"What time is it?"

"Five minutes later than the last time you asked."

"If we don't leave soon, we're not going to..."

"Jim. Take a chill pill, man. We'll get there in time."

Blair never once looked up from editing what Jim thought might be the final draft of his dissertation, appearing perfectly comfortable in the cramped airplane seat. The seat in a plane which should have been on its way to Detroit, but which instead sat on the ground at the gate in Cascade Airport, waiting for an early-morning storm to pass so it could take off. Jim squirmed in his too-narrow aisle seat, trying again without success to get comfortable, his long legs already beginning to ache.

"I hate this."

Sighing, Blair finally looked up. "I know, Jim. I'm uncomfortable too, you know. But there's nothing we can do about it at all, so we might as well calm down and deal."

Jim gave Blair a sour look. "When did you become such a zen master?" he asked.

"Having to deal with you," Blair replied without rancor, then paused, visibly thinking. "And Stacey. Having to deal with both of you. Simon too."

"Anyone else not perfect around you?" Jim asked sarcastically. "And as I recall, you were the one that flew cross-country with Stacey to Portland all those years ago."

"Why, yes, that's right, Jim," Blair said with exaggerated patience. "As I recall, it was mainly because you were unable to get the time off and, as I further recall, you paid for both our tickets, and--"

"And now we're both flying to her wedding," Jim interrupted, blinking. "Sandburg, this is weird."

Blair chuckled. "No, it's not. Just wait until the rehearsal. That will be weird."

"Yeah, yeah," Jim said, fidgeting some more. After a moment, he asked, "What time is it?"

Blair just glared at him and went back to his reading.

Shortly, another announcement from the pilot -- the storm was easing and they should be taking off within fifteen minutes -- brought a general shuffle among the passengers as everyone shifted in their seats. A vaguely familiar voice murmuring behind him made Jim turn in his seat -- and he froze. "Good God," he breathed.

Blair looked up from his editing at that. "What?"

"You will never in a million years guess who's on this plane with us."

Grinning slightly, Blair guessed. "Clinton? No, Monica. Um, what's-her-name, from the talk show?"

Jim rolled his eyes. "No, Regis. It's that bitch. The Fed. You remember."

"Jim," Blair sighed, "every female Fed you've met has been a bitch. At least at first."

"No, no," Jim said, frustrated. "The one that messed with Stacey, that was looking for that microfiche thing of her parents. What was her name, Mulligan?"

Blair blinked, then quickly twisted in his seat. Jim looked again too, and saw the woman in question still having a heated conversation with a flight attendant -- something about making a meeting on time. "Wow. You're right, I don't believe it. Was it Saunders?"

"Sullivan," Jim said abruptly. "Connie or Karen or something like that. Sullivan. I hated her."

"I thought she got canned after what she tried to pull?" Blair said quietly. "Wasn't she? What's she arguing with the stewardess about?"

"She's being her usual gracious self and demanding the plane take off immediately," Jim said dryly. "Something about a business meeting she has to be at... so I guess she didn't get canned. This is one time I hope she gets her way. We're going to miss the rehearsal at this rate."

Blair sighed the sigh of the long-suffering. "Jim, the rehearsal is tomorrow. We're not going to miss it, all right? And the wedding isn't until Saturday. There is plenty of time."

"Sandburg," Jim said in the tone of the long-aggrieved, matching him emphasis for emphasis, "you know that anything that can go wrong will go wrong here. And this is Michigan we're talking about, and it's winter."

They continued to snipe at each other half-heartedly while the plane finally lifted off and headed east. It beat watching the movie (some awful thing about auto racing) or trying to eat the food, which not even Jim could identify with any certainty. It was a three-and-a-half-hour flight to Detroit Metro, and even though their plane was as big as the last one they had been on, it was jammed with holiday travelers which made it worse. Jim reflected sourly on the greediness of airlines -- which could be the only reason why they tried to cram six seats in a row clearly designed for four.

He closed his eyes and tried to fall into a doze, but found himself instead remembering Stacey -- remembering the original case, thanks to the presence of Sullivan, and remembering how Stacey managed to burrow in and grow roots in their lives.

EARLY JUNE, 1997

It was late, though the sky was refusing to turn dark, and Jim Ellison sat on his sofa, nearly zoned on the baseball game playing quietly on the TV before him. A half-finished bottle of beer was on the coffee table, sitting there for so long it had gotten warm.

A thump in the hallway outside the door to the loft brought him back to life with a jerk, and his head whipped around. Abruptly he was off the sofa, and in two long strides was at the door, yanking it open. "Chief!"

Blair Sandburg tumbled into the room, backpack first, duffel bag last, and grinned wearily at him. "Hey, Jim."

"Why didn't you call? I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow!" Jim grabbed the duffel and followed his roommate into his tiny bedroom.

"Got an earlier flight on standby," Blair explained, tossing his backpack on the bed. "Stace didn't need me there any more, and I got homesick." He took the duffel from Jim and, after opening the ties, upended it on his bed. The cascade of dirty clothes made Jim take a half step back and wrinkle his nose.

"How's Stacey settling in?" he asked, leaning on the doorframe to Blair's room.

"Great," Blair replied, quickly sorting. "I don't know where they dug her up, but the woman who's her host is fantastic. Name's Marian Fischer Rowe, 'of the Pahtland Fishchaahhs, doncha know'," Blair drawled in a nasal New England accent, shooting Jim a grin. "She's a widow with this huge old house. She took Stacey under her wing like a mama duck, and within a day our girl was calling her Aunt Marian. I made sure she was settled at the school, then decided I was a third wheel so I came home."

