was hurt, all I could think was that Blair had just been through the same brutality, and Blair and Jim considered themselves straight until they met, have never had any experience with any man but each other - Donnie, I knew they could handle all the wounds, not just the physical ones."

Stunned, Don said the first thing that came to mind. "Amita?"

Sighing, Charlie closed his eyes. "Is a friend, a good woman, Dad likes her, she understands my work and my obsession with it, and doesn't make demands for personal attentions I'm not really interested in giving. She..." He hesitated, peeked through his lashes at Don, made a quick decision. "...wants to wait until after the wedding for anything more than heavy petting. The fact that I was relieved when she told me that should have been a major clue I wasn't doing the right thing by her."

"I... I don't know what to say, what you want to hear." Don stared into the distance, completely unable to get his head around Charlie's announcement.

"For right now, just listen, okay? I've always wanted to have what Mom and Dad had, to raise a family, do the whole car-pool, soccer games and piano recital thing, have that much of being like everybody else, and believed I could have it with Amita. To suddenly realize that it might not be enough, that I was denying a basic part of myself for the wrong reasons - it's been turning me inside out. Being kicked in the face while I was called a filthy fag and goddamn queer only made it worse."

To Don's surprise, Ian said softly, "Because now you can't be sure that you're choosing what you truly want or letting fear make up your mind for you."

"And Jim and Blair can help you sort all that out! You've talked to them about this... this... melodramatic bullshit, but can't come to your own family and, and, and...." Charlie's grimace of pain and Ian's suddenly neutral expression forced Don to choke off his outburst before he said something unforgivable.

Dead silence reigned for a moment, and Charlie shrank in on himself, almost disappearing into his bedding. "I went to them because they understand; because I can look at what they share and be honest with myself about what I need. Dad will accept me no matter what, I know, but he's going to be upset, too, with disappointment over grandchildren and worry about the dangers of being gay. God, I can't even imagine how hurt Amita will be. Sad to say, you're reacting just about the way I thought you would. I wasn't ready to deal with any of that yet, and didn't think, under the circumstances, that I could keep silent any longer."

A hand crept out from under the covers and waved toward the edge of the clearing where Jim and Blair were sitting. "Instead I chose to be near that. To see a hint of the future I could have while marveling at what it means to truly, deeply love someone."

Against his will, Don looked over at the couple, reluctantly seeing what Charlie saw. Blair was sitting between Jim's out flung legs, using him as a backrest. He had one hand entwined with Jim's while the other idly stroked along Jim's thigh. Jim's free hand was carding through Blair's long curls, while both of them watched sunset creep into the valley below. They fit together almost perfectly, both naturally and from long practice, showing no sign of physical discomfort or restlessness in the position. The peace and contentment in their faces was obvious, as was the love in the gentle caresses.

Don couldn't think of a single moment in his life when he had been that happy and at ease with another person. Hell, he couldn't think of many when he'd been that good all by himself. A small, mean part of him wanted to be jealous, angry that two men could have such a relationship. The rest understood clearly why Charlie would prefer Jim and Blair's company right now.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to hang here a day or two before arranging to get Charlie down off this mountain.

***

From long experience, Blair could tell that Jim had stopped listening to the conversation by the cabin and was indulging in a small sensory feast. His cock stirred. No matter how many times Jim turned his full attention toward him, it was still a major turn-on, for reasons he could never fathom. The downside this time was that it probably meant Jim planned on going off on his own for a while.

"What?" Blair asked, stuffing down the worry and focusing on the pleasure of being held.

"Edgerton's been snooping around, and I think we can use what he's learned." Lips almost against his ear, occasionally kissing his temple, Jim filled him in on what he'd overheard.

Dropping his head so his frown wouldn't be seen, Blair said thoughtfully, "That explains why Moyer was so irate over us refusing to take on any outside jobs the past few months. He's probably hoping he can find a way to co-op us, or at least discover a clue as to why we're allowed the leeway we have."

"It's time to put those doctored dossiers to use," Jim murmured. "With luck, not even Jonas will notice the substitution, and there's no way anyone else will realize they're fake if they do find his files. That just leaves Moyer knowing who we really are and how to find us, which means now is when certain parties should be made aware of exactly how loyal he isn't."

"The fictionalized dissertation is still out there," Blair felt compelled to point out. "And we'll never be sure that the real one wasn't copied or stolen before we discredited it."

"You were right that it needed to be. The few people who've found their way to us because of the nuggets of truth in that 'novel' proved it." Jim nuzzled at Blair's cheek. "The chances of any of the agencies taking it seriously enough to look for a sentinel is slim to none. They'd probably consider the possibility of real, live vampires more believable. Which is also the reason we don't have to worry about the other one. I promise someday we'll find a way to validate your true dissertation, but right now, we need to focus on getting free and clear of the agency as soon as we can."

All but holding his breath, Blair whispered, "You mean it? You want to bail now? Not later, when we're getting closer to retirement age?"

Taking Blair's chin in hand, Jim turned his head so that they could see into each other's eyes. "Of course. Unless you want to hang in a while longer. We do a lot of good work, save more than a few lives."

"I... I..." Blair let out a long, shaky hiss of air. "...have been so damned worried that you'd find one excuse after another to stay in the field for just that reason until you died in harness, or the wrong people discovered our secret and we found ourselves locked in a cage in a secret laboratory somewhere."

"Is that what's been bothering you the past half year or so?" Jim ran a fingertip along Blair's jaw, ending by putting his thumb just under Blair's mouth.

"Ever since we learned Jonas was sick." Cupping the side of Jim's face, he admitted, "I didn't see it as a chance to walk away; just a potential problem if the wrong man took over for him."

"Only because I was too thick to let you know that I'm sick and tired of playing 007 at the command of bureaucrats and politicians. I guess I felt it wasn't necessary because I've never hidden from you how much I hate it."

The admission was rueful, but Blair didn't underestimate how hard it was for Jim to make it, even to him. To change the mood, he stretched up until he could rub his nose affectionately against Jim's. "Does that make me 007.5?"

Jim chuckled. "More like Q - the man with the ideas and tools that made Bond good at what he did." He dropped a small peck on the bridge of Blair's nose. "To be honest, I'm thinking I'd rather play Sallah or Dr. Marcus Colby to your Indiana Jones."

"Indy was an archaeologist, not an anthropologist," Blair felt compelled to point out, but deep inside a knot he hadn't wanted to acknowledge slowly slipped free. "But you're pretty good at it when we're using it for cover."

"It wasn't really cover. I like having your back when you're on an expedition, even if it's only into a hostile faculty meeting. You're good at what you do. Taking care of the incidentals like security and intel so that you can focus on what's at hand feels, I don't know, like I'm doing something useful, even important. It's different from putting away a crook, but not any less satisfying."

"Whoa." Blair swallowed. "Are you suggesting retiring from the PD, too?"

Hugging him close, Jim said, "When I've got my twenty in, yeah. Sooner or later the brass is going to try to make me ride a desk, anyway. Between that pension, the military one Jonas insisted I get when he had me reinstated, and the investments from the 'bonus' money we get from the Foundation for our work, we'll be okay. We can always freelance if you want more field work than Rainier provides; we've made some good connections over the years."

Eyes drifting closed, Blair touched his lips to Jim's throat, barely enough to be felt. "Sounds so damned good; almost too good. I can hardly believe you'd be willing to make such huge changes for me."

"Not for you," Jim quickly corrected. "Or not just for you; for us, too. It took you years to pound it through my head, but I've finally made peace with my instincts. They're telling me it's time to let younger bodies take the abuse, and the experience I've gained is useful for more than interesting stories at the poker table. I want to share golden years with you, Blair; not die in the line of duty because age slowed my reflexes that fraction too much."

"Man." A thousand words bubbled up inside Blair; words of gratitude and thanksgiving and celebration and happiness and relief and love. But words were his tools, not Jim's, and after receiving so much from him, it was only fair that he use the methods that were usually Jim's first choice. Twisting to sit on one hip, he kissed him, silently putting all those words into it as if they were physical things that could be tasted and scented and touched.

Jim responded as if he did, tongue flicking quickly to catch every shape and flavor, teasing all the corners of Blair's mouth to find each bit. Molding Blair against him, he sighed and made tiny, hungry noises, giving Blair targets of his own to pursue. The chase was intoxicating, freeing Blair to offer up more in a single kiss than he ever had before. A myriad of unspoken, almost unacknowledged, desires and needs unpleated in his chest until he was breathless from the weight of emotion.

And still Jim gave, providing support for his body as Blair clung to him, hunger beginning to roughen his caresses. The last sunlight from the dying day was golden and warm, but nothing in comparison to the heat pouring over him from Jim. It was another kind of touch, every bit as erotic as the fervent mating of their lips, and Blair sagged backwards toward the ground, wanting the sweet weight of Jim's fire covering him as completely as possible.

With a little growl of frustration, Jim tore his mouth away and put his forehead in the curve of Blair's shoulders. "Wait, wait. Company, straight, pissed-off company. And I need Agent Eppes to stay here in the cabin tonight, not storm off on his own because his sensitivities have been offended."

"He's...."

"Muttering the usual anti-gay insults and obscenities under his breath, considering taking off." Jim lifted Blair up, hands lingering as he put space between them. "Hold that thought?"

"Leaving already?" Blair said, struggling to get his brain out of his pants.

Regretfully, fingers rubbing soothing circles, Jim said, "Going to set it up as if we spent the night in a tent, then you'll tell them first thing in the morning I've gone hunting. You've used the 'make 'em think there are two people in the room' trick before. Can you come up with a better alibi than two FBI agents, if I need one? I promise, I promise no innocents will be hurt, but I'm not going to hesitate if an unfriendly tries to stop me."

"Okay." Blair took a deep breath to steady himself. "Okay. You think a lot of my skills if you're expecting me to pull that off in close quarters with decent, experienced Feds."

Grinning, Jim stood and offered Blair a hand to help him up. "I told you that recording of us making love would come in handy. You go do the nursing, domestic thing, and I'll set up a camp here."

"Great, send me in to deal with the pissed off Fibbie." Blair playfully slapped a palm against Jim's chest. "You owe me, Ellison. Once we get a confirmation that we're in the clear, you are going to take me someplace warm and sunny and relaxing, then spend a week doing nothing but soaking up rays, eating well, and having mad, passionate sex on every available flat surface."

"Done. But only if you promise surfing, too." He leered comically, eyebrows up. "You know what the waves do to my libido."

Back to the cabin, Blair adjusted himself in his pants. "Man, oh, man. Yeah, we can add the surfing thing. Should have thought of that myself."

"Hang in there, partner." Jim whispered a kiss over Blair's forehead. "I love you. I know you're going to worry because I'm doing this solo, but I'm holding onto every scrap of you I can, including this little cloud of pheromones you've got sparking off in my head. It'll get me through."

"Love you, too. But I'm still the one who has to deal with the whole family thing."

Burying all the concerns and fears he had over Jim working alone, Blair concentrated on projecting the air of a horny man in a hurry to get back to his lover and sped up to the cabin. Don was inside, banging around, which made Blair wonder what excuse Charlie had used to get him in there. With Ian's experienced help, Charlie was slithering out of the hammock, not pretending that the movement didn't hurt.

"You ready for dinner?" Blair asked innocently.

"Not really," Charlie started.

"Yes," Ian broke in. Looking down into Charlie's face, he added, "You need the nourishment to heal, despite the lack of appetite."

Hobbling across the porch, Charlie admitted, "The stew does smell good."

"I'll be adding dumplings to it, too. Trust me, it'll be a tasty meal." Blair went through the door, and ignoring the flash of grumpiness from Don, said, "There's enough for all of us, unless you two want to stick to your trail rations."

"God, no," Don muttered, apparently without meaning to.

"I am not that bad a camp cook," Ian protested, automatically to judge by his distracted expression as he supported Charlie during his hobble to the table.

"As long as you don't mind what it tastes like," Don shot back, clearly making the effort to banter.

Though Blair did his best to encourage the quick quips and keep the conversation light and easy, most of him was already far away, thinking about Jim's too imminent departure.

While Blair played host, Jim set up a tent and built a small fire on the other side of the clearing from the cabin, then went inside the tent, setting his boots next to the door flap. Anyone casually glancing at the site would see a silhouette against the nylon of a man reclining in a sleep bag, reading a book. It was an illusion - a good one.

As soon as he was positive Charlie was set for the night, complete with instructions to Don and Ian on what to do for his discomfort, Blair set out for the tent himself, carrying two bowls of stew. It was relatively simple to move the shadows so it looked like he went into Jim embrace before turning out the lantern for privacy's sake. In reality, Jim was already off the mountain.

