At four-thirty, Blair called Jim with the news that the Volvo was fixed -- for now -- and he needed a ride to the mechanic. Since he had the seminar to teach that night, the afternoon was hectic, retrieving his car, getting dinner, eating dinner, and racing out the door again. Several times Jim looked as though he wanted to talk to him about something, but they were always interrupted.

Dropping a quick kiss to his partner's lips as he left the loft, Blair said, "I should be back by ten I hope. See you then," and dashed out.

Blair arrived in the lecture hall with barely five minutes to spare. The room was already fairly crowded with students, and Bob had already set up the lectern and the overheads for him. "Hey, man, I didn't expect to see you here," Blair said to him, smiling.

"Oh, yeah, I help Dr. Stoddard with this every week. I usually try to listen in on the lecture too, if that's all right with you?"

"Yes, by all means," Blair answered, pleased. He continued, in a teasing tone, "You're really serious about anthro, aren't you?"

Bob's ears turned pink. "Uh, yeah. It's really cool, Mr. Sandburg. I never thought I'd say that about academics, but... yeah. I really like it."

Smiling brilliantly, Blair said, "You are a natural, man. I'm so glad you're enjoying it. And thanks for the set-up tonight. Now you just sit down and pay attention, okay?"

Grinning back, Bob said, "Yes, sir!"

A graduate seminar, made up of all anthropology majors, most of them cultural anthropology... to lead such a thing had always been a dream of Blair's. He took the lectern and proceeded to dazzle the students, frantically making notations on the overhead, pacing back and forth and gesturing wildly. Always one for feedback, he encouraged the participants to interrupt him, to question and demand answers. By the end of the two-hour session, every student loved him, and when he called time -- five minutes late -- there was a general groan of negation.

"Sorry, guys," Blair said, grinning, "but two hours I was told and two hours it is -- I don't get paid by the hour, you know. Now. We've got papers due next week, I've got all the groups as Dr. Stoddard had, if there've been any changes, please e-mail me by tomorrow. As in before ten o'clock in the evening! Since there were five groups, I think we can get through all five presentations next week. You all ready?"

Mostly affirmative replies met his question, and he laughed. "This is gonna be great, guys, just great. Okay, anyone who needs to see me, I'll be here for a while, come on down."

While Bob took care of breaking down and returning equipment -- piling it on a cart and leaving with it to return it to the AV building -- Blair met with a few students who requested information on the presentations or on their papers. By nine-thirty, the cavernous room was empty, and Blair was packing up the last of his papers, finally -- and exhaustedly -- preparing to leave.

Making his way through the empty halls of Hargrove, Blair found he couldn't remove the smile from his face, despite his weariness. Even though he felt guilty over it, he hoped that Stoddard wouldn't be back for several weeks, so that he might keep on teaching this seminar. Hell, if it weren't for the other classes he had to cover, he would have been having much more fun teaching again..

At the door to Hargrove, he saw two students, male and female, standing close together. He smiled and was about to pass them when he recognized Reese Cooper. "Hey, Reese," he said, as she looked over at him. Her face, though, was closed, and she didn't reply. The boy she was with looked familiar, and as he walked down the steps and out towards his car, he frowned, trying to remember where he had seen that face before. As he realized it was Mr. Muscle-Shirt from his first class the Thursday before, he heard steps behind him.

"So. This is the little faggot who needs to be taught a lesson, huh?"

Blair stopped dead in his tracks, then slowly turned. Three young men stood behind him, glaring at him through narrowed eyes. "I beg your pardon?" Blair said, pleased that his voice didn't shake. To his surprise, he found he was not scared at all; if anything, he was furious.

"You heard us, you butt-fucking little cocksucker. We don't need your kind here at Rainier." The middle boy appeared to be the ringleader, and Blair studied him, committing his shadowy features to memory, glad that the campus was well-lit in the evening.

"My kind. And what kind would that be? Intelligent, open-minded, right-thinking folks? Unlike Neanderthals like you?" Even as he spoke, Blair realized that might have been a mistake, his mouth running away from him again.