Jim frowned slightly. "What does the school look like? It came highly recommended..."

"I could see why, too," Blair said seriously. He finished his sorting, resulting in two medium piles, and sat on the bed between them to remove his shoes. "The academic side is outstanding. They go pretty much all year 'round -- and Stacey will not only have some of the best teachers and courses on the east coast, but she'll also have therapists and rehab physicians to keep tabs on her. Not to mention Marian. You'd like her, Jim. She's at least as anal as you are."

Eyes narrowing, Jim nonetheless let that pass. "I'd still like to keep an eye on her," he said, "make sure she's doing okay."

Blair froze in the act of removing his socks, then shot Jim a slightly guilty look. Jim sighed and rolled his eyes. "Okay, what?" he asked, resigned to the worst.

"Well, you know," Blair said, carefully not looking at Jim, "we're really the closest thing she's got to relatives now. I, uh, I kinda told her to feel free to call any time. Or email, or, well, you know, and any time she wanted to come out, like on breaks..."

Apparently Jim wasn't reacting to that revelation quite as Blair expected, and Blair's eyes widened as Jim nodded in agreement and spoke. "Yeah, I already told her she could call any time... I should send her a phone card, and I need make sure she's got my pager number -- she's already got my cell phone number, I gave it to her before she left," he mused. "Make sure she can reach me -- well, us -- any time she may need to. When's her first break?" he added, and Blair's face blossomed into a smile.

"Man, I was right. You're such a softie," he said, then laughed at Jim's mock scowl. "She gets a break a couple of weeks before Christmas, which lasts until two weeks after. You want to have her come out for the whole time?"

Jim thought about it. "Yeah," he finally said, slowly. "Yeah. Why not. I've got the time off, we can have a big ol' fashioned Christmas."

"And Chanukah too," Blair added, his eyes dancing. "Although Stacey's Jewishness is more like mine -- good in theory, not in practice. And she completely missed her bat mitzvah, too," he finished, somewhat sadly.

"We'll make it up to her, Chief," Jim said, beginning to get into the whole idea of having a kid in the loft for Christmas. "This'll be a great holiday."

All the sodas -- taken in desperation against the usual dryness of airplane air -- finally took their toll about three-quarters of the way through the flight, and Jim had to use the lavatory. Of course the one up front was for first class, so he found himself staggering against the bumps to the rear of the plane. The door to the tiny room opened as he approached, and he suddenly found himself face-to-face with Agent Sullivan, who did a classic double-take when she saw him.

"Detective, uh, El, uh, Ellman?" she said, blinking.

"Ellison," he corrected her sourly. "Agent Sullivan, right?"

With that irritating smirk-smile Jim remembered so well, she nodded. "How -- lovely to see you again. Going to Detroit?"

"That is where the plane is heading," he agreed, pushing past her, something difficult to do considering she tightly clutched a large shoulder bag-briefcase to her side. "You'll excuse me," he added, firmly shutting the door behind him.

When he returned to the seat, Blair gave him the old lifted-eyebrow look. "What?"

"What did you say to Sullivan?" Blair asked, mirth dancing in his eyes. "She walked down here just after you got up and started making rude comments about my 'gracious partner.'"

Rolling his eyes, Jim shifted, trying to get comfortable. "Talk about gracious. The woman could give Leona Helmsley a run for her money."

"Yeah, and you're Miss Manners," Blair laughed. "She wanted to know why we're going to Detroit, if it was on business."

"What did you tell her?"

"That we were going to a wedding, what else? What, you wanted me to lie to her?"

"No," Jim said, frowning. "I just don't like her."

Now it was Blair's turn to roll his eyes. "Yeah, well, news flash: she doesn't like you either. So you're even. Don't worry about it, man. Think about the wedding."

"Oh, like that's going to calm me down," Jim grumbled, but he made sure Blair saw the smile he was not trying too hard to suppress.

The flight became increasingly bumpy the closer they got to Detroit, and the pilot finally lit the 'fasten seatbelts' sign, explaining that they were over some rather significant weather. One look from Blair pushed the comment he was about to make back in Jim's throat, and he settled for listening to the air traffic over the radio from the cockpit, nearly zoning on the constant drone of voices.

A sudden increase in their volume and frequency made him frown, then catching the words "Detroit Metro" made him sit up straight. "What is it?" Blair murmured, looking at him curiously.

He held his hand up and focused on the cockpit. "Something about an emergency at Detroit," he whispered to Blair, cognizant of their surroundings. "Something's going on."

"Can you figure out what it is?" Blair subvocalized.

"Hang on," Jim replied, concentrating. He felt Blair touch his arm -- grounding him -- and smiled, covering that sturdy hand with his own. "Reroute?" he whispered, frowning. "They're going to reroute us? Something's happened at Detroit airport. Oh, shit, they're going to make us land at Chicago. Blair..."

"Chicago?" Blair hissed, glancing around with a frown. "You sure?"

"Yeah," Jim murmured, leaning down to Blair's ear. "I heard some kind of emergency, and a snowstorm, and Detroit's been closed down. We're going to turn around and land at O'Hare. Shit, Chief, we're never gonna get there!"

"Hold on, hold on -- where'd you put that atlas?" Blair demanded, scrunching himself down to yank his backpack out from under the seat in front of him.

"It's in your backpack," Jim answered. "Why?"

"Let me see first. Keep listening," Blair replied quietly, pulling out the large Triple-A atlas Jim insisted on packing. "Man, am I glad you're anal," he muttered, thumbing it open to the Michigan page.