Putting his own boots by the embers of the fire, Blair lay on his back, unwanted food to one side, and stared at the peaked roof of his shelter. In his mind's eye he could see Jim's jump from the cliff not too far away, the camouflaged parasail barely visible against the backdrop of forest. It would glide silently on the last of the day's thermals, arrowing for the small lake at the southern base of the mountain. Jim would ditch the chute in the water after landing along the skimpy stretch of beach.

Soon he would fly the firefighter chopper stored in a shed there to the Cascade Airport and Stephen's corporate jet, then would pilot the jet to Washington, D.C. Most likely Jim would steal a car from long-term parking there, and put it right back again when he was done. The Foundation's headquarters was in an unremarkable office building, and Jim already knew the security for it inside and out. It shouldn't take long for him to replace the files and doctor any computer records concerning them. They'd already taken care of any other official documentation, electronic or otherwise, carefully leaving it in place while removing any useful information bit by bit over several years, such as Jim's ability to fly just about anything that needed a pilot, a skill he'd acquired after starting with the Foundation.

Blair was willing to bet that in less than an hour Jim would be retracing his steps, with possibly a slight detour to see to Moyer, if necessary. Since they had a digital video of him ordering an operative to be killed when rescue was not only possible, but far more important at the time, Blair didn't really anticipate Moyer surviving long after it was sent to the appropriate parties. Even if Moyer knew something valuable about him and Jim, it was unlikely the people wanting him dead would care, let alone give him a chance to negotiate.

Wishing he could at least be sorry that he might be indirectly responsible for a man's death, Blair reluctantly forgave himself when his memory supplied him with Moyer's never-ending attempts to gain control over him and his partner. Several times, Moyer had even gone so far as to try to give them bogus orders, claiming they were directly from Jonas. Since Jonas had warned them about him - saying that snakes were useful as long as one never forgot they were snakes - it had always been easy enough to deal with him.

Hopefully, Jim wouldn't be forced to do it for the final time, himself, before turning back for home. It was such a long journey and with so many legs with so much that could go wrong. Jim would have to remain out of sight, especially from security cameras, the entire trip, and working that extensively with his senses would be exhausting. Blair would only be able to cover for his absence until after dark the next day; the ticking clock wouldn't make the trip easier.

He tossed and turned the entire night, occasionally peeking at the night sky to judge the time, the way Jim had taught him. Weighing the hour against where Jim might be and what he might be doing, Blair tried to keep a mental sense of his sentinel as if that would allow Jim to keep a physical sense of him, despite the distance. On the rare instance they'd been separated during a mission, Jim had said it helped to think of Blair doing that. Whether or not it was an Ellison tactic to keep Blair from stressing too much, it did make him feel as if he were backing him up somehow.

A few times early in the evening he heard the distinctive twing of the cabin door, and played the recording barely loud enough to carry in the early evening quiet. The intent was to be suggestive, not pornographic, and he thought he was successful when he heard footsteps move without hesitation toward the latrine downhill of the cabin. Oddly, hearing Jim's soft murmurs of pleasure, construct though they were, reminded him of Jim's presence in a way that made getting through to morning easier.

When the eastern sky grayed with the promise of dawn, Blair listened very carefully, peeked even more carefully, and then pulled Jim's boots inside. He hid them in his daypack, with a mental reminder to himself to relocate them to the cache of clothes and supplies they had near the spring. Jim would likely stop there to change out of the hard-soled moccasins he had on and hide any weapons or tools he didn't want the others to see.

Thinking about the spring gave Blair an idea of how to occupy his guests for most of the morning, at least, and he crawled out of the tent with a genuine smile on his face. When he went into the house, Ian was already up himself, sitting in the rocker next to the bed, his bedroll neatly packed up. Charlie was on the edge of the mattress, back to his brother, but relaxed against him as if sharing a bed were comfortable and familiar.

"Good night?" Blair whispered.

"Mostly, once Charlie was warm enough and situated to his body's best advantage. Took a while, but he didn't stir once he nodded off."

"I hate to ask, but our supplies are a little thin for five people. What do you have with you to add to the larder? Jim's hunting, so there's meat for a while, at least." Blair went to the cupboard and pulled down the sealed container of oatmeal. "I've dried fruit for this so we'll have a hearty breakfast, and there's ingredients for pancakes for tomorrow."

Silently leaving his chair, Ian took out several packages from his pack. "We've got energy bars and trailmix, mostly."

"That can be lunch then. Dinner?"

They casually discussed meals for the next few days while they made coffee and breakfast, waking both Charlie and Don when the scent of food filled the cabin. Mother Nature and Blair's gentle persistence got Charlie moving, albeit as gingerly as an octogenarian on ice. Once he was seated at the table, Blair made the suggestion of a hot shower, admitting that it would be a lot of work to get the water up from the spring to heat it over a fire. Though Charlie demurred, Ian and Don jumped on the idea as if they'd been worried themselves on how to spend the day.

The camp shower that Jim had rigged for them had been designed with the possibility of an injured partner in mind, using ropes, pulleys and two well-insulated tanks to maximize the hot water supply with a minimum of effort. Regardless, by the time Charlie was wrapped in towels and sunning himself in the rocker, everyone else was dirty and sweaty. Surprisingly, Don proposed that Blair go next while he and Ian chopped more firewood and refilled the secondary tank.

Grateful for the chance to wash his hair, Blair took them up on it and soon found himself sharing a puddle of sunshine with Charlie. Talk had always been easy between them, but silence was comfortable, too, and Blair dozed a bit, jarring into awareness to see Ian, freshly washed and shaved, hovering in the shadows at the side of deck. It was obvious that he wanted to be close to Charlie, but wasn't sure he should risk it under the circumstances.

Cursing strong, silent men everywhere, Blair hauled himself up, announcing he was going to take care of a few chores, starting with a fresh pot of coffee for anyone who wanted it. He paused a foot or so from Ian, handing him a wide toothed comb. Quietly he said, "A little TLC would go a long way right now, if you can do it no strings attached."

Ian stared at the comb. "As fragile as he is, I think I'm afraid I'll be the one who gets hurt. I know where I stand, what I want. Have since I was twelve or so."

"So coax, entice, seduce, slowly, tenderly. Show him that he can have what he needs besides the sex. Jim and I are the only gay couple he knows well enough to be frankly curious about the ins and outs of a relationship like that, and we're hardly typical for any kind of couple." Blair shooed him toward the rocker. "Go. If nothing else he'll feel better for the comb-out."

Resolutely turning his back on Ian, he still listened for footsteps across the deck, relieved when he heard them, hesitantly at first, then with a surety that made him smile. After following through with his promise of coffee, Blair unearthed the stash of pine nuts he had cooled in portable freezer they owned, experimenting with making a cold compress with them. As he was deciding that they wouldn't be too sharp and lumpy with a bit more padding, Don slammed into the cabin, angrily tossing his dirty clothes to the floor before pawing through his pack.

Peeking out the door at a blissful Charlie leaning back against Ian as his hair was detangled, Blair put himself between the door and the irate brother, silently sighing at finding himself a go-between. A few minutes later, fully dressed and pack on his shoulder, Don tried to leave, only to find a human porcupine of elbows, knees, and out-thrust hips blocking him unless he wanted to get physical. Blair didn't look at him or speak while acting like a barricade, hoping that would be enough to derail any physical violence Don might consider.

Apparently baffled at an opponent who didn't act like one, Don finally tossed his pack down. "All right, all right. I get that he can't make up his mind about this whole gay thing if he doesn't have enough data. Where Charlie's concerned, it's all about the data, but no way am I going to be the token straight guy in this debate."

"That's not what he needs from you, anyway," Blair said.

"Like you'd know. I'm his brother, not you. What do you know about what brothers are to each other?"

"Not a damned thing," Blair said easily. "And I haven't known him long enough to be able to argue with you on what, specifically, you should do. But I can tell you that abandoning him when he's hurt and confused, adding to his pain, to the burden of being different, yet again, is pretty damned calloused and self-centered."

Snorting, Blair made a pushing away gesture. "If you're that kind of brother, good riddance to you. If you're tired of it always being about Charlie because of his unique mind, well then, there's the door, don't let it hit your ass on the way out. On the other hand, if you sincerely want what's best for Charlie, put away your outraged straight man attitude, and be honest about what you can give in this situation. If that's nothing, fine. Believe it or not, he'll understand and still be grateful for the candor. But if you bash Charlie by word or deed, big brother or not, I'll toss you off the nearest cliff. Now, if you don't mind, I've an idea for a cold compress to ease Charlie's shoulder some.

Blair turned away, invisibly holding his breath, and bundled up his makeshift compress. He left Don standing near a corner, hand in his hair, staring at his brother through the glass front of the cabin. He kept his distance for the rest of the afternoon, always close enough to be of use if needed, but backing off when Charlie was settled again, not participating in the desultory conversations. After putting the two grouse that Jim had caught the day before into the dutch oven, Blair went about the preliminary preparations for closing down the cabin for a long absence, not remarking on Don's behavior.

Once Ian caught on to what he was doing, he did what he could to be useful, coming in handy when Blair started laying out the shutters for the front windows. As the day wore away, though, Blair couldn't stop himself from stopping periodically to watch the path that Jim would use to come back to him. After a while, Ian caught on to that, too, but his only comment was a sympathetic pat to Blair's shoulder. Charlie wasn't oblivious either, if the wan smile he offered each time Blair stirred himself back into action was any indication.

Finally Don noticed, and spent a few hours watching himself, clearly thinking hard and deep. When the shadows were long, he went to the edge of the deck where Blair was taking down the herbs he'd hung on the rail to dry. Casually sitting on the edge of the rail, he said, "Ellison isn't just hunting for dinner, is he?"

"It's not likely you were followed, but he's got to make sure, and he'd lay a false trail away from the cabin regardless," Blair answered calmly. "On the other hand, game doesn't generally stand in a clearing with a big sign saying, 'shoot me now,' either. When the sun's low enough, I'll go to the bluff's edge to look for his signal that he won't be back tonight."

"Hard life, if the two of you did go off grid. Always alone, waiting, worrying, one misstep or illness away from disaster, one hard winter from starving, no luxuries, no conveniences."

"I'm an anthropologist; you don't go into that if you need a civilized lifestyle." Blair caught his gaze and grinned. "Besides who said we would do it permanently? If nothing else, after a while the park rangers would notice us coming and going for basic supplies."

"Who knows, you might give new life to the Bigfoot legend," Don shot back with a genuine smile in place.

"Hey, I'm too short, and Jim's not hairy enough. More likely we'll cause rumors of some back-to-nature, anti-government gay militia."

"Or whacked out genius survivalist professors who think the end of the world is near."

"Sandburg wouldn't go doomsday," Jim put in, trudging up the slope toward them, a small deer over his shoulders. "He'd reject the stressful, unhealthy decay of modern society to embrace the purity of nature. For about three months, then he'd get desperate for a hot shower and cold beer."

Blair dropped everything and ran for him, braking hard enough at the last moment so that his impact wasn't even a bump, though he wanted to wrap himself around Jim and hang on with everything he had.

"Smooth as silk," Jim murmured with a one-armed hug. Louder, he added, "Which would be about two months after he started ranting about starting a public library closer than a hundred miles away."

"Like you'd last more than a month without a bacon-cheeseburger," Blair put in, leaving an arm around his waist.

"I'd think he was exaggerating," Don said lazily, coming up behind him, "If it weren't for that serious hunk of meat you're carrying there."

Jim said seriously, turning so that the torn and broken leg could be seen, "It's more than we'll need, and some will go to waste, but a bullet is better than gangrene."

"We'll dry or smoke most," Blair assured him, hand tucked into the crook of Jim's elbow to guide him toward the fire pit. "We've got enough manpower for the job to be easy for once."

Hooking his rifle over his arm, Ian said, "I'll keep an eye out for predators. There's still some big cats in this area, and a few bears, though it’s a bit high for them."

"I could cut the larger pieces into smaller strips for drying," Charlie volunteered.

"And I've got some spices we can use for a rub. Excellent." Blair tilted back his head and added with a waggle of his eyebrow, "And I suppose you want to sit and supervise since you brought the meal home."

Before Jim could answer, Don said, "I know how to dress out a carcass, at least well enough for this. Go, do us all a favor and use the last of the hot water for a shower."

Putting down the deer, Jim said mildly, "If you think I'm too afraid of looking like a wussy to take you up on that, you're wrong." Straightening, he put a fist in the small of his back and stretched, obviously enjoying it. "Same for letting the mate do the preserve the food thing since the mighty hunter has done his part already."

Blair swatted at him, but Jim dodged nimbly, ambling toward the shower, showing a single finger as he went. Laughing, everybody set about their self-appointed tasks, and the last of the day was spent in easy camaraderie as they worked. To Blair's relief, Jim got in a good solid nap before dinner without anybody feeling the need to comment on it, though he had a line of patter set up about watching the meat through the night.