The young man on the left started for him, only to be held back by the leader. "Don't worry about it, you'll get your turn on Mr. Mouth here. Think you're so smart, huh."

Smiling ferally, Blair let his backpack slide down his arm to one hand. "Definitely smarter than you, dink-brain. I wouldn't attack a teacher on a well-lit campus."

"Oh, yeah? Well, I don't see your big faggot boyfriend anywhere about to protect you now. So just who do you think would stop us?"

"Well, me for one," came a voice behind Blair. When he turned, he saw a grim-looking Bob Gemmell walking up to stand directly behind him, along with another big student that Blair vaguely recognized from either the football or hockey team.

The ringleader glared at Bob and his companion. "Not a good move, sport," he growled. "You and your pissant little group really want to be painted with the same brush as your fudge-packer friends? I'd take off if I were you."

"Not gonna happen, asshole," Bob replied. "Somebody's gotta put an end to your little reign of terror, and I figure Mr. Sandburg might be just the one to do it. Back off or we do it for you."

Another student materialized out of the darkness to join the three confronting Blair, and with a start he realized it was the same student who had been with Reese. "You've fucked up royally this time, Gemmell," the newcomer sneered. "Not even your daddy could have gotten you out of this one." With a nod of his head, the four men charged.

Once again, Blair found himself less frightened than angry. No, he decided to himself as he swung his heavy backpack up into the crotch of the first boy charging him, not just angry. Pissed. Pissed as hell.

The first attacker went down under the backpack onslaught, writhing and keening. Dropping his pack, Blair sidestepped the second boy, tripping him as he did. Bob jumped on him before the student could get up and began pummeling him. The other boy, the athlete, was engaged with the ringleader, throwing punches, which left Muscle-Shirt all to Blair. Wary now that his group no longer outnumbered the intended victims, the boy yelled to his cohort moaning on the grass, "Get up you jackass! C'mon!"

"Sorry, man, I must have hit him a bit too hard," Blair said, staying low and watching the other man's hands carefully. "Not as easy as you thought, huh? Too bad a little academic fa -- academic geek like me could actually defend himself, huh. Maybe you'd have better luck terrorizing a nursery school."

With a roar the young man attacked, fists swinging. But Blair hadn't worked with Jim for so long without picking up a few tricks. Dodging the blows -- and feeling as if he were channeling Sweet Roy -- he came in low with several hard jabs to the other guy's ribs and kidneys, then kicked the back of his knee as his momentum carried him past. Grunting in pain, the other man whirled, fist coming up fast and hard. Before Blair could duck, it made contact with his face, making the lights of the approaching Campus Police cars fracture into stars.

Half-past-ten had come and gone, and Jim was beginning to worry. He sat on the sofa, channel surfing the TV and trying to keep from checking every clock in the loft every thirty seconds. When he finally heard Blair's classic creaking and chuffing its way up Prospect -- at nearly eleven -- he heaved a sigh of relief and felt muscles he hadn't known were tense relax. A half-smile on his face, he tracked Blair by sound, listening to him exit the car, cross the street, climb the stairs. By the time Jim realized how rapid and erratic Blair's heartbeat was, the younger man was at the door.

A bit alarmed, Jim was sitting up and getting ready to stand when the door swung open and his jaw dropped. "Chief!" In one motion he was over the back of the couch and racing to his lover.

Blair had a huge bruise on his cheek that was rapidly turning lovely shades of purple, green and red. His hair was shooting almost straight from his head and his clothes were muddy and torn. He was also smiling hard enough to split his face open.

"Jim! Man, you should have been there -- you really missed it!" Shrugging out of his coat, he dropped his backpack and toed out of his shoes, sliding away from Jim who was trying to get a good look at his face.

"Goddamn it, Chief, hold STILL," Jim growled, capturing the younger man's chin. "What the hell happened?"

Rolling his eyes, Blair said in his best idiotic voice, "Well, duh! A fight. I haven't been that mad... I got ambushed by these idiots -- quit that, I'm okay -- and Bob and his friend Paul and I just wiped the floor with them! Would you quit that?!"