Jim gave him a sour look that was wasted, and turned his attention back to the radio, listening for more answers. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Blair flipping pages, then watched with a frown as he pulled out a credit card and inserted it into the GTE AirFone. "Sandburg, do you have any idea how expensive that is?" he growled, still keeping half an ear on the radio.

"Don't worry about it, it's your card," Blair replied cheekily. "Look. We can rent a four-wheel-drive at O'Hare and drive to Brighton. The map's got it being only a three- or four-hour trip, in good weather -- well, maybe less considering how you drive."

"Ha, ha."

"We can call Stacey and have her meet us somewhere and guide us in. We can be there by dinner time. Well, late dinner time. But before midnight, surely."

"Shh..." Jim suddenly heard something and held up his hand. Blair pulled the phone out, consulted the back of the atlas, and began dialing. After a bit, Jim shook his head and looked over at his partner.

Blair switched the phone to his other ear. "I'm on hold," he muttered.

"It was an accident," Jim murmured, again leaning into his ear. "A plane skidded off the one runway they've got open in the snowstorm, and it's blocking the way. Doesn't look good for several hours, at least. Maybe not until tomorrow."

Wincing, Blair said, "Anybody hurt?"

"I don't think so," Jim answered, but then Blair suddenly started speaking into the phone. The pilot also came on the PA, and Blair put one finger in his ear in order to hear better.

The announcement of rerouting was met with a loud groan from the passengers. The pilot was apologetic, but tried to put the best face on things, explaining that there would be agents at the gate to help the passengers figure out alternative arrangements.

Blair hung up to hear the last of it; he was grinning and gave Jim a thumbs up. "Okay, here's the deal," he said, quietly. "Alamo's got SUVs, and I've got one reserved for us. But there's only a few of them left, and we've --"

"What kind?" Jim interrupted him abruptly.

"Huh?"

"What kind of SUV?" Jim repeated, insistently.

"Jim, what does it matter what--"

"Sandburg...!"

"Okay, okay! They're Jeep Cherokees, all right? Does that meet with the Alpha Male's approval?"

Nodding thoughtfully, Jim said, "Okay. Yeah, I can deal with that."

"God!" Blair crammed the atlas back into his backpack, then proceeded to stuff his dissertation in as well. "There are times, Ellison... anyway. Here's the plan. I'm smaller and faster than you. Switch places with me, and as soon as we land, I'm out the door. You grab our carry-ons, meet with whoever the airline wants us to meet with, then meet me at the Alamo counter -- it's by the baggage claim. I'll do an OJ through the airport and get our vehicle. Got it?"

Jim blinked. "What is this, the battle of Anzio?"

"Every man for himself, Ellison," Blair replied. "In a snowstorm especially. They can't hold it forever, and won't, in fact. I know approximately where their counter is, so you meet me there."

"All right, General Patton, but we'd better switch seats now. We're going to be on the ground in a half hour."

"At least we were close to O'Hare," Blair said, scrambling around to switch places. "Could have been worse... this could have happened an hour ago. We might have been circling for hours."

Jim had to hand it to Blair, the little guy sure knew how to move in a crowd. No sooner had the 'fasten seatbelts' sign gone off than Blair was on his feet and down the aisle, out of sight. Taking his time and letting other passengers off first, Jim stood, stretched, grabbed Blair's backpack and his gym bag and made his way down the ramp. It wasn't snowing in Chicago, but the sky was leaden and it was cold.

The terminal was a madhouse. The airline had stationed a good dozen representatives at the gate, but the plane had been packed with people heading east for the holidays, and they were not in a good mood. Jim stayed only long enough to confirm that his tickets would still be good for the return trip, informed them he'd be driving to Michigan from Chicago and didn't need a hotel room, then fought his way through the crowds to the baggage claim area and the rental cars.

One over -- or rather, under -- dressed young woman bumped into him and kept moving without saying anything. Jim blinked; for a moment, he had a flash of deja vu. The girl had long brown hair and a heart-shaped face, and her dreadful taste in clothing was vaguely familiar...

CHRISTMAS, 1997

"I HATE YOU!" Stacey shrieked, then slammed the French doors so hard the glass rattled in the frames. Blair closed the front door behind him and put his keys in the basket, then looked at Jim, who stood in the middle of the loft, his face pale and twisted.

"What the hell was that?" he asked quietly, walking to stand next to Jim, rubbing his arm gently.

Jim turned anguished eyes on his partner. "I told her she couldn't go out," he said softly. "She was dressed like a hooker, Chief! Practically naked, and it's freezing out there!"

"Was she going to meet friends or something?" Blair asked, frowning as he shrugged off his coat.

"No, that's the worst thing. She said she was just 'going out.' I think she was going clubbing. Chief, I'm no good at this fathering business... I know she's old enough to drink but..."

"Jim," Blair interrupted, his voice equally soft, "you don't have to be good at 'fathering'... remember what her counselor told us before she came out? We're not her fathers -- if anything, we're more like big brothers to her -- but right now, an authority figure or two is what she needs. Stacey has the body of a twenty-one year old but the mind and temperament of a -- well, maybe a fifteen- or sixteen-year-old. In short, she's a teenager. She doesn't have a clue how to handle drinking yet, she's had zip experience."

"Do you think I did the right thing, then?" Jim asked, swallowing, and Blair's heart ached to see the pain in those pale blue eyes.

"Yes," he said firmly. "I think you did. And you have to remember, she didn't really mean that. It's her hormones talking." Straightening his shoulders, Blair glared at the doors to his room. "And I think those hormones need a spanking. Let me have a go at her." Jim nodded gratefully.