Truth was, that was a necessary task, but they took turns at it as the evening progressed, spending most of their time around the table sharing tall tales and memories. It was, Blair mused silently at one point, much like what a family vacation might feel like. Even Don, for once, seemed to be in the swing of things instead of holding back, aloof and judgmental. Animation crept back into Charlie's face, especially after a long, convoluted debate on Boston Celtics versus L.A. Lakers versus Cascade Jaguars.

Maybe that was why he felt up to being the one to broach the subject of what to do next, Blair decided much later, in hindsight. "I think you should go on home, Donnie," Charlie said earnestly. "Let Dad know I'm really okay. Right now I don't think I could hike back down, and if Jim and Blair are going to have to abandon this place, they deserve a last chance to enjoy it."

"That goes against the grain some," Don admitted, balancing his chair back on two legs, much to Blair's hidden amusement because it reflected Jim's position on the other side of the table. "But he's going to be half out of his head with worry." Don snorted. "All the time he spent worrying about you getting hurt because of one my cases or Blair's, and you get majorly banged up during a spree of random violence."

Blair sat up straighter as confusion covered Charlie's face. "Random?" Charlie said, slowly. "It wasn't random. They used my name, had a picture."

"Charlie," Jim asked very gently. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. Yes, one of them said, 'This little Eppes shit was supposed to be an easy target,' and another said, 'That big brother of yours teach you some moves, Eppes?' At one point I had my back against a door I wanted to get through, holding them off with the sharp edges of a broken off chair leg, and the really big guy said something about maybe getting the wrong guy, and the one I hurt pulled out a picture."

Thoughtfully, Don said, "If the New Brotherhood wasn't taking down random targets, going after the one person most likely to find the connection would make sense. A lot of sense. More than the crimes themselves have so far."

"New Brotherhood?" Blair questioned, unable to stop himself from exchanging a significant glance with Jim.

"Yeah. You two know something about them?" Don put his chair flat on the floor, half-leaning across the table.

Another exchange, but this time Jim took up the story. "Heard of the Sunrise Patriots?" At the nods of yes, he went on. "Sandburg and I had a couple of run-ins with them a while back. Kincaid, the boss, has a heavy grudge against us, so we took the precaution of planting a man in his organization. Strictly volunteer, the guy is doing time for some serious stupidity that he admits ruined what he could have had. Joining the Patriots to give us insider info is his idea of penance. In return we're watching over his family, doing what we can that won't queer him with Kincaid."

"More than we've been able to do," Don admitted ruefully.

"Thing is," Blair said, "Kincaid is trying to organize a coalition of groups like his on the theory there are only so many bigots in the world, and if they all pool their resources now, they'll make it through to when the war ends and the country's flooded with disillusioned and disenfranchised soldiers. In his opinion, and that of most of the other hate-mongers, the New Brotherhood isn't legitimate. It's run by a small cadre of techno-posers looking to imitate the very gangs they claim to hate, using ganger mentality to build power and gain capital. They're really con artists, off-collar businessmen with an angle, like televangelists."

Clearly thinking out loud, Don said, "If that's the case, then the crime wave they generated has a very specific purpose. Hard to believe taking out Charlie was the only goal. Wouldn't a businessman multi-task? Try to accomplish more than one objective with a single investment of time and energy?"

Sensing Jim's sudden alertness, Blair was the only one who wasn't surprised when he abruptly stood. "This changes everything. If the people after you are urban, not militia or survivalists, they wouldn't consider coming in on foot. Too low-tech for them to have any advantages, especially if they know enough about me and Sandburg to have an idea of what they might be up against."

Growing alarmed as well, Ian reached over to douse the lantern even as Blair did the same to the other one. "We weren't all in the same location last night, if they were ready to strike then. They'll use airborne assault, probably guided by satellite images and thermal readings if they have a general area to lock onto. To their way of thinking, why risk failure on a hand-to-hand level if one rocket can take care of the entire problem?"

"We have to get out of here, now," Don agreed, standing and automatically checking his weapon. "Any way to get back to civilization without being seen with night-vision?"

Jim bent down to pull up the door hidden in the floor beside the fireplace, revealing the entrance to a cave underneath the cabin. "Got a few tricks up my sleeve. The thermo glass we used to build this place will confuse any heat-detecting technology. All it will pick up is an even wash of warmth with maybe a single hot spot for the fire. They might be sure we're all in here, and there's no reason for us to let them think otherwise.

"Everybody bundle up, take only necessities. This rock chimney goes down about fifty feet before opening into a series of chambers, most of which dead end. Charlie, you're going to go down last with me. Blair goes first because he knows all the booby traps, Edgerton next, then Don. They're our backup if you slip or I need a break."

If it occurred to either Ian or Don to argue with Jim taking command of the situation, it never showed by word or deed. They all quickly added a few layers and gathered their packs, not speaking to each other at all. Knowing exactly how well-stocked the caves were, Blair did little more than fill a thermos with the last of the coffee and scoop up what was left of the medical supplies. In very short order he was taking a deep breath before gingerly climbing down the ladder, eyes on Jim until stone and blackness swallowed him up.

***

Fifty feet in the dark felt like fifty miles, and Charlie was willing to swear there was an ache or sharp pain for every inch of it. It didn't help that once they were an arm's reach below the cabin, Jim triggered what sounded like a rock fall, obviously to prevent anyone from following them from above. That left no option but down.

To be honest with himself - and wasn't that what the sabbatical from his numbers was all about? - it could have been much worse. There was a soft glow on the rungs of the ladder that made locating them easier, and which lessened the suffocating grip of the blackness around them. He and Jim quickly established a workable rhythm that allowed Charlie to lower himself to each subsequent step using the power of his thighs to save his sore ribs and shoulders while Jim supported him with his superior upper body strength.

Even as he mechanically moved farther and farther down, Charlie couldn't help but wonder if Jim was able to match him so effortlessly because of his experience with moving in sync on so many levels with Blair. Did he really want that kind of familiarity with anyone, male or female? He was so accustomed to standing alone, even when working with a team, so used to being the outsider wanted only for his expertise, that he had no idea how to sublimate his ego into a partnership.

And that, he realized abruptly, was the worst disservice to Amita that he could perform. They would always be on separate paths, even when working on the same project. For the most part, he expected and needed her to have her own work and to defer to him when sharing a joint effort. Emotionally, he nearly always deferred to her rather than deal with interpersonal complications, and most likely, if they had children together, he would do the same with their upbringing except on issues where he had very definitive ideas.

That was not fair to her, or anybody else for that fact. Perhaps marriage wasn't for him, regardless of his sexual preferences. It wasn't as if he were desperate for physical relief; he'd learned long ago to channel that energy into mental pursuits. He rarely felt lonely and seldom bored as long as he had math to focus on.

A solid whump! shook the passageway surrounding them, and Charlie instinctively hooked both elbows over the bar in front of his face and held on tightly. Jim leaned into him, one arm sheltering his head as small pebbles and dust showered around them. Thankfully, Donnie reached up to wrap a hand around Charlie's ankle for the pure reassurance that he was there and unharmed. Another boom thudded around them, and this time Charlie felt it in his bones, as if the earth itself had throbbed in pain.

"It's okay," Jim said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "We made sure the caves could sustain a direct hit overhead without much damage. Sandburg, better scoot to the entrance closest to the cabin to see what you can see. Eppes, you want to get up here and take my place? I know the terrain better than you do; I won't be spotted."

"If you don't mind," Ian cut in before Don could answer, "I'd like to stay behind and watch your backs. If you come pelting back down here with someone on your tail, I'm the best chance for taking them down before they realize they're sitting ducks, or that the way in isn't the only way out."

Grudgingly Don said, "Makes sense."

"I've got more medic experience, too."

Even as they debated, Charlie could hear them switching places. When Ian was solidly beside him, Jim tapped his shoulder in farewell, an oddly heartening gesture, and slid down like a sailor going below decks on a ship. The next instant Ian was behind him, arms securely under his.

"We're only a few feet from the bottom; I'm going with them," Don said, giving his own goodbye pat on Charlie's calf. "The more eyes the better."

"Ian," Blair called up. "When you're down, go forward five feet, then turn left. There's bedding and supplies already there, and you should be able to see the surface from the tunnel at the left."

"Forward five, left. Got it. You ready, Charlie?"

"Right foot down," Charlie breathed, surprised at how different it felt to have Ian so close. "Then left, arms sliding as I go."

"I'm with you."

It wasn't as easy as it'd been with Jim, but that was because Charlie was seriously distracted by the solid mass of Ian against him. He was too aware of his strength, the heat of his body, and the scent of him to take his presence for granted. By the time they reached bottom, Charlie was more aroused than he'd been since his first kiss. When they reached the pile of furs and sleeping bags Blair had promised, he was taut with need, resolving beyond any shadow of a doubt the question of whether or not he could respond to a male.

He was also clueless about what, if anything, he should do about it. Uncertain if Ian was aware of his condition, Charlie surreptitiously took a deep breath, releasing it slowly, as if in relief at being able to lie down.

"No," Ian whispered against his ear, lying beside him. "Don't try to get rid of that wood you're sporting. The endorphins will help the pain."

Without thinking, Charlie whispered back. "You're more to me than that, Ian."

With a sharply indrawn breath, Ian gingerly turned Charlie so they were face-to-face, barely able to see each other in the gloom. He leaned into him enough to prove that he was as turned on, but inched away again. "I don't want to take advantage of you while you're confused about what you want. Or to feel afterwards as if you have to make more or less of what happened because you think that's the right thing to do."

Chin sinking down to his chest, Charlie put a hand over Ian's breastbone. "Maybe it'll help me if you tell me clearly what you need, both now and in the near future. I mean, with a woman, it's a balancing of a social equation that factors her relative vulnerability in conceding to advances, against her purely biological urges. That's obviously not an issue here, but I'm not a hormone driven teenager, either, with no thought to the consequences of my actions."

Slowly running a forefinger along Charlie's jaw, Ian tucked a knuckle under his chin and lifted his head until Charlie raised his eyes to meet Ian's. "I'm half in love with you. The thought of being the one to teach you the pleasure of being with a man both terrifies and excites me. Specifically, right now I want to taste you from head to toe, but I'll settle for your lips and cock since this is hardly the time or place for anything more involved.

"All that's stopping me is that we're both on very shaky ground, able to hurt the other without wanting or intending to. It'll just about kill me if I touch you and you intellectually dismiss what you need because of a mistake I made in the process. If you do decide that you can live without the dangers and complications of being gay, I'm afraid I'll try to talk you into going against your better judgment and hurt you that way. I don't know if I'll be able to let you go without a fight."

Charlie swallowed hard at the heat both in Ian's gaze and his voice. "I don't think I could be with anybody intimately without giving them at least a small piece of my heart. You already have a claim on more than that, and I would never take it or you lightly."

Thumb petting the bow of Charlie's lower lip, Ian said, "So you know this isn't just about sex."

Mesmerized at how deep his eyes had become, Charlie nodded, unnecessarily a part of him thought, but most of him was trying to beg wordlessly for Ian to move nearer.

As if hearing him, Ian groaned and gently pushed Charlie to his back and covered him with his own body, keeping his weight on his knees and forearms. Hands tangled in Charlie's curls, he laid his cheek against Charlie's, nuzzling a little before brushing a kiss over Charlie's temple.

The burn of whiskers was illogically surprising, but thrilling regardless, and Charlie's breath caught in his throat on a tiny whimper. Blindly, he offered up his mouth to Ian with more silent pleas, and the tender, cautious glide of lips over bruised lips sent a spike of pleasure through him that permanently erased any doubts as to what he desired. He arched against Ian, amazed at how sensitized the front of him had become, but frustrated because he felt he'd missed the mark somehow.

With a soft croon of reassurance, Ian settled onto him more firmly, erection pressing along his own. The sensation, the knowledge of it, knocked Charlie beyond reason and deliberation, leaving him awash in the purest hunger he'd ever experienced. Timidly, he hugged Ian around the waist, unable to comfortably raise his arms any higher but desperate to be closer to him.

Scattering tiny kisses over his features, Ian murmured, "I'm going to take care of you, baby. This time, let me do it all so there's no pain, just pleasure. I want to make you feel so good, I'm going to make you feel so good.”

"Ian," Charlie moaned. "Please... I... oh! Oh! I... ah!"

"Such beautiful sounds." Ian touched his lips to Charlie's, barely tasting. "Such a beautiful mouth." He granted a deeper kiss, but pulled away too soon. "What I want to do to that mouth...."

"Tell me?" Charlie husked out, with a delicate swipe of his tongue at the corner of Ian's lips. "Better yet, show me?"