Sighing and holding in his anger and concern with effort, Jim went to the refrigerator and removed the icepack they kept in the freezer. He wrapped it in a dishcloth and handed it to Blair. "Start from the beginning, Sandburg. All of it," he said tightly.

Gingerly pressing the cold pack against his eye and cheek, Blair pushed himself up to sit on the countertop. "Oh, for pete's... okay, okay. It's not that big of a deal. I was on my way to the car after class, and these three jerks stopped me. Said something about my kind, well, something, whatever, and the next thing I know, Bob and Paul are standing behind me, and the three jerks became four, and get this, the new one looks to be Reese Cooper's boyfriend, of all things! So I take one of them out with the old trusty backpack, Bob and Paul take the others, and one of them gets in a lucky punch..."

"Breathe, Sandburg," Jim murmured, watching his partner intently. Blair was excited and pumped, talking a mile a minute with his free hand and hair flying everywhere. But there was more; there was something in the way his eyes slid off Jim's that made Jim realize he wasn't getting the whole story.

Still grinning ear-to-ear -- and still not meeting Jim's eyes directly -- Blair drew in a deep breath. "So anyway; one of them got in a lucky punch -- you know, I zigged when I should have zagged -- but it didn't matter because by then Suzanne was there and the guys just disappeared. Into the woodwork like all good cockroaches. Never seen anything like it. But I gave her a real good description. No worries, man. Could you get me an aspirin? My head is beginning to ache like a son of a bitch."

"Sure. Get off the counter." Blair rolled his eyes but did so, opening the fridge for a bottle of water while Jim went to the bathroom for the pain reliever.

"Thanks, man," Blair said, laying the icepack on the island counter while he swallowed the pills. "I am whipped! I need to clean up and then hit the hay."

"Oh no you don't," Jim said quietly, snagging Blair's arm as he tried to slip past. "You're not telling me all of it." Blair opened his mouth to protest, but Jim cut him off. "All of it, Sandburg."

Sighing heavily in annoyance, Blair sagged against the counter. "Can we at least sit down if you're going to grill me?" he asked.

Without a word, Jim steered him to the living room, gently pushing him down to the couch. Blair took a big swig of his water, then looked sourly at Jim. "You're not gonna just let this alone, are you?"

"Nope."

"Damn." Finishing off his water, Blair put the empty bottle on the coffee table. "Oh, all right, but you have to promise me you won't do anything on this. Suzanne has got it well in hand, man."

Jim just sat there and stared at him, not moving a muscle other than the one jumping in his jaw. Exasperated, Blair finally began talking, staring at the empty bottle. "They called... oh fuck. Goddammit," Blair muttered, yanking his wild hair back with a savage gesture. "They called me a faggot, okay? A little cocksucker. Told me that there was no place at Rainier for 'people like me.' Neanderthals," he spat out, but Jim thought the shaking he saw in Blair was from something other than rage. "They were targeting me because of the way I look, I guess."

"Because of the way you look?" Jim asked softly, a pained look on his face.

"Well, yeah, I mean, come on, man," Blair replied, continuing to pull his hair down with one shaky hand while the other kept the icepack on his face. He pointedly didn't look directly at Jim. "I've heard it most of my life. You see someone who looks like me, which team do you think he plays for? That's all there was to it. Just... just some assholes looking to pick on someone. Someone who... I guess looked queer." Suddenly, his face paled even more than it had been. "But... they knew about you. Somebody must have, I don't know, seen us, maybe. Decided from that, I guess, that I must be gay."

Jim swallowed heavily, but never took his eyes off his friend and lover. "But... Blair," he said gently, painfully, after a moment, "you are gay."

Blair threw the icepack on the coffee table, jumped to his feet and began pacing. "I know that! Don't you think I know that? I'm... Okay. I'm in a relationship with a man -- so yeah. I'm gay. Now, anyway. Happy?" Blair continued to pace, his hands and hair darting around faster than Jim could see. "All my life, all my life I've been called names for one thing or another... they were... they were just never true, you know? I never saw the tale from the other side." Abruptly freezing in place, Blair added, blinking in surprise, "Not until now."