"Okay. Thanks, Chief. I'll go start dinner."

"Have a beer, calm down," Blair suggested, mentally girding his loins. Taking a deep breath, he strode to the French doors and raised his fist to knock... but a slight gust of cold air made his eyes widen and his mouth firm into a straight line. Without bothering to knock, he threw open the doors and caught Stacey in the middle of making her escape out the fire door. "Where the hell do you think you're going?" he barked harshly.

She turned defiant, over-made-up eyes to him. "I'm an adult... as you two keep reminding me. You can't make me stay!" she yelled, then turned to go.

"No, we can't, but you've forgotten some stuff," Blair spat out, dismayed it had come to this. From the moment he had seen Stacey leave the plane at the airport, he was afraid of this confrontation. Simon had warned them about teenagers, but this...

She paused at his words, and he continued. "Something like your suitcases? Not to mention the rest of your clothes?" When she turned back to him, shocked, he added, "Fine. You're right, you're an adult. Go ahead. But don't expect to come back. Ever."

Stacey's eyes widened and her face -- beneath the makeup -- paled. "You're... you're bluffing. You wouldn't do that."

"Want to try me?" Blair said firmly, crossing his arms and raising his eyebrow. "You said it yourself... you're an adult, you don't need us. And you just terribly hurt the man who cares more for you than almost anyone on the planet. The man who's shown you nothing but love and care. Why should I be nice to you?" Stacey winced slightly as Blair's words hit home, and he mentally high-fived himself. "So either come in or leave forever... but either way, close the damn door. It's cold outside."

Her face twisting with effort to hold back tears, she slowly closed the door. She leaned on it, turning away from him, then abruptly ripped off her light coat and threw it on the floor.

"Oh, very adult," Blair said dryly.

"I just wanted to go out!" Stacey said loudly, her voice millimeters away from a whine. "It's not fair... I am an adult! I can go wherever I want, do whatever I want. But Jim still treats me... treats me... like a..."

"Like a somewhat spoiled, overindulged and petty teenager?" Blair finished her sentence for her, and she glared at him. Despite her best efforts, tears were beginning to fall, smearing her mascara and making her look like a raccoon. He held in his smile, knowing it would only make things worse. "Look, Stacey, your body may be twenty-one, but your mind... your mind is still young, still growing up. You've improved, you're no longer a twelve year old, but you've still not caught up yet. Not all the way."

"But... but I..." She sniffed and swallowed.

"And no, it's not fair," Blair continued implacably, slowly crossing the room to her side. "But life isn't fair. You have to play the cards you were dealt, Squirt; I'm sorry."

Her lower lip trembled and one hand swiped at her face, coming away streaked with mascara and eye-shadow. "I hate it when you call me that," she said in a tiny voice, looking at him through her lowered eyelashes.

Blair grinned hugely and chucked her under her chin. "Then I'll have to remember to call you that more often," he teased gently. "Give it time, sweetie. You can't expect your mind to catch up eight years overnight... or six months, or even in two years. It'll happen, but you've got to let it happen."

Tears fell freely now, and Stacey's breath hitched. "I don't... I... oh, Blair..." She wrapped her arms around his neck and wailed into his shoulder. Blair let her cry while he patted her back gently, murmuring soothing, nonsensical words under her breath.

Through her hiccupping sobs, he slowly discerned words, although Blair wished that he had Jim's hearing as he tried to decipher them. "...The other girls... Not a baby any more... Want to do things..." Ah. Peer pressure perhaps? Or just hormonal pressure; a young teenager trapped in the body of a young woman. Slowly, the tears turned to sniffles, and he maneuvered them to the small table by the bed, where he could grab a wad of Kleenex.

"Here," he said, handing her part of the wad while he used the other to blot at her tears. She noisily blew her nose and sniffed hard, her breath still hitching in her chest. "I'm so stupid, I'm never going to be a grown-up," she murmured.

"Hey, hey, none of that," Blair said, giving her a little shake. "You're doing great, you know that. You're just trying to run ahead a little too far, a little too fast."

She lifted a mascara and eye-shadow streaked face to his. "What am I going to do? I... I really yelled at him, Blair. I feel so bad."

"Well, you're going to apologize; but first you're going to wash your face," Blair said, smiling gently. "You look like a Mary Kay convention threw up on you."

She snorted in sudden giggles, wiping her face with the damp Kleenex. "God, I must look awful. Aunt Marian is always saying stuff like that to me too. And stuff like I don't need makeup, my skin is perfect and all that."

"She's right," Blair said, steering the girl out of the room towards the bathroom. "You don't need any of that junk. It just hides who you really are."

"But... I... Maybe I do want to hide me," she said softly, looking down at the sodden tissues in her hand.

Blair shook his head. "That's not how you grow up, Squirt. Face your fears. Face your self." After a few minutes, she shuddered with a big breath and met his eyes. He grinned. "And face the sink, too. Go wash. Jim's making dinner, and after we eat, if you still want to go out, well, we can go out together."

Her mouth dropped open and a shy smile blossomed on her face. "Really?"

"Really. As long as you don't mind having this old fart as your date."

"Heck no!" she said, hugging him again. She pulled away and looked down at the brown leather mini-skirt, the partially see-through mesh top and the combat boots she wore, then added ruefully, "Maybe I'd better change first."

Holding back what he really wanted to say, Blair simply said, "Whatever you want, kid. Go clean up, I'll go see how long dinner will be."