A distant beat of chopper blades reminded them of where they were, and Ian spared a glance out the cave entrance. Apparently satisfied, for the time being, he latched onto Charlie for a deep, wet, hungry kiss that should have hurt but didn't and left both of them panting when he finally pulled away.

"Shouldn't, not here, not now, but have to. Sorry this is going so fast; sorry I can't wait until we can do it right," Ian said as he nipped his way down Charlie's torso, tugging at buttons with his teeth as if he wished he could rip them away.

"Don't care. It's perfect. You're perfect." Charlie thrust up powerfully as Ian bit at his erection through his jeans. "Oh, my, god."

The first touch of clever fingers at his zip almost finished him, but Charlie held on somehow. The... the eagerness behind Ian's attentions was so different from the reluctant or perfunctory fumbling of the rare instances a woman had freed his manhood from his clothing for him. And the greed in Ian's expression as he did pulled a harsh yelp of warning from Charlie at how close he was.

Almost crooning, Ian said, "I know, I know, but you don't have to hold back, baby. No need to wait for me or worry about my satisfaction. Trust me, you're giving me exactly what I need to come myself. It's okay, let go, Charlie. Let go."

All he could do was obey, recklessly plunging into the wet heat that Ian enclosed his cock in, only able to pump a few times before his seed ripped out of him. Too stunned at the power in his climax to so much as cry out, Charlie mindlessly shook and writhed in ecstasy, then subsided into an all over trembling that left him aware of nothing except Ian curled against him, murmuring his name over and over.

He had no idea how long he drifted in that wash of pleasure, but when Don came down the short corridor from the outside, his pants were done up and he was on his side with Ian spooned behind him. Don dropped to his knees next to them, and Charlie stared up at him defiantly. If he wasn't going to be accepted for what he was, he wanted to know now.

Apparently reading that, Don said quietly, "Hey, it was never about who you love or how. Dad raised us better than that. Weirdly, Blair nailed it on the head for me. In my usual cynical, pessimistic way, all I could see was the problems and complications. Like, you know you're probably going to have to be in the closet or you could lose your security clearance, right?"

"That's not as bad as it used to be," Ian corrected. "The main worry is blackmail or being compromised by an agent pandering to your preferences. Don't ask, don't tell does work for the most part."

"Huh." Don looked back the way he had come, obviously changing the subject. "The chopper sat down to make sure of what was left of the cabin, but it wasn't a very thorough check. Just one guy who just got close enough to be certain it was burned down to supposedly solid rock; didn't look around at all for hiding places or witnesses."

"Not a professional, which clears Sandburg and Ellison of being the target," Ian said, switching gears himself.

"Fraid so, which didn't stop them from doing their thing." Seemingly in spite of himself, Don said with a certain amount of excitement and respect, "Get this, Sandburg has a cell with a way to switch off the GPS, so he turned it back on, Ellison snuck it into the cockpit with one of the best pitches I've ever seen after calling his own cell on it. They're using Sandburg's laptop to track the chopper now."

Letting Don and Ian get away with being diverted since he understood all too well how much they all had to process through, Charlie asked thoughtfully, "What exactly was used to destroy the cabin?"

"Ellison thought sidewinder missile," Don said, hiding his relief that they were sticking to business.

"Satellite photos, stealth chopper, military artillery - none of it inexpensive or easy to come by." A variety of high value variables swarmed through Charlie's mind, and almost by habit he pulled them into order, applying relative importance factors. "Didn't Jim say the New Brotherhood is little more than a group of organized ganger wannabees?"

Suddenly on the same page with him, Don said, "Yeah, yeah he did, and that matches our intel on them, too. So how come they can afford a high power op like they sent after us, let alone organize one?"

"They have a backer?" Ian offered quietly. "One with a grudge against you two?"

"Richard Tuttle," Charlie said simultaneously with his brother. They traded a look and chuckle.

"Who?" Blair asked as he came down the tunnel.

Quickly, Don filled him and Ian in on their encounter with the billionaire want-to-be kingmaker, ending his explanation with, "...so we couldn't press charges against him, but Charlie made sure that he couldn't succeed with his scheme to rig the voting machines. To be truthful, I've been expecting an attack from him sooner or later because he strikes me as the sort to need to get even for having his pretty plans all messed up."

"Megan called him a sociopath." Charlie put in.

Blair nodded, as if that made huge sense to him. "It's likely he believes he's smarter than everyone else, better than everyone else, and enjoys proving it to himself, likes pulling the strings for his own gratification. Getting even with you and Don would be a part of his plan, but not all of it. He'd tell himself that you weren't worth his full time and attention, just a little side bar he wanted taken care of in the grand scheme of things to down play what he would perceive as your triumph over him."

"And that lie to himself is why he failed." Don pulled at the sleeping bags until he had one and a fur to curl into. "If he'd taken a more direct approach, Charlie wouldn't have survived and we wouldn't have a major lead to follow, now. Though I have to tell you, I have no idea why he's creating this hate crime wave, unless it was how he bought off the Brotherhood. Maybe he's providing them with lawyers, or with connections inside the pen. That's how more than one gang consolidated its powerbase. After you've got a record, your gang is all you have to go back to when you get out."

Doing the same thing on the other side of Ian, Blair yawned widely. "Let's see how well he covered himself this time. He over-estimated Charlie's will to survive and under-estimated the effectiveness of his tools, probably because he wants you two dead so bad he's not using his best judgment. Jim's taking first watch, two hours. Who wants to be next?"

"I will," Don mumbled, already curled in on himself, back to Charlie for warmth and physical support.

"Me next." Ian draped an arm over Charlie's waist, face nestled between his shoulder blades.

"Then I'm last." Blair yawned. "You guys just want me to cook breakfast."

"Could always wake Ian," Charlie offered, smirking to himself as the chorus of 'no!' followed him into sleep.

He woke the next morning in more or less the same position, except it was Jim next to Ian, so deeply under he didn't stir when Charlie ponderously got to his feet and staggered toward daylight. Blair handed him a cup of hot tea, well sweetened with honey, then set about tending to his injuries, encouraging him to stretch and move about. It helped, but while he wasn't as much in pain as he had been, he knew he was in no condition to hike out.

Bracing himself, Charlie smiled a thanks at Blair as he helped him sit on the ground next to the camp stove. "How are we going to convince Jim and Don to leave me behind? They can't just call and tell David or Colby what we know; there has to be an informant positioned close to Don's team if Tuttle was able to locate us here. They're going to have to go all the way to L.A. and report in person."

"Not necessarily," Blair argued, blue eyes merry. "Anyone could have passed along the word that Captain Banks paid a call. All Tuttle's people had to do then was keep an eye on Don's credit card to follow him as far as the rental agency, then the GPS in the car to Rainier National. With that information in hand, they likely questioned nearby airports about any chopper flights into the general area because he had a much better idea of how much damage you'd taken."

"I am...."

"Don't you dare apologize," Blair said sternly, but with a gentle pat to his arm. "We knew what could happen and were ready for it. What do you think Tuttle might have done if you'd done the logical thing and gone to Don? Or if we had stayed in Cascade? You trust your instincts when it comes to math. Why is it so hard for you when it comes to other issues? Sometimes running away is right thing to do. It sucks, but there it is."

"Coffee, coffee, coffee," Don moaned, stumbling up the passageway, rubbing at his face with one hand.

Relieved for the interruption, which he didn't think was as unintentional as Don made it out to be, Charlie turned his face down into his mug, trying to formulate his next argument for staying put while the others left. Handing Don the coffee he'd asked for, Blair crossed to where Charlie sat. To his surprise, Blair knelt in front of him, hands on Charlie's knees. "Both of you listen to me. Jim and I have a plan, a good one that no one will anticipate. With a little luck you'll be home by the end of the day."

Don looked as skeptical as Charlie felt, but he nodded his acceptance and concentrated on getting through breakfast and ready to leave. In short order everyone was doing the same, and while they did, they endlessly discussed what to do next and what Tuttle might do to bury or discredit the evidence they had.

All in all, though, Charlie really shouldn't have been surprised when Jim and Blair led them to a concealed chopper and began prepping it for flight. He almost laughed when Ian muttered, "Of course he's got a way off this mountain in case of an emergency."

"Just tell me you're a good pilot," Don said to Jim.

Grinning, Blair put in, "Hey, why assume he's the flyboy? I'm fair, but I'm a better driver. I get along really well with anything with wheels or even treads."

"It's like his expertise with weapons," Jim put in, eyes dancing. "He knows how to use a gun, but believe me, he's better with a baseball or fire hose than he is with anything else."

Blair segued the comment into a conversation about improvised weapons that everybody had anecdotes to contribute, lasting until they were in the air and on the way to Cascade to a small, private landing strip. The noise in the chopper made talk nearly impossible and Charlie could see the slowly mounting readiness in the warriors around him, familiar with it from watching Don's team prepare so many times for ops. A moment later, he asked himself why he included Blair with the others. Despite his work with the police department, he didn't think Blair considered himself a cop.

On the other hand, he wasn't exactly a run of the mill college professor, either. Though he smiled at the idea of "Indiana Blair," that image wasn't a compete fit, either. The dichotomy, as well as his own realization of it, was enough to keep Charlie preoccupied through the first flight, then the transfer to the chartered plane Jim paid for with a thick fold of cash. Apparently, the landing strip was chosen because of the pilot's reputation for discretion at the right price.

True to Blair's promise, they were in Don's SUV, retrieved from long term parking without triggering any automated checks on the license plate number, thanks to a little computer hacking that Blair insisted wasn't illegal as they did pay to leave the garage. Don sped to the Federal building, storming it with Ian on his heels as he barked orders into his cell for warrants and forensics teams. Amused, Charlie led Jim and Blair through the process to get visitor's badges that would allow them upstairs, making his own calls while they filled out the paperwork.

It wasn't long after they were safely ensconced in a conference room on Don's floor that Megan and the others, along with the members of the hate crime team, swept in. Taking advantage of the confusion of introductions, explanations and general chatter, Charlie drew Ian aside, careful to keep a proper distance even while his hands stroked and soothed below line of sight. Ian seemed to understand, or perhaps it was his normal manner with a lover in public. Charlie resolved to ask him at a better time.

Smiling at him uncertainly, Charlie said, "I have no idea what Amita's reaction will be when I break up with her, especially after she stepped forward to defend my honor, so to speak, on national television. But I am, before I go to bed tonight, and I'm having a long talk with my father, as well."

At Ian's nod of understanding, wariness marring the beauty of his eyes, Charlie added, "I don't want to pressure you, but once the furor has died down, publicly and privately, I'd like to see you again."

Ian smiled, and Charlie was taken aback at the transformation in him as joy lit up his expression. "Please tell me you're looking for more than a teacher on how to be gay."

Taking a deep breath, Charlie took a page from Ian's book and gave him simple honesty. "I'm half in love with you, and while I admit I'd very much like to experience intimacy with you in every way a man can make love to another, I'd be ecstatic if all we did was work together on another case."

"I think we can do better than that," Ian nearly purred, fingers boldly tracing a line along the fly of Charlie's pants. Visibly banking his passion, which sent a pang through Charlie's heart, he stepped back. "When you're ready. I can't promise to wait indefinitely, but I'll let you know if I think you're taking too long. In the meantime, there's a man out there who wants to hurt you. I want him in my crosshairs before he has a chance to do it again."

"Let Don try the legal way first, okay? An unsanctioned shot right now wouldn't produce an optimum outcome."

Oddly, Ian blinked, started to speak, stopped, and blinked again. "You meant that."

"Of course. Why wouldn't I? Did I miscalculate? I didn't take you for the type who would joke about the gravity of their profession."

With a return of his blindingly beautiful smile, Ian said, "It's official, Dr. Eppes. I'm in love with you. I expect a kiss before I leave: a rugged, I'll dream about you for months, kiss."

"We'll get Jim and Blair to cover for us," Charlie said contentedly, puzzled as to why Ian had felt compelled to make his declaration now, but delighted anyway.

Before Ian could say more, Charlie heard his father call his name, and with a last brush of his fingers over Ian's, turned to answer him. A moment later Amita barreled into him for a bone-shattering hug, and the agony of the impact on his battered body was too much to take. Crumpling with a scream trapped in his chest, Charlie toppled into nothingness, not even feeling the fall.

He swam back up to awareness bit by bit, with one sense or another reporting in briefly before disconnecting again. Acoustics told him that he wasn't on the floor, as part of him had expected, but he was lying on a flat, hard surface. Analyzing the input, he deduced he was on a table.

Spots of warmth dotted him here and there - hands, he decided. A babble of voices broke through his haze for a second, giving him the opportunity to identify the touch of specific individuals. His dad had his fingers entwined with the ones on Charlie's left hand, Don had his palm on the curve of Charlie's neck and shoulder on the right side, and Blair was holding a cold pack on his bad shoulder. Jim was carefully examining his ribs and abdomen, hands oddly hotter than everyone else's. He said something, tone quietly reassuring and commanding, overriding the others.

Peeking through his lashes, Charlie's vision blurred, grayed around the edges, then cleared. Dropping his gaze from the too-bright overhead fluorescent lights, he saw Ian standing at his feet, glaring at Amita, who was staring at Charlie, fist at her mouth as she fought off tears. The men in his family had effectively surrounded him, closing her out, and sadly, all he could feel was relieved.

His father spoke, but Charlie couldn't make any sense of the sound. He slanted a look toward him, as if that would that would clarify the meaning in it, and caught the trust and respect in his expression, aimed at Blair. That worried him for reasons he couldn't bring into focus, and he unthinkingly glanced at his brother. Donnie was obviously in agreement with Dad's attitude toward Blair, with a hint of humor added around the edges.

Startled, Charlie had to mull that over, and while he did, he slipped away from the outside world, barely hearing Jim's murmur of approval as the tension bled away from his tortured muscles. When he returned, not too much later, he thought, because everyone was in the nearly the same position, though the rest of Don's team had joined them. Megan seemed to be giving an update of some sort, and when she said Tuttle's name, Charlie snapped back to consciousness.

"...the profile of the victims isn't turning up any consistencies. That may be a dead end," Megan finished.

"Not the victims," Charlie said, stopping to clear his throat when the words came out shaky. "Profile the suspects. Tuttle picked them for a reason, and it's logical to believe that it goes beyond their ability to hate."

A soft chorus of his name filled the air, but it was Ian's whisper in his ear Charlie listened to. "She gets away with hurting you because of what you've got to say to her later tonight, but she does not cause you harm again."

With half a smile, Charlie whispered back, "I like the protectiveness, but we're obviously going to have to establish a few parameters for it."

Jim made a half-strangled, half-snorted sound, then asked before anyone could question him about it, "Have you looked at the locations, too? If they're claiming that it's not hate crimes, but the targets were in parts of the town where the suspects had no reason to be, it could lend to motive. And maybe give us a hint to the real one behind it."

It was a good possibility and everyone ran with it, along with Charlie's suggestion. As the theories and facts flew fast and thick around him, Charlie smiled, oddly reminded of his classroom when the students finally grasped a difficult concept. In truth, wasn't his work with the FBI an extension of his teaching and research? He provided structure and direction that allowed Don and his team to apply useful methods to the problems they faced. Not a leader, but not an outsider either; he was a unique, valued adjunct to their process - both a part of and separate from.

With that insight, his life fell back into place, all the elements of the equation where they needed to be, every expression elegant and integrated. He glanced across the corridor to where Amita sat with Larry, hands torturing a tissue. A few terms needed to be factored out or perhaps, (as Colby sat by her on the other side, offering a cup of coffee), recombined, but essentially the statement was complete, running inexorably to solution.

Abruptly certain that acknowledging the hidden parts of himself did not negate who he was, what he had, Charlie tugged gently on his dad's hand to get his attention. "We need to talk; I want to explain why I went to Blair and Jim."

***

It was odd to admit to himself that the flip side of protector was nurturer, but Jim couldn't deny that seemed to be the case, at least for him. Using the senses to take care of Blair in small ways, like monitoring his heat signature to be sure he was warm enough, had always been second nature. But the ease with which he gifted that same consideration to his suddenly extended family was disconcerting, if very satisfying in a subtle, inexplicable way.

For instance, he had known in a split second that Dr. Ramanujan's rush to Charlie was more calculated than genuine, aware that it would cause him pain, but dismissing that fact in favor of whatever motivated the action. Exactly how he reached that conclusion so quickly, Jim had no idea and suspected he would need Blair's guidance to pinpoint all the sensory clues he'd used. Not that it mattered; one way or another he would still have manufactured a reason to smuggle her out of the country to her parents to get her out of the way.

What was important was that he'd been able to reach Charlie as he collapsed, saving him from the new or worsened injuries he would have taken if he'd fallen with Dr. Ramanujan on top of him. And he'd earned one of Blair's special, full-volt smiles of approval when he'd reached the same conclusions about the woman as Jim had by whatever alchemy of intuition and empathy he utilized in such cases. Together they had carefully, solicitously, isolated her from the Eppes family, then concentrated on helping Charlie.

Don and his team hadn't noticed Jim's interference, though Edgerton had, and had chosen to go along with it for reasons that were obvious to Jim and Blair. Hours later, when it was apparent to Jim everyone needed rest, but none would unless all were safe, he made arrangements for transportation and a safe house without talking to the others. It was a measure of how exhausted Don was that he went along with Jim's plan without more than a token protest that his father urged him to drop.

Lazily stretching in the big recliner that he had usurped for himself when they'd arrived at the Alconte estate three nights ago, Jim recalled their departure from the FBI with a bit of smugness. They had boldly walked out to a stretch limo waiting for them, the driver surrendering the vehicle to Edgerton without qualm, having been paid a pretty penny to do so. As they pulled into traffic, Blair had triggered a disruption in the security cameras for a ten-mile radius that lasted such a short time that there was virtually no danger of losing important information. By then, however, their limo was only one more in a city filled with them on a night when they were the transportation of choice for half the population of L.A.

If Tuttle harassed the limo company, all he would learn was that Charlie had rented it and that it had no GPS on board. If he tried to track it by license plate, it had a covering that made it invisible to cameras. Since it was now in a garage, it couldn't be spotted by satellite. No one knew where they were or how to find them, and no matter how deeply Tuttle looked into Jim and Blair's background, the chances of connecting them to one known criminal out of all they'd had contact with was next to impossible. Hell, even Banks might not remember that Alconte owed Jim big time, and would be more than willing to pay up.

Trusting Charlie and Blair's expertise with computers to keep them below the electronic radar, Don's team chipped away at Tuttle by cell phone, e-mail, and video conference. The chopper that had attacked them was found just before it was to be sanitized, phone still in it to connect it to the murder attempt, plenty of prints left behind. That led them to the pilot, which led them back to the New Brotherhood's leadership, who were arrested and put in jail with their followers.

Once the lines of questioning about the assaults were changed, most of the attackers showed their true stripes, cementing the DA's case against them for hate crimes. The very expensive lawyers that had appeared after their arrests scuttled back into the woodwork, leaving the most incompetent PDAs that could be wrung out of the system with a little judicious string-pulling and behind the scenes manipulation to take over for them. The New Brotherhood, disgruntled and disappointed on a dozen different levels, started spilling what they knew, such as it was, which led to other, less obvious correlations to Tuttle.

And that, Jim chuckled, thoroughly enjoying his reminiscences, had been only the start. While Don's team built a legal case against Tuttle, Charlie and Blair harassed the man in a dozen different ways that were eroding his credibility and clout. The chopper had belonged to one of his corporations, and while it had been reported missing, the details on the theft were shoddy, including when it had been stolen. Since it had been connected to the use of sidewinders, the company that Tuttle owned that had access to them suddenly had to account for its entire inventory, and a friend of Jim's from the old days had leveraged that into a surprise audit for all of Tuttle's military and government contracts.

Of course that information was somehow 'leaked' to Wall Street, and Tuttle's stock dropped like a rock. Several of his competitors had heard the news early and had jockeyed to make the best of the man's problems. Stephen, Jim mused happily, had not been among them, but at least one CEO was now in his debt. Again, Jim was sure that the connection to him was lost among the many possible, making it unlikely that Tuttle would realize Stephen had been involved in his current dilemma.

Those difficulties were just the ones Jim knew about. Charlie and Blair, working to ensure the safety of those they cared about, were a force to be reckoned with. The two of them trigged every legal avenue of investigation into all of Tuttle's holdings that their very fertile minds could produce.

Richard Tuttle was a bear surrounded by hunting dogs with no idea how close the hunter was.

The question was, could they find a weapon to end the danger once and for all? Sooner or later Tuttle was going to strike back, perhaps recklessly, perhaps after pretending to retreat or regroup. As much damage as they'd done to him, the man remained unbelievably rich and viciously ruthless. He would attack, and not even Blair could guess when or how.

Voices at the front door yanked Jim away from his musings, and he sat bolt upright, nerves quivering to attention. Don hadn't been able to keep the whereabouts of his team from his superiors since early that morning, making a call from one agency or another inevitable. The only question in Jim's mind was which one and what cover they would use.

Not quite running for the small office Blair and Charlie had claimed for their own during the operation, Jim listened as Don let in the visitors, apparently scrutinizing their identification.

"Homeland?" Don asked, accompanied by the sound of guns sliding into holsters as he, Grainger, and Sinclair stood down.

"That is correct," a man said blandly, voice devoid of much of anything Jim would have used to characterize it. "I understand you have a James Ellison and Blair Sandburg in custody. I would like to interrogate them on a matter of national security."

"Whoa, whoa, Mr. Trevor. Detective Sergeant James Ellison and Dr. Blair Sandburg are members of my team, consultants on my current primary investigation. Not in my custody, here on a voluntary basis." Don's emphasis on the titles and his own status was subtle, but underlined with confidence. "Why would you think I'd have them under arrest?"

After a slight hesitation that Jim would bet was used for Trevor and his as-yet unidentified partner to exchange a look of confusion, Trevor said, "They're wanted under a federal warrant for questioning."

"Why not contact their captain in Major Crimes, Cascade, Washington PD, and ask for them to come in?" Don asked suspiciously.

"I...."

Trevor's partner verbally stepped into the small stutter, almost covering it completely. "Not all local agencies are as cooperative with Homeland Safety as the FBI."

Almost silently slipping into the office, Jim touched his finger to his lips to silence Blair, relieved Charlie wasn't present. Reaching for the drawer where they'd placed their supplies for this eventuality, he apologized with his eyes for what had to be done next. To his relief, Blair simply grinned and opened the bottle of mascara.

He heard Don snort his opinion of the careful side-stepping of his question, then ask with a hint of triumph and glee, "You didn't know they were cops, did you, McDowell? Let me guess, you got a tip from either an anonymous or well-placed source that they were with me, and involved in a high profile case you're investigating. Because of that you took off for here without a serious check into your information, such as what we're working on and who might be interested in getting Ellison and Sandburg pulled off it."

"This informant is beyond suspicion," McDowell huffed, "and the victim is a man of great importance to our administration. Jonas Marten devoted his life and his fortune to keeping his country free and safe."

"Jonas is gone," Jim whispered tiredly to Blair. "It looks like his passing is being treated like a homicide - odd, given how sick he was. Is the loss being used or did someone hurry him along in hopes it would give them more leeway to take his place?"

"Oh, man," Blair whispered in return. "Shut your eyes so I can put this on better. If this works, we're going to have to think of ways to rescue anyone being forced into working for the new management."

Gesturing for quiet, Jim listened to Don's rapid-fire questions at the Homeland agents even as he nodded his acceptance of Blair's plans. It sounded to Jim as if Don had already pulled the operatives teeth as far as peacefully taking him and Blair away, then he discombobulated them completely by supplying the alibi that had been so painstaking put in place while on the mountain. His sigh of relief told Blair as much, and though Jim kept a portion of his attention of the government men making their way toward them while Grainger and Sinclair went back to sentry duty, he submitted to Blair's ministrations.

That done, he made a few small changes to his clothing, watching Blair pull back his hair into a tight pony-tail and don a pair of thick rimmed glasses. A bit of padding around his middle, his shirt tucked in to hold it, and he soon presented the very image of a bookish, chair-bound academic. Jim went the other direction, emphasizing his build, but giving his looks the bit of polish that screamed 'empty-headed narcissist.'

Disguises in place, Jim deliberately, painstakingly, turned all his awareness in on his mate. It was difficult, nearly impossible, this far from his own territory, his own lair, but the quiet rumble of Don's voice, the distant ring of Charlie and Ian's laughter, Megan's intent phone conversation with her lover, Larry Flynheart, the lingering scent of the food that he and Alan had cooked the night before, all blended to reassure him that they were safe. It wasn't quite as secure a feeling as the Major Crimes crew and bullpen gave him; surprisingly, it was close enough.

Sitting on the edge of the desk, side to the door, Jim pulled Blair to him, opening his thighs to nestle against him, chest to crotch. His position cancelled out the difference in their heights, and all he had to do to kiss Blair was lean in. Blair met him halfway, and Jim gave himself over to the caress, savoring the plump moistness of his lips, the fragrance and taste that meant love to him. The wash of Blair's breathing, the solid thump of his heart against Jim's, drowned out everything else, allowing him to pretend for a moment that they were alone with all the time in the world to enjoy each other.