"Okay." He left her heading for the bathroom while he joined Jim at the stove. The delicious aroma of shrimp stir-fry was filling the loft, and he pulled the fixings for salad out of the fridge.

Jim gave him a relieved smile. "You're going to make a wonderful mom someday, Sandburg," he said.

"Bite me, Ellison," Blair retorted, chuckling. "She's going to be fine -- although I'll be much happier when Naomi gets here to take over and we can go back to being her big brothers. I told her I'd take her clubbing after dinner, if she still wants to go."

Jim shot him an alarmed look. "You putting the moves on our Stacey? Maybe I'd better tag along to chaperone."

"Jim!" Blair looked up at his partner, aghast. "Give me a break! You know I'd never..."

"I don't know, Sandburg," Jim said, thoughtfully rubbing his chin. "I mean, you and the ladies... I'm not sure you should be left alone with her..."

About to offer a heated, angry retort, Blair looked fully into Jim's face and realized his leg was being pulled -- hard. "You dick." Jim started chuckling. "You sneaky, lying, conniving asshole, I oughta..."

Jim spotted Blair at the baggage claim area, sitting on their big suitcase, holding the garment bag that held their tuxes, a shit-eating grin on his face and a set of keys in his hand. The sight of his lover -- and the memories of that first Christmas -- made Jim smile, and he ruffled Blair's hair in affection. "Hey, hey, watch the hair there," Blair laughed, ducking.

"From the expression on your face, it looks like you done good, right?" Jim asked, taking the suit bag and slinging it over one shoulder.

"Yup," Blair replied, relieving Jim of his backpack and towing the large suitcase behind him. "We got us a Jeep Cherokee. We'll have to take a shuttle to the lot where it's parked, but I know where it is. I've got us a map out of O'Hare and directions how to get to I-94. And Alamo has a branch office in Ann Arbor, which is less than an hour from Brighton, so we can call Stacey with our ETA and have her meet us there."

Jim was nodding as Blair spoke, admiration in his smile. "Not bad, Junior, not bad at all. So, how much is this little excursion going to cost us?"

"Hey, Jim, it's only money, right?" Blair laughed. "It's going to take us a good hour to clear Chicago, and I figure once we get past Gary, we're looking at about three hours to Ann Arbor. But I don't know what the road conditions..."

"Detective Ellison."

Blair had been steering them towards the front and the shuttle buses, but now they found their way blocked by Agent Sullivan -- her small suitcase at her feet and her leather satchel still clutched tightly to her side as though superglued there. Jim scowled. "Agent. You wanna excuse us? We have a shuttle to catch."

"Actually, I'd like to talk to you about that," she said. The expression on her face told Jim she was struggling to be cordial. "Your partner managed to grab one of the last four-wheel drive vehicles available, and I presume you're going to drive it to Detroit."

"Ann Arbor, actually," Blair said, ignoring the grimace Jim gave him. "We're really headed for Brighton."

"Ann Arbor," she repeated, frowning. "Well, that's closer than I am now. Detective, I absolutely must be in Detroit tonight; it's imperative."

"Maybe you could charter a plane," Jim said shortly, moving as if to pass her. Blair elbowed him in the ribs.

"Please," she said, looking as if the word hurt her to say. "I'd be willing to split the cost of the vehicle, as well as the gas and driving. I know you don't like me very much, Detective," she added grudgingly, "but right now you're my only hope to make it to Detroit. My -- job might depend on it," she added. "Please."

Jim opened his mouth to tell her where to go, but Blair elbowed him again. "Jim, c'mon, man," he whispered. "The lady's in a bind. What could it hurt? And it'll save us some bucks."

"Excuse us," Jim said, pulling Blair to one side. "Are you out of your mind?" he hissed at Blair once they were out of earshot. "Four or more hours trapped in a car with that... that..."

"A hundred and seventy-five bucks, Jim," Blair interrupted in a whisper, just as insistent. "That's how much it cost us to rent that truck, after taxes and insurance and all that shit. Now tell me half that isn't worth doing someone a favor." Jim ground his teeth together and glared at Blair, who glared right back. "C'mon, Jim," he added. "Grandma Anna says you catch more flies with honey than vinegar. It's only four hours or so, then we'll be rid of her."

"She's not a fly, she's a fucking hornet," Jim snarled, but he knew that they would do it. He always did what Blair wanted him to do. Always. "Oh, all right. But you get the cash from her, up front, you hear me?"

Blair rolled his eyes. "Awright, awright," he said, patting Jim's arm. "Don't worry, your faithful sidekick will take care of everything, Kemosabe."

"Yeah, well step it up, Toto. We got a lot of hard travel to do."

"Woof to you too, man," Blair replied, but he was grinning. And, dammit, Jim was too. How did Blair do that?

It was just after noon, Chicago time, when they left, and by the time they hit Michigan and switched to Eastern time, it was going on three. Jim insisted on doing all the driving, as usual, and Blair let Sullivan take the shotgun seat. Skirting Lake Michigan, they headed east towards Kalamazoo, where they hit the first fat flakes of snow, drifting lazily from a lowering sky. Blair called Stacey from his cell phone after they left O'Hare, getting the full scoop on the accident at Detroit Metro Airport. It wasn't as bad as first feared: a plane had skidded off the runway but hadn't actually crashed, and no one was hurt. But between the accident and the heavy snowfall, it would be a while before the airport was up and running.

They agreed to talk later, once Blair was more certain of their ETA, and Stacey assured him that she and her fiance would meet them with no problem in Ann Arbor, whenever they arrived. "The snow's pretty heavy up here, but it's already starting to taper off," she told Blair. "I don't think we're going to get more than four or five inches. The interstates should be fine."