A dry cough with a promise of amusement under it, signaled that it was time for the rest of their act, and Jim sprawled back on his elbows while Blair turned to deal with their visitors. Letting himself hover on the edge of a zone on Blair's beauty because he knew all too painfully well how stupid he looked then, he inwardly coiled, assessing the agents every move for the slightest hint of threat against his mate. To his delight, the Homeland operatives were beyond unnerved at finding the two of them seemingly on the brink of sex.

Genuinely unperturbed at being caught el flagrante, Blair beamed merrily through the introductions, not moving more than a few inches from Jim, disconcerting the agents even more. Jim tuned into his patter, as much for his own entertainment as to stop himself from zoning for real as Blair finished a line of bull about the two of them representing diversity and public awareness for a police department that was trying hard to stay ahead on the public relations aspect of the job. The sad thing about it was that it was true, to an extent, that the brass were glad to have a gay cop and civilian consultant to point to when accused of being less that politically correct. Blair made it sound as if that was why they had their positions, even as he bragged about their solve and convict rate.

For a second Jim thought Don was going to burst out laughing, but thankfully he decided to play along with Blair's act, going stoic and quiet. Just in time, too, for McDowell shot a look at him before asking if they knew Jonas Marten.

"Director of the Foundation for Justice and Law," Blair said promptly. "Occasionally I freelance for him. I've been on a number of expeditions to Peru to study the more isolated native tribes there, and since I have several advantages over other researchers, I learned enough about the movements of the drug cartels through the area that Director Marten was able to map the primary pipelines and territories."

"Advantages?" McDowell asked dubiously.

Smirking, Blair waved at the small space between himself and Jim. "Not all cultures have the prejudices against gays that are predominant in many Christian or Islamic derived societies. Being identified as a male who follows the shaman's way gave me an inside track to acceptance among the warriors, not to mention I'm fluent in several of the local languages." He winked lasciviously. "And they like eye candy as much as the next sexually diverse people."

For a second Jim thought Don was going to lose it, but his expression never changed. Ian and Charlie came up behind him, apparently drawn by the sound of unknown voices in the house, and he waved them to a standstill. One look at the tableau in the room and they caught on, instantly adopting Don's attitude.

As if oblivious to their growing audience, Blair added with an air of confidentiality, "Jonas has asked me to help him a time or two on other matters. Divergent sub-cultures are my specialty, amazing wells of useful intelligence, really, if you know how to mine them correctly, and the bit of extra income is a big help to a professor's salary."

"Jonas Martens is dead," McDowell said with a suggestion of verbal punch behind the announcement, clearly hoping for a reaction.

"The cancer finally took him?" Blair said, sadly with too much genuine emotion for his grief to be thought faked by anyone, in Jim's very professional opinion. As if it had just occurred to him, he added sharply. "Homeland didn't come all the way here to make a general announcement on his passing. Did some power hungry mother-fucker get tired of waiting for him to die?"

"Cancer?" Trevor said with such resignation that Jim knew he was tired of being blind-sided with information that should have been at his disposal before leaving his office.

Sounding confused, Blair said, "Yeah, lung cancer. He lost most of a lung last year and hasn't been doing too well, since."

"Regardless," McDowell broke in, "his death is being treated as a homicide."

"What can we do to help?" Blair asked instantly and honestly.

For some reason that really disconcerted the Homeland operatives, and Jim had to work to keep his face vacuous as they exchanged yet another look, trying to find a path through the confusion being thrown at them. Finally Trevor asked in professional tones, "First, your whereabouts Monday, the fifth."

They quickly ran through the usual questions, growing disgruntled when the answers matched what Don had told them already. Before they could turn nasty, Blair said in exasperation, "Gentlemen, neither myself nor my partner had anything to do with Jonas' passing. No motive, no opportunity, and unless he was killed in some esoteric manner that can be tracked back to primitive cultures, no method. In fact, I've lost a source of income, as it's unlikely his replacement will consider me as... useful as Jonas did. Why on earth are you treating me like a suspect?"

The last question was sharp enough with indignation and growing mistrust that the Homeland agents flushed, but Jim thought it wasn't embarrassment that was responsible so much as relief that they at last had a reason to lash out. "Perhaps a better offer came along. If we took a look into your financial situation, Dr. Sandburg, would we find that motive?"

"Be my guest; check all you want." Blair's voice rose, taking on a prissy edge that was so unlike him that Jim had to kill a smile. "In fact, you can check my phone records, emails, everything. Just because I'm gay doesn't mean I'm up for sale to the highest bidder or that I would betray a man who treated me with respect and compassion! And you damned well better have solid evidence if you knock on my door again, or my next stop will be a lawyer who specializes in discrimination cases. Do you really think Homeland can afford that kind of publicity in the current political climate?"

On cue, almost as if Jim had coached him on it, Don stepped in between Blair and the agents. "That's enough. Unless you've got more than you've told me, you're wasting your time. If I were in your place, I'd be wondering who wants you off on this wild goose chase and why. And if you turn up a connection to my investigation, I'd sure as hell like to hear about that, too. I haven't nailed that bastard yet, but I'm close."

Jim could see that the men wanted to bluster and posture to save face, but thankfully, their common sense kicked in enough that they decided to bow out with only the minimum of veiled threats and warnings. Holding onto his role with effort until Don led them out and shut the door behind them, Jim groaned and put his hands over his face, barely managing not to scrub at his eyes. Blair turned back to him instantly, fumbling in their bag for what he needed.

"My god," Jim muttered. "How do women stand this shit?"

As if the complaint were permission to go back to normal, Charlie said in admiration, "You had those two so far off their game, I don't think it ever occurred to them to ask exactly what you were doing to assist the FBI or what Jim, himself, did for the Foundation."

Taking out the soft cloth and a tiny jar of cream, Blair pried away Jim's fingers before carefully applying the cleanser. "We would have stuck to a version of the truth. We were using Jim's wide-spread connections to hide Charlie, playing into the odd misconception that all gay men in a given profession or community know each other. Though in this case, the permit we used to build the cabin has the name of one of my old teacher's on it. I have another document that show he gave us permission to use his place, but it doesn't have to be on file anywhere, so no way to prove it wasn't his property that was destroyed."

"Hiding in plain sight," Ian mused, leaning on the doorframe. "Will it work?"

Shrugging, Jim said, "No reason for it not to. Jonas had a reputation for recruiting people that other agencies had no patience to use successfully, or who are considered too risky to give access to sensitive information." He kissed Blair's palm in thanks as he wiped away the last of the makeup.

"This one guy," Blair put in, fixing his own appearance, "has Asperger's syndrome. He's high functioning and can walk through a factory then tell you exactly not only what the process is, but also how it can be adapted to other uses. Nice when you're trying to discover a covert munitions manufacturer."

"So between my age, Blair's impression of being a cash hazard, and the whole gay thing, we honestly think we'll be written off by anyone looking to step into Jonas' place or draft us for their own purposes." Jim gave Ian a hard stare as he took out the gaudy earring, then twisted off the matching bracelet. "Which doesn't mean I wouldn't appreciate it if you put your ear to the ground if we go missing without warning you that we're taking a vacation to Bali."

Ian returned the gaze equably. "Consider it done. In fact, now might a good time to do a little listening. Homeland's going to want to see if their source has been compromised and how. That'll cause a splash or two; maybe we can pick up on the ripples."

Peeling off the too-tight white silk shirt with flowing sleeves with the intention of replacing it with a flannel, Jim playfully tossed the garment at Blair. He said to Ian, "You go ahead, I'll be right behind you."

With a teasing smirk, Charlie said, "Sure you will be." Not giving Jim a chance for a come back, he shut the door, startling a laugh from all of them.

Despite a flash of irritation at the comment, Jim had to admit to himself that Charlie had every right to make the assumption that he and Blair wanted to be left alone to finish what they had started. It was decidedly odd to have the most intimate part of his personal life out there for anybody to discuss. For the most part, those who knew about his relationship with Blair preferred to not speculate on that aspect of it. Odd, but it was also liberating, even surprisingly arousing, not to have to hide his desire for his mate.

In fact, now there was no reason to ever, ever be one inch more in the closet than they wanted to be.

Apparently Jim reached that conclusion a moment later than his partner had because Blair launched himself at Jim with a sexy little growl of frustration that completely undid Jim. It felt like it had been forever since they had been alone, and Jim caught him mid-air, whirling to carefully pin him to the door with a thump. In the distance he heard a burst of laughter from Ian, Charlie and Don, but he didn't care. He had always wanted to brag that this incredibly vibrant and beautiful man was his to please, to thrill, to cherish, and he finally had an appreciative audience.

Blair's mouth fastened onto his, tongue delving deeply and rhythmically, and Jim forgot about anything but the hunger ripping through them. Hips echoing the tempo of their kiss, he ground against Blair, cock seeking cock through the layers of cloth separating them. Too many layers, Jim decided distantly. He wanted skin, needed skin against his own, and he tugged and pulled until Blair's shirts were gone. Spilling tiny noises of appreciation, Blair rubbed his bare torso over Jim's, the hard nubs of his nipples digging a tantalizing trail through the swath of sensation from the dizzying caress of thousands of chest hairs.

It was good, so damned good, but nowhere near as much as he needed. With a pained cry he broke their kiss, tilting his head back to silently demand Blair's touch there. Murmuring a litany of Jim's name and "oh, god," Blair bit and sucked his way down Jim's neck, sending sharp jabs of pleasure all through him. Shifting so that Blair slid down, his hard-on dragging a line of heat over Jim's thigh, Jim caught Blair's head in gentle palms and guided him to one of the achingly tight peaks on his chest.

Obediently Blair latched onto the taut pap, nursing at it as if starved. Jim watched him from under lowered lashes, restlessly carding Blair's long curls or kneading the nape of his neck. There was such bliss on his face, mixed with a sort of greed that made Jim's legs weak and watery. When Blair switched to the other nipple, Jim groaned and arched his back, offering up the tidbit for his lover's attentions.

He endured the exquisite torment until his entire body was throbbing with urgency, then shifted again, nudging Blair to go lower. Blair sank to his knees, nipping as he went, mouthing Jim's dick through his slacks as he undid the top button and zip. Bracing himself, Jim managed to hold off coming when Blair’s clever fingers freed him from his clothes, but only because he had to have the wet heat of that luscious mouth on him. Unable to stop himself, he captured Blair's head again, holding him steady as he thrust past Blair's rounded lips.

Fucking Blair's face with a tempo just short of brutal, Jim was vaguely amazed, as always, how easily Blair accommodated his thrusts, swaying with the give and take of each stroke. Blair loved sucking him off, could and would finish from it, not touching himself at all, instead leaving his hands on Jim's thighs to balance himself. It was always a temptation to do just that, simply because Jim loved it even more.

As incredible as the silky pressure on his cock was, it was only one piece of the most erotic experience Jim could imagine, short of burying himself in Blair's tight ass. From the quiet hums of satisfaction that Blair made, to the obscene slurps and smacks, to the swirling drifts of scent from male musk and arousal that tingled from the back of his nose to his taste buds, to the sight of Blair's lips, slick and shiny and red, circling his shaft, eyes half-closed in ecstasy - it all added up to a punch of pure lust to Jim's gut that made him feel potent, virile, able to fuck all night and still leave Blair begging for more.

Much as Jim wanted to climax, he wanted to plunder Blair's mouth more, and he held off as long as he humanly could, occasionally slowing down to let that talented tongue tease the crown of his hard-on or along the thick vein running along his length. Blair moaned his approval of the changes, making his own minor adjustments to make the most of the hard cock filling his throat. Nature couldn't be denied, though, and eventually Jim had to resume his fierce thrusts, nearly ramming his way into his lover.

When he couldn't hold back any longer, Jim whispered, "Love you... so... oh, Blair... love you... have to... I have to... drink me down... take it all, love you, love you, love you."

Blair whimpered and swallowed hard around Jim's cock, trying to take him farther into himself. The vibration was more than Jim could take. He thrust a last time and held it, body bowing into an arc so rigid his scream of completion couldn't escape. His seed erupted in thick, short bursts that slammed waves of pure ecstasy up his spine and into his mind, blanking out everything but the joy of possessing and being possessed by his mate.

His strength faded as his release did, and he melted into Blair's arms, gingerly pulling his dick free of the urgent suckling. "Sorry, sorry, didn't mean to leave you behind."

"Enjoying myself too much." Blair stole a fast, brief kiss, squirming a hand down to stroke himself.

At an unexpected pang of need at the action, Jim said, "Oh! Let me...."

He curled around Blair, head in his lap, mouth unerringly seeking out the impressive hard-on. The surge of taste and texture sent a jerk of desire into his groin, making his dick twitch with renewed interest. Sighing happily, Jim relaxed into the short, sharp lift of Blair's hips, taking him all the way in.