"Fabulous," Blair said into the phone. "You make sure you don't come down to get us alone, you hear, Chiquita?"

"I hear, oh mighty one," Stacey replied, laughing. "Todd knows Ann Arbor pretty well anyway, and I don't; he'll drive. Call me when you get closer."

"Will do, hon. Bye."

"We all set then, Sandburg?" Jim asked, looking at Blair in the rear-view mirror.

"Yup. Stacey and Todd will come meet us in Ann Arbor. I told her we'd call when we got closer and let her know."

Out of the corner of his eye, Jim could tell Sullivan was looking at him curiously. "Stacey... Neumann?" she asked.

"Yeah," Jim said, grudgingly. "She's getting married this weekend. We're, uh, well..."

"We're the fathers of the bride," Blair interjected from the backseat, laughing. "Stacey asked us to give her away."

Sullivan blinked. "You've stayed in touch with her, all these years?" she asked, looking between the two men.

"Well, yeah," Jim said, wondering why he felt defensive. "We're the closest thing she has to family in Cascade, now, and, well, she's come out and stayed with us every now and then."

"Once we got her settled at her school, that is," Blair added. "She's a good kid. We've always felt a little, oh, I don't know, protective of her. Especially Jim," he added, grinning at Jim in the mirror.

"Oh, right, and you weren't," Jim grinned back.

"So, she came and stayed with you during her breaks?" Sullivan turned from her appraisal of the road outside the windshield and looked at Jim.

"Yeah, a couple of Christmases, some summers. We've had some good times," Jim replied, feeling more comfortable talking about Stacey with the woman. "After that first trip, anyway."

"Why? What happened then?"

"Let's just say Stacey had a lot of growing up to do," Blair piped up from the backseat. "A lot of growing up. But that was only natural, after all."

Jim smiled, remembering the good part of that trip. Stacey had gone back to Portland a much more subdued, thoughtful girl than the one who had arrived with a chip on her shoulder.

"I guess I could understand Christmas," Sullivan was saying, frowning. "After all, her whole family was gone. But... she came out other times too?"

"Oh, yeah," Blair said. "She'd spend at least a week, sometimes two, with us during the summer. We tried to get time off during that time, so we could go camping or something. She loves to camp."

"She loves to fish," Jim interjected. "She's a good fisherwoman too. Caught this trout once --" Jim took his hands off the wheel briefly to indicate about eighteen inches of length-- "landed it all by herself. We've got the picture up on our wall at home. She just glowed."

"Yeah, I remember that, that was her first summer with us," Blair said, his voice soft with memory. "That was one fantastic summer. Remember how Simon came out and joined us for the last weekend? That's when Stacey caught that fish."

"And how she and Rhonda and Megan basically bought out the stores before-hand?" Jim added, chuckling with Blair at the memory. "She didn't spend every summer or Christmas with us," Jim added. "We flew out to Portland once for the holidays, too."

"Her sponsor, Marian, is just a terrific lady," Blair added. "We couldn't have asked for a better influence on Stacey."

"Did she meet her fiance in Portland?" Sullivan asked. She actually seemed interested in Stacey, and Jim tried to push aside his normal suspicious nature and assume it was because of genuine care.

"Yeah, she met Todd a couple of years ago," Blair said. "He's a Chem-E at MIT, and they met when Stacey was doing some course work at Boston U. Matter of fact, we met him that Christmas we flew out there."

CHRISTMAS, YEAR BEFORE LAST

As they left the Portland airport behind for icy, snowy streets, Stacey handled Marian's big boat of a car with confident ease, making Jim smile with pride. "I still can't believe you're out here!" she bubbled, easing to a stop at an intersection.

"Well, you've flown all the way out for Christmases -- why couldn't we?" Jim said, glancing in the back seat at Blair.

"Yeah, and out here, Simon can't make us work," Blair added, grinning back at Jim.

Stacey rolled her eyes. "Oh, yeah. Work. And how much you hate it..." she said wryly.

"Busted, Jim," Blair said softly, chuckling. "You can't pull anything over on our Stacey for long."

"I've spent too much time with you two jokers to believe it," she replied tartly, grinning at Jim.

They chatted happily all the way to Marian's house, Stacey asking after the guys in Major Crime, Rhonda, Megan and Naomi. Blair got her caught up on the latest gossip while Jim rolled his eyes and made snide comments.

It was dusk when they arrived, the crunch of tires on salt in the driveway announcing them. The houses on Marian's block were mostly old, two-story Victorian types, with small front yards, big back yards, and expansive porches. Most of them were decorated with lights for Christmas, and there was an electric Menorah in the window of Marian's house as well, five of its candles lit. Both Jim and Blair smiled to see it, and Jim wrapped his arm around Stacey's shoulders as they walked up to the porch.

Marian Rowe, a small, upright woman with iron-gray hair, waited for them in the doorway, smiling a warm welcome. "Hello, Blair, it's lovely to see you again," she said as she closed the door behind them. Blair kissed her cheek as he unbuttoned his coat, then indicated Jim.

"Marian, this is Jim Ellison," he said. Jim hastily dropped his suitcase and shook the hand offered to him.

"Ah, the famous Jim Ellison," Marian said, smiling broadly. "You have a lot to live up to, young man."

Jim shot a glance at Stacey, who grinned and blushed. "I, uh, left my cape at home, ma'am," he joked, and all of them laughed.

"Stacey, take their coats, and I shall show them their room," Marian directed. "You are sharing a room, I hope you don't mind?"