"So... unbelievably... hot...." Blair panted. "Love it. Love you. Oh... Jim... Jim!"

Pulling back enough to get the flavor from the flow down his throat, Jim wrapped an arm around Blair to support him as he fell to his back. Careful not to irritate post-coital sensitive flesh, he swallowed Blair's seed, then lapped at the softening shaft to get every drop. When he was done, he laid his head on Blair’s tummy, kissing and nosing at the soft curve of it, hands kneading at Blair's backside.

If he kept it up, Jim knew they would soon both be ready for another round, and he liked that idea a great deal. Maybe he would persuade Blair to turn over for him; go to his hands and knees and lift that marvelous ass up for Jim to thoroughly rim before using it just as thoroughly. Or they could sixty-nine, using fingers for penetration, as well as tongues. Or....

Blair tugged lightly on Jim's hair to get his attention. "Much as I appreciate the direction your mind is going, I'd rather wait for the warm beach, bright sunshine, and hours to fuck that you promised me."

Reluctantly, Jim left his pillow and moved up until he was face-to-face with his partner. "You forgot surfing," he rumbled, nuzzling his nose against Blair's.

Giving him a hard hug, Blair added, "And surfing."

"But family first." Jim twisted to sit up on one hip, then helped Blair to do the same. Brushing Blair's curls away from his face to finger-comb them into a semblance of order, he added, "Those agents didn't know we were cops when they got here, didn't know to look for us in Cascade. Want to bet they don't mention that in their official report, just that we were 'in custody' of FBI agents during Jonas' death, to save themselves embarrassment?"

"The doctored dossiers are working, then," Blair said in relief, reaching for his shirts. "The real files must be gone or too well-hidden to be found. Jonas kept his word to us and the others."

Slowly Jim said, "My guess is that they never existed anywhere but in Jonas' head to begin with. Wherever he is now, he's probably enjoying watching the arrogant idiots who thought they could take his place searching all over for them."

Blair stopped dressing to consider that for a moment, grin growing. "That sounds like him, doesn't it? I mean, he chose his operatives based on their specialized training and unique natural abilities. He wasn't very techno savvy, either, from what little I saw." In an entirely different tone, he added, "Oh, man, this is going to work, isn't it? It's really going to work."

Though all they had to go on were educated guesses and flimsy evidence, Jim said with an amazing amount of confidence, "Yeah, I think it is." He looked inside himself to the part that fueled his hunches and intuition, and nodded. "And if it doesn't, we've got allies, now, that we can confide in. No one can ever make us work for them against our will because of the sentinel thing. We're free men, Chief, thanks to Jonas covering for us all these years, giving us time to hide the evidence of who and what we are."

Bouncing to his feet, Blair said, "That is, if we can do something about the megalomaniac that wants our backup dead. Come on. We've got work to do."

"Slave driver," Jim mock grumbled as he stood, melodramatically putting a hand to the small of his back. "Won't even let me enjoy the afterglow."

"Compared to the aftermath once we find that warm beach, this was a candle at high noon." Grabbing him by the arm, Blair towed him out of the office and toward the command center they'd set up in one of the dining rooms.

Beaming like an idiot and not caring at all, Jim said, "Promises, promises."

***

Weirdly missing the home-crafted cold pack Blair had made for him Charlie took a chemical pad out of the freezer and kneaded it between his hands to shape it for his shoulder. Leaning on the counter, back to the wall, he crossed his ankles, hugging himself to hold the pack in place, and absently stared into the kitchen. The room was full of people, most clustered around the enormous butcher block island that dominated the modern, restaurant style space.

Once Don had had to give up where he and his team were hiding, there had been no reason not to have visitors, and his friend, Larry, had appeared almost instantly at the door, asking after Megan once he'd made sure the Eppes family was doing well. Now Larry and Megan were sitting on opposite sides of the island from David and Colby, trying to fill Larry in on what had gone on while they'd been out of touch. Don and Blair were at the stove, cooking, presumably shrimp scampi, and arguing amiably about ingredients and the proportions thereof, while Dad and Jim were chopping vegetables on either side of the counter next to them, ignoring the comments about how much to prepare as they discussed baseball versus basketball versus football.

Everyone was talking at once, often over each other, interrupting, insulting, and correcting at will. The atmosphere was raucous, rowdy, and rude, and Charlie couldn't imagine any place better to be. At least, that is if he was going to be by himself, on the outside looking in yet again.

As if summoned by his thoughts, Ian came in through the door next to where Charlie stood, probably from briefing the agents who had arrived to relieve David and Colby, if his serious expression was anything to go by. When he caught sight of Charlie, though, his face lit up in a way that made Charlie's heart suddenly swoop up to his throat, then down to his stomach to become butterflies. Aware that he had lit up as well, and profoundly glad for it, Charlie beamed at him in welcome, hitching to one side to invite him to join him.

Ian did, copying Charlie's stance and taking his own turn at studying the small crowd in the kitchen. "Looks more like a party than an interagency taskforce to bring down a rich, powerful man."

"I think we need to blame Blair for that," Charlie said, pleased at the observation. "Even in mourning he brings so much joy to living that it's practically contagious. I don't think I've seen my dad so happy since Mom's passing. Not that he's exactly dour by nature, but there's been this underlying sadness from missing her."

Thoughtfully, Ian said, "It must have been so hard for him for him to hold back from Blair, waiting until he'd grieved so that there was no question Alan wasn't trying to take Naomi's place. Waiting for you and Don to adjust to having a half-brother, one who is a genius in his own right. We all know how much you like change, and Don, well, he's not much better at that, in my opinion."

Jerking his head around as Ian spoke, Charlie gaped at him, hardly able to believe his ears.

Taking his silence for granted, Ian went on. "Going to Jim and Blair when you were hurt was the smartest thing you could have done, and not just because they knew how to take care of you. You became the force that pulled your family together."

For a few seconds Charlie couldn't think of a single thing to say, then he blurted, "It's official. I'm in love with you. Completely. Without reservation."

Turning to him slowly, eyes going dark and mysterious, Ian cupped Charlie's face in his palm. "Thank you."

Eyelids dropping to half-mast, Charlie leaned into the touch, stomach quivering again. "I... I'm used to being the passive partner in a relationship. Not necessarily the bottom, if I understand what Blair meant by that when he was answering my questions, but what little experience I have is based on providing what was asked of me."

Inhaling sharply, Ian coaxed Charlie into moving toward him, automatically laying aside the pack. "I'm not looking for details, but will you tell me how little is little?"

The question should have been embarrassing, but Charlie had no trouble being honest as he drifted closer. "I've never, ah, experienced full penetration. Frottage, mostly, or mutual masturbation. My first lover was extremely worried about becoming pregnant, and usually preferred that I satisfy her orally while taking care of myself. You already know how things stood with Amita."

"Pretty selfish of her, of them," Ian muttered, fingers tunneling into Charlie's curls, gently petting. He guided Charlie into facing him and added, "Lucky for me."

"You like being my teacher for this?" Charlie didn't really care about the answer. What he wanted was to wrap himself around Ian, who was proving to be frustratingly elusive, always a millimeter or so beyond reach.

Bumping his hard-on against him fleetingly, Ian said, "It makes me so damned hot that there's a very real possibility that you're going to get ravished, here."

With an all-over shiver, Charlie admitted, "I'd love that. You don't mind being the aggressor?"

"Did Blair mention a thing called 'topping from the bottom?' It's not a kink for me, exactly, but it's definitely one of my favorite things."

"Oh." Charlie swallowed hard, eyes screwed shut. "You want me to... I mean, take... Oh!"

"Don't do that," Ian murmured. "Don't make that noise, the one that's half surprise, half delight, and all pleasure. God, what it does to me."

"Does it make you feel like whimpering or maybe exploding? That's what you're doing to me. I don't even know what to ask for except to let me be as close to you as possible as soon as possible."

"Charlie." Ian pulled him into his arms and shut a door behind them.

Only then did Charlie realize that he had maneuvered them in tiny increments out of the kitchen and down the hallway to the small servant's bedroom where Ian had been sleeping. He had been so involved in the conversation, in the promise of Ian's nearness that he hadn't noticed that they were moving. Oddly, that was incredibly exciting, and Charlie couldn't stop the soft cry that puffed out of him.

"Charlie!" Ian claimed his lips possessively, demandingly.

Opening to him without hesitation, Charlie trembled as Ian's taste and urgency took him over. Fingers clinging to the waistband of Ian's slacks, he lost himself in the intensity of the caress, only vaguely aware that he was being undressed. It took the full heat of Ian's satin skin against his own to penetrate his erotic daze, forcing him to pull back enough to take a deep breath.

"You surrender so sweetly," Ian whispered as he turned Charlie around, crossing his arms over Charlie's chest to hold him tight. "Wholly, holding nothing back." He rubbed his erection along Charlie's cleft, winning a low moan and shift of position from Charlie, as if to take Ian in right then and there, without even the preliminaries. "You'll let me do anything, won't you? You want me to do everything, don't you?"

From somewhere Charlie dredged up the words he sensed Ian needed to hear. "Yes. Treat me like I was made of glass or use me like an old whore, I don't care, as long as you do me, take pleasure from me."

"Whatever I want?" Ian murmured into the hollow behind Charlie's ear, sending the most amazing sensation coursing through him.

"As long as you want, whenever you want." Without Ian's support, Charlie wouldn't have been able to stand, he shook so hard with need. Huge knots twisted in his middle at his confession, and his mind was filled with fleeting images of what could happen, of what Ian might want. Wanton, filthy words quivered on the edges of his lips, and for a second he thought he might die of the immensity of the yearning and hunger expanding so dangerously inside him.

Rocking his hips against Charlie's backside, Ian sighed. "You're making me crazy, here; stirring up things I'd forgotten I once longed for. Someday, when you've got a better idea of that, I'm going to push you to see how far you will go, and let you take me along with you."

"Now. Now's good," Charlie panted. He strained back against the cock teasing him. "Or do you need to hear me beg? Please, Ian. Please come in me, on me, mouth, ass, fill me, hurt me if you have to, but don't leave us at the edge like this anymore."

With a groan Ian shuffled them over to the bed. "This is going to be too quick, again, damnit, but next time, I swear I'm going to love you unconscious. Hear me, love? Don't hold back because there will always be more, I promise."

He took a step away, leaving a hand in the small of Charlie's back. "That talk with Blair... did he explain the basics to you?"

"Lube is our friend," Charlie muttered, turning to reach for him. "And stretching is good, too."

Ian stopped him with a gesture. "Charlie, I've only had one serious relationship in my life, and he died a long time ago. I haven't taken it up the ass since then, except for the occasional toy in casual encounters. So you don't have to go too slow or be careful to the point of paranoia, but let me direct the pace at first, okay?"

"I think I'm going to lose it the minute you bend over for me."

"Then I'll give you a chance to catch your breath, and we'll start all over again."

"Oh, god." Charlie shut his eyes hoping to regain a modicum of composure, but when he opened them again, Ian was on all fours on the bed in front of him, backside up for Charlie's inspection. Timidly, he touched one rounded globe of Ian's bottom, marveling at the downy covering over hard muscle, then trailed a thumb into the center of the dark line dividing the cheeks.

A tube of KY appeared in his field of vision, and he absent-mindedly took it, opening it with one hand while exploring the delicate folds of Ian's opening and the slope below it that swelled into his balls. "Beautiful. So beautiful."

"Give me a finger," Ian ordered quietly, and Charlie obeyed without thinking.

"My, god," Charlie breathed at the buttery soft clasp of Ian's inner tissues. "Ian...."

In a breathy, but still commanding voice, Ian said, "Feels good; I'd forgotten how good. Slick me up, now, Love, before I forget my common sense. Ah! Yeah... Okay, okay, now, yourself. Damn... another thing to put on my to-do list. Watch you get yourself off."

The act of stroking himself was familiar enough, lube or not, that Charlie had hardly noticed that he'd done as told. All of his attention was focused on the place where his finger pumped in and out of Ian. To be that intimate with him, to have him welcome it, no, require it - it undid something in Charlie that he had never suspected was there. Desperately needing - what, he had no idea, but guessed he would understand very soon - he smoothed both palms over the cheeks of Ian's ass, spread them, and put the crown of his cock at the entrance to his body.

"Love you, love you," he said thickly, and slid in, barely moving and savoring the astonishing rush of pleasure of becoming one with his mate. Instinct took over entirely, for the first time in his life, and he pumped gingerly, using Ian's quiet moans as a guideline to how fast and how hard. The blast of sensation built until he was almost frightened of the power behind it, but there was no stopping, nothing to do but give Ian what he wanted most.