"Of course not, Marian," Blair said, handing his coat to Stacey and hefting his ubiquitous backpack. "I hope we're not putting you out."

"Certainly not," she replied. "In fact, I've just lost two boarders. But I'm sure more will move in with the new year and the new semester. The Academy keeps me busy, which is just how I like it."

Jim looked around as he followed his hostess up the stairs. The house was at least fifty years old, probably twice that or more, and clearly meticulously maintained. Brass fittings gleamed, old and slightly faded oriental rugs looked soft and inviting, and the hardwood floors were spotless even to Jim's discerning eye. The entire house smelled good but not overwhelming... pine from the fat Christmas tree sparkling in the living room, Murphy's Oil Soap from the floors and woodwork, cinnamon and what smelled like a mouth-watering ham from the kitchen, which Jim inferred was in the back of the house.

The second floor was a long hallway broken up by doors and small tables. Marian led them to the second door on the right, which opened on to a small bedroom containing two twin beds, two dressers and a small desk. The room was painted a cheerful yellow that matched the yellow and white striped curtains over the large windows.

"I do hope this will do for you," Marian said as she led them in. "The bathroom is across the hall, one door further down."

"This is lovely, ma'am, thank you," Jim said, putting his suitcase on one bed and glancing around appreciatively. Rather than being glaring, the yellow was soothing and the room was so clean it could have passed muster with NASA.

"Oh, please, call me Marian," she said, smiling up at Jim.

"Well, then you have to call me Jim," he replied, grinning back. "You've got a beautiful house, Marian."

"Thank you, Jim," she said, delighted by the compliment. "It's been in the Fisher family for generations. She's a grand old place, and has taken care of many children. My husband and I were not blessed with any, so instead, I care for those the Academy brings in."

A sudden thump and squeal from the first floor made all three of them start, then Marian chuckled. "That will be Todd arriving," she said dryly. "I've held dinner for you; why don't you wash up and come down. Stacey told me you don't keep kosher, Blair, and neither does she. Dinner is ham and scalloped potatoes, and will be served as soon as you're down."

Jim could practically see Blair drooling. "We'll be right there, Marian," he said emphatically, and then grinned at their chuckles. She left them alone, and Jim quickly opened his suitcase and pulled a couple of shirts out to hang. "Come on, man," Blair said, opening the door.

"Just hanging up a couple of shirts to get the wrinkles out," Jim said. Then he paused and looked at Blair. "Chief? Who's Todd?"

Blair frowned, thinking. "Uh-oh," he said. "I think... I think Stacey's got a boyfriend -- someone she met while she was doing that coursework at Boston U... remember? She's mentioned that name in a couple of emails over the last few months."

"A boyfriend?" Jim blinked. "A boyfriend? As in, date? Not a platonic friend?"

Blair sighed. "Yes, Jim, that is the common definition. She was being very mysterious about him last week."

Jim swallowed. Okay, it had to happen sooner or later; after all, Stacey was an attractive young woman. But for Jim's peace of mind, it could have waited another few years. Say, ten. Or even twenty. Sternly, he reminded himself that he was NOT Stacey's father, that Stacey was an adult, and that he should keep an open mind.

And anyway, Blair would absolutely kill him if he tried anything with this... Todd... person.

Washing up quickly, Jim and Blair went downstairs, nearly dying of bliss on the aroma of dinner alone. They followed voices to the back of the house and the kitchen, a large, comfortable room done in New England kitsch -- something which normally would have made Jim want to vomit but which somehow looked normal here. Marian was removing a ham from the oven, and Stacey was standing to one side, leaning back against a tall, dark-haired young man whose arms were wrapped snugly around her.

Jim's eyes narrowed... so this was Todd. The guy looked to be about Stacey's age, was two or three inches shorter than Jim, had dark, short hair and a fair complexion. He seemed to be in good shape -- not like a weight trainer, but maybe runner or basketball-player shape -- which earned him points in Jim's book. But there was no doubt about it...

Jim could take him. Easily.

"Ow!" A sudden sharp elbow shoved in his side made Jim exclaim and look down at Blair accusingly.

The sound made Stacey turn. "Jim! Blair! Come and meet Todd," she said, stepping out of the young man's arms and dragging him with her. "Todd, this is Blair Sandburg and Jim Ellison; guys, this is Todd Harrison." Todd shook hands with Blair, then Jim, smiling widely. Jim was tempted to check his grip, but managed to refrain under a glare from Blair.

"Nice to meet you, man," Blair said. "You're all Stacey's been writing about lately."

"Blair!" Stacey blushed, but Todd just smiled and gave her a squeeze.

"Well, that's only fair," he replied in a light tenor voice. "Since you're all she talks about, and she's about all I've been writing home about too."

"So, Todd, you're going to school at MIT?" Blair asked, as Marian announced dinner. They followed her directions into the dining room and sat at the big dining room table, Blair and Todd chatting about school. Of course, Blair knew several people at MIT, and did his best to find a mutual acquaintance.

Some time later, Jim waddled into the front room of the big old house, groaning from a delicious and filling dinner. Marian had politely but firmly turned down all offers to help with dishes, conscripting Stacey into the clean-up process, but instructing the men to go do their own thing. Todd and Blair disappeared somewhere, leaving Jim to explore.

The parlor or living room or whatever you would call it was cozy and warm, and the tree in front of the bay window was sparkling and fragrant. There was an enormous wing chair by the fireplace that simply looked too comfortable to pass up, so with a sigh of pleasure, Jim sank into it, closing his eyes and letting his mind and senses drift.

In the kitchen, he could hear Stacey and Marian cleaning up after dinner, their chatter idle and affectionate. Blair and Todd were somewhere else in the house, and Blair was waxing poetic about college life -- heh. So speaks the perpetual student. Outside, Jim could almost hear the cold -- the crackle of ice and snow and the crunch of tires on salt and sand -- and could tell that it would snow again before midnight. How he could tell, he wasn't sure, but he would bet his bottom dollar on it.

Maybe he should mention that to Sandburg.

Then again, maybe not.

After some time had passed, Jim heard footsteps approaching. He opened his eyes to see Todd step hesitantly into the room, as if debating whether he would be welcome. Jim briefly contemplated scowling, but between the food and the ambiance and the travel, he was far too mellow. With a movement of his head, he invited the young man into the room with him. Todd sank on the matching chair across from Jim with a heartfelt sigh.

"Sandburg wear you out?" Jim asked, amused.

"He... well, Stacey told me about him, but, well, I don't think I was quite prepared." Todd smiled. "He's in Marian's library. I don't think he even knows I'm gone yet."

"In a library? I'd call that an excellent possibility," Jim agreed. "Sandburg and libraries are old friends."

"He's just as smart as Stacey said, though, maybe smarter," Todd mused. "I mean, he's an anthropologist, right?" Jim nodded. "And I'm studying to be a chemical engineer. But he understood what I said. And he asked questions that I don't even know how to answer." Todd shook his head, but Jim chuckled.

"Yeah, that's Sandburg," he said. "Give him an opening and you'll regret it. But you'll probably learn something anyway." After a couple of minutes, Jim continued. "Must be a drive from Boston to here, huh?"

"Yeah," Todd said, somewhat ruefully. "I'm spending a lot of money on gas lately. But it's not too bad a drive. Boston area is worse, actually."

There was a comfortable silence between the two men for a time, then Todd cleared his throat. "Um, I wanted to thank you for something," he said hesitantly. When Jim raised his eyebrow, encouraging him to go on, he did. "Stacey told me you'd called the Academy and gotten a... well, helped her out of a bind with one of her teachers."

Jim nodded, wincing. "Yeah. She, uh, wasn't too pleased. But..."

"Well, I wanted to thank you," Todd said firmly. "She had told me all about the woman, and I was about ready to come up here and strangle her. The hoops that -- that woman was putting Stacey through were ridiculous. And Stacey is just so damn stubborn sometimes, she kept trying even though it was totally unfair."

"Stacey has a stubborn streak about a mile wide and six deep," Jim agreed. "When I finally managed to get the whole story out of her, I was livid," he admitted. "Blair was even more so. Between the two of us, we managed to put enough pressure on that crazy bitch to get her to change Stacey's course load. Then Stacey called me and reamed me out for it." Jim grinned at the memory, and found Todd smiling too.

"She's pretty special, isn't she?" he said, his eyes gleaming.

"Yeah. She's a good kid. And -- she's very special to us, as well." Jim tried, he really did try, not to sound menacing, but this was Stacey they were discussing and the man across from him was her -- Jesus, Mary and Joseph -- boyfriend. Territorial instincts are very, very difficult to overcome in a Sentinel.

"I can see that," Todd replied seriously, leaning forward in his chair. "She's very special to me too, Mr. Ellison. I'd never do anything to hurt her, never. I want you to know that. Somebody like Stacey comes along only once in your lifetime, you know?"

Jim examined the young man sitting across from him with all his senses on full alert. Everything he had told him Todd was sincere in his caring, in his fondness for Stacey. There were no warning bells going off in the back of Jim's head, and he almost regretted that. "You're right," he finally said. "And I believe you. I hope you don't prove me wrong."

"You don't worry about that, Mr. Ellison," Todd said. "But it's nice to know that Stacey has protectors like you and Blair looking after her. Well, and Marion. Me, too, now."

"Not that she needs much looking after," Jim admitted. "Thanks." After a moment, he added, with a smile, "Call me Jim."

"We got the call about the proposal early this year," Jim said. "Stacey didn't come out last Christmas; she went home with Todd."

"You know, Jim," Blair said thoughtfully, "that should have tipped us off. We really should have been expecting this."

"Hindsight, Sandburg," Jim said, sighing. "Plus, I just didn't want to believe it, I guess."

"Well, duh," Blair replied. "You hit that right on."

Wanting to divert attention away from his own nerves over the wedding, Jim abruptly changed the subject. "So what have you been doing for the Agency lately, Sullivan?"

She started and blinked at him, and her face flushed. Jim frowned at the road after glancing at her, wondering what had brought on that reaction. "Oh, this and that," she hedged, bringing that damn over-the-shoulder briefcase up from her feet to her lap. She simply wouldn't relinquish the thing, even to put it in the back of the vehicle with the other luggage. There must be important papers or something in it, Jim had decided.

"Let me guess, classified, right?" Blair laughed from the backseat. "You Feds, it's always something."

"Yeah," she agreed, wrapping her arms around her briefcase and laughing slightly, nervously. "You know how it is. Need to know, and all that."

"Well, have you been on the west coast all this time?" Jim asked, trying to figure out why she seemed so jittery. "Or have you been out here in Michigan?"

"Well, here and there," she said, shifting. "Back and forth, you know how it is. But you've got me curious now," she added hastily. "What happened when Stacey told you she was getting married?"

Before Jim could turn the subject back, Blair was laughing in the backseat. "Oh, man, Jim has been a wreck!" he said, and Jim flushed again.