Eyes rolling up into the back of his head, Charlie yielded to ecstasy and came, too caught up in the surge of feeling rocketing through him to so much as whimper. When the last of his seed dribbled out, he dropped to cover Ian's back, panting harshly as the tight channel possessing him milked him eagerly. Under him, Ian shook hard through his own finish, softly murmuring Charlie's name over and over, and pulling yet another swell of pleasure from him.

Charlie recovered enough that when Ian's arms gave out, he was able to ease him down, turning them both as they went so that he could remain spooned up behind him. Idly petting and stroking wherever he could reach, he kissed Ian's shoulders and nape, surprised when his dick tried to harden again. It was easy to lose track of how long they lay there snuggling, an easy silence cradling them, and he would have been content to stay just as they were until they were both ready for another round. Or twelve.

Finally Ian asked quietly, "Was it worth the wait?"

Chuckling, Charlie hugged him. "If I had known you were out there, I would have looked a lot harder, and been willing to wait much longer than you made me. Thank you."

Ian went very still, then rolled until they were nose-to-nose. "I meant having sex."

Understanding dawned, and Charlie kissed him, putting all his heart into it. When he broke away, he said very seriously, "While I certainly have more compassion for people who seem to spend all their time trying to get laid, it wasn't the act that captivated me. It was you. The connection I felt, the sense of rightness, wonder of being able to give you so much pleasure - I love you, Ian, and making love to you was more perfect than I could have ever imagined."

"Damn," Ian said, a broad grin breaking out. "It's official. I'm not just in love with you, Dr. Charles Eppes, I'm completely besotted, obsessed, infatuated, and enthralled. And much as I'd love to demonstrate that, my guess is that we're about to get a very discreet knock on the door to call us to dinner. Unless you want Jim and Blair to turn tables on you for the hazing earlier, I'd recommend we get tidied up and beat them to the knock."

"I think Blair liked the kidding," Charlie said, sitting up despite his words. "Maybe because...."

A sharp, penetrating beep interrupted him, and he tensed, recognizing the intruder alarm Ian had rigged to ring when anyone came up the driveway to the house.

Without so much as a blink, Ian was up and dressing at warp speed, weapon close at hand. Not waiting to be told, Charlie quickly pulled on his clothes as well, and, at Ian's gesture, went into the closet, through the concealed door to the panic room on the other side. Ian spared a single moment to touch Charlie's hair and smile at him reassuringly, then locked him in. Familiar with the eight by eight foot space from his stay there earlier in the day, Charlie sat at the small metal desk, the only other furniture in the room besides a cot, and brought up the security cameras on the computer to see who had arrived.

He caught a glimpse of Megan shutting Alan and Larry in one of the other panic rooms, then she was at the top of the stairs, weapon at the ready. David and Colby were on either side of the door, and Jim was in the command center, manning the screens there, with Blair at his side. Ian, he knew, would be upstairs, on the roof or in the trees, waiting for a 'go' sign from Don.

It was a measure of how suspicious they all were that none of them were particularly relieved to see the Assistant Director of the FBI waiting on the other side when Don opened the door. He greeted him cordially enough, delaying stepping back out of the way to give everyone a chance to discreetly holster their pieces. Apparently the AD returned the welcome with a good deal less graciousness, if his curt gestures and disapproving expression was anything to go by. It worried Charlie when Don stiffened, his face taking on a bland, reveal nothing look. Another man followed the AD in, giving Charlie the impression he was a toady because of how he clung to the AD's shadow.

At a barked order that Charlie would have loved to have heard, the AD put everyone into motion, Don leading the way to command room. A moment after that, Don's team was all in one room, and Don spoke into the radio, apparently to summon Ian. Jim slowly stood, oh-so-casually drifting back to a wall, Blair at his side. That, more than anything, told Charlie that whatever was going on, it wasn't good, and he studied the aide as he left the view of the camera.

For that reason when a knock sounded on his door a few minutes later, he didn't respond. An unknown man said sharply, "Dr. Eppes, I know you're in there. Please let me in."

"Not until I get an all-clear from one of the people on Agent Eppes' team," Charlie called through the door, pleased he sounded calm and determined.

"Dr. Eppes...."

"Get Don or one of the others."

He refused to answer again, and went back to watching the security monitors. The AD's aide came back into view, obviously annoyed, and Charlie spotted several visual signs of approval for him, aimed toward the hidden cameras. After several minutes of long, intense conversation that bounced back and forth between Don, Megan, the AD and his man, Ian ghosted into the room, took an order from Don, and left again. Megan left as well, heading back to the stairway.

When Ian knocked, Charlie let him in, closed the door and kissed him soundly. "Are we being too paranoid? That is Don's boss."

"No, he's demanding that everyone be present and accounted for without telling us why." Ian fingered one of Charlie's curls, his lips softening into an almost smile. "Something's definitely up, but he hasn't asked us to disarm, and he's by himself, except for the one man. Whatever it is, he's not expecting resistance or he's got an ace in the hole to keep us under control."

"In that case, let's not keep him waiting."

Charlie followed Ian down the hallway, past the kitchen and to the command center, arriving just as Megan brought in Alan and Larry. With a careful touch to Ian that he was sure no one would see, Charlie went to stand with his dad, who had found a place near the wall, close to Blair.

"This is everyone involved in your case against Tuttle?" the assistant director snapped.

"Yes, sir, except for Singerstom and Jenkins, who're still outside patrolling, but we only brought them on this morning." Don had never sounded so impassively professional, in Charlie's opinion.

"And you can account for their whereabouts for the last six hours?"

"Yes, sir. For safety purposes, we've been pairing up for most tasks."

"And of course we only have your word and theirs to substantiate this," the AD's aide put in nastily.

"No, sir," Don denied. "We have video surveillance on all possible exits and entrances to the grounds, and all the main rooms on this floor. Time stamped, sealed files. It might take some time, but you can probably get a confirmation on the location of any individual or group of individuals at any given minute."

Surprisingly, the AD relaxed fractionally at that, though his aide looked as if he'd bitten into something exceedingly bitter. "Agent Eppes, your suspect, Richard Tuttle, was shot to death on the front steps of his home a little over four hours ago."

Rubbing his hand over his head, Don muttered, "Whoa," effectively expressing the reaction of nearly everyone in the room. To his credit, he didn't so much as glance at Ian, though Charlie was willing to bet he wasn't the only one who wanted to sneak a peek. "I take it we're suspects."

"Your case against him is circumstantial, to say the least," the aide started.

"Good enough to get a few search warrants from Judge Hartnell," Megan said mildly. "We don't have a reason to jump to drastic measures."

"Is there any direct evidence to link us to the murder?" Don asked, tone more curious than worried.

"Other than the shot itself, no," the AD admitted, and he did look at Ian, who, to Charlie's amusement, raised an eyebrow at him. "Distance had to be extreme since the man deliberately built his house far enough from public access that he didn't have to worry about a pot shot while he climbed into his bullet proof limo."

"And we knew he was home because...." Don let the dangling word finish his question for him.

The AD flushed, slightly, attitude suddenly becoming belligerent. He opened his mouth to speak, but Blair spoke first. "If I were you, I'd have an M.E. from another agency, maybe the local police, sit in on the FBI's autopsy, to assure outsiders that no conspiracy is in place. I'll give you long odds that both coroners will agree that it wasn't a sniper's shot that took Tuttle down."

Ignoring the shocked looks sent his way, Blair stepped forward slightly, but not beyond Jim's reach, Charlie noticed. "My guess is that one of Tuttle's bodyguards did it, and the others are covering for him. When you do question them, be sure to look for the connection to who will inherit from Tuttle. That's also where you're most likely find Tuttle's link to the New Brotherhood."

"You figured it out, didn't you, Chief?" Jim said quietly.

"Yeah, Tuttle's assassination was the last twist of the camera lens needed to bring it into focus for me." Blair retreated back to his partner's side. "Tuttle wanted to be a king maker. He had to have a candidate in mind, as it's not likely he intended to run for office himself. Once Charlie debunked his election scam, I'm guessing his candidate fell back on older, tried and true methods."

"Hitler," Alan said suddenly, then looked around, abashed at his outburst. "The New Brotherhood as shock troops, creating a crime wave against minorities, blamed on disenfranchised young men. I mean, look at what Megan's profile turned up. They're all photogenic, well-mannered, have good family backgrounds, good character references until they left high school, and then couldn't find a place for themselves in the world. Not enough money or good enough grades for college, or even trade school, they have every reason in the world to rebel against the system."

Clearly thinking it through himself, Don said, "You build up a threat, a very realistic one, get it well publicized by fighting the hate crimes statutes, spread it to other major cities, let the copy-cats do their thing...."

"Then bring in a charismatic leader who stops the attacks, rehabilitates the Brotherhood, making himself sympathetic to the voters on both sides of the political divide," Megan put in.

"But Tuttle muddied the waters with a personal vendetta, drawing the wrong kind of attention to him and the Brotherhood," Don said, taking up the thread of logic again, earning a hidden grin from Charlie. "If you're being groomed for the presidency, Tuttle wouldn't settle for anything less, you've asked for and gotten some promises along the way, including access to the money flow, just in case."

"Like always," Blair said, "Follow the money. You'll find the man working with both Tuttle and the New Brotherhood."

The AD had been nodding, following their argument and seemingly even agreeing with it, but his aide butted in. "Nice story, Eppes. And if we take in all your electronic equipment and look for meddling, what will we find? After all, your brother isn't the only expert on the planet. We'll be able to find your tampering."

"If you don't believe us," Jim said, startling the aide, "Why not ask the federal marshals who've had the place under surveillance for the past couple of days?" At the various looks of shock and worry, he added, "This is Gustav Alconte's property, after all. He's still a fugitive and a person of interest in more than a few federal cases. I'm sure the marshals have always kept a casual eye on the place, then stepped it up when the building showed signs of occupancy. Alconte enjoys aggravating the authorities by loaning the place out periodically, and they've got practice in covering all the exits from the house and the grounds."

"U.S. Marshals?" the aide said weakly, and Charlie started to wonder why the man was so fixated on blaming Don's team for Tuttle's death.

Moving to a window, Jim pointed south. "Blue van, painted with the logo for a grounds keeping company." He shifted, pointed straight out. "Telephone truck, three blocks that way. My guess is that they have no idea who is in here, otherwise they would have been in your office before now demanding to know why the FBI was interfering with their op."

Literally snarling, the aide moved away, taking out his cell phone. The Assistant Director stared after him thoughtfully, but shook his head at Don when he started to speak. "I've got the sense to clean my own house," he said quietly. "In the meantime, you might want to give the murder investigation a few days to clear up any loose threads before resuming your normal duties in your own offices."

"You're giving us time off?" Don asked with just enough cheekiness to win him a glare.

Regardless, the AD said, "With pay, no less. Enjoy it, Special Agent Eppes. I'm sure there'll be a few very nasty cases waiting for you when you get back."

With mild resignation, Don said, "There always is."

The AD turned to leave, Don in his wake, and Charlie threaded his way through the milling group to join Ian. "You think that's really the end of it?"

"If they find and arrest that connection, yeah, I think so," Ian said, draping an arm over Charlie's shoulders. The gesture probably looked big-brotherly to any outsider watching, but it felt wonderful to Charlie, reminding him of how hastily they'd parted such a short time ago.

"Maybe the thing to do right now is leave town," Blair said, coming up behind them. He wound his around Jim's waist. "Jim and I are heading to a beach. Why don't you come with us? We'll stay at a place with bungalows so we can have privacy, or company as the mood suits."

"Beach?" Megan said, sitting on the edge of a table near them. "That sounds wonderful! Hawaii? California?"

"I'm partial to the Keys, myself," Larry put in.

Obviously overhearing him, Colby stopped on his way toward the kitchen. "Oh, yeah, there's some great places down there, and this time of the year's not too busy."

"Sounds good to me," David said. "We should probably drive, though. Harder to find us, if the wrong people are looking."

"With this herd?" Alan said. "Hiding those tracks should tax even these two." He waved in the general direction of Jim and Ian, only to freeze in place. "What?"

Charlie burst out laughing when he looked over at Blair and his partner. Blair was huddled against Jim's chest, muffling laughter, while Jim stared down at the top of his head, a peculiar look in place. Weirdly, he said, "I'm not going to get to go surfing, am I, Chief?"

For whatever reason, Blair lost it at that, and sat down hard on the floor at Jim's feet. Shrugging, Jim sat down with him and said to the room in general, "Mind if I call my brother, Stephen? We may as well make a party of it."

Charlie caught Don's eye as he came back into the room, obviously aware of the topic of conversation. At the amusement and happiness in his brother's eyes, Charlie said, "That's a great idea." Leaning into Ian's side, he studied the people around him, all family in one way or another, feeling a quiet joy that came from knowing who you were and being accepted for it. "We wouldn't want to leave one of our brothers behind."


finis