Standing at the balcony doors, he turned away from Jim and leaned his forehead against the cool glass. Jim stood and walked to him, standing close behind but not quite touching him. "Well, there's always 'bastard'... that one was true..." he said softly, trying -- without much success -- to cheer both of them up.

Blair snorted; Jim couldn't tell if it was in laughter or tears. "Yeah. I guess. It just... it kinda hit me. Took me by surprise, I guess. I dunno. I just wasn't expecting it -- I mean, I sure as hell don't feel gay. Maybe I wasn't ready to hear it. It's just stupid."

I don't feel gay echoed in Jim's mind. Not trusting himself to speak beyond a whisper, Jim said, "No, it's not stupid." After a moment, he added, his voice choked, "Do you... I mean, you're not having... regrets?"

Whirling, Blair grabbed Jim's shoulders and stared fiercely into his face, shaking him slightly. "Regrets? About us?! Tell me you're just pulling my chain here, man, because that... them's fighting words, all right? So just stop that right now. You hear me?"

"Yeah, yeah... I hear you, Chief. I hear you. It's just... you've... we've..."

"What, Jim?" Blair's voice was exasperated, but he looked earnestly into his lover's eyes.

Slumping, Jim tried to breathe around the tightness in his chest. "Nothing. It's okay, I'm just... just rattled. C'mon, let's get you cleaned up and into bed."

Jim could tell that Blair wanted to ask him again, to press the issue, but he was hoping that the younger man was too tired to force it. Blair let Jim herd him into the bathroom, wash and disinfect his face, and take away his damaged clothing, all without saying a word. Finally, they ended up in bed, the cold pack still mostly frozen and on Blair's face. Jim turned off the light and carefully pulled Blair to him, and that's when both of them noticed Jim was trembling slightly.

"Jim." Blair didn't move, but he did caress the arm that was slung across his middle. "Are... are you mad at me or something? I -- I know I haven't been around, and it's only going to get worse until Eli comes back. But..."

Fighting to keep his voice normal, Jim replied, "It's all right, Sandburg. Go to sleep. It'll be okay in the morning."

Neither man said -- but both felt -- that it wouldn't be. However, exhaustion caught up with them, and they slept.

"That's some shiner, there, Hairboy -- what'd you do, run into a door?" The teasing voice was familiar, even if the setting wasn't. Blair was on his way out of Hargrove Hall when he heard it.

"H? Man, what are you doing here?" He stared at the bald man, returning his smile weakly. "They don't let mental pygmies in here, you know."

"Oh yeah, yeah, laugh it up, but I'll have you know I are a college graduate," Henri said, holding up his right hand. "I'm glad I caught you; Ms. Tomaki said you'd be leaving about now."

"Suzanne?" Blair blinked. "What were you talking to Suzanne about?"

The sunny weather was holding, and H looked around the quad. Spotting an empty bench near the foot of the steps, he pointed it out to Blair. "C'mon, let's take a load off and I'll tell you." They moved down the broad steps together, Henri leading the way. "I've been assigned to this whole hate group thing, and I've spent the morning with Ms. Tomaki. She told me about your run-in with them last night and..."

"Hold on hold on... wait a minute. You've been assigned -- to Rainier? Over some hate group thing? What the hell's going on here, H?"

Taken aback, Henri blinked at his friend. "What, you don't know? Jim brought it to us, I figured you'd be in deep. It's those Moral Spiritual Purist thingamajigs, that new group on campus that's going -- okay, allegedly going -- around harassing people. Like you last night. Right? I mean, Tomaki's report was pretty thorough and that's what it sounded like, same MO and every... thing..."

Henri trailed off as he took in Blair's face. Had the young man's jaw been any lower, it would have been brushing the ground. "Damn, Sandburg, I can't believe you didn't know. I mean, the Chancellor even called Jim."

Blair closed his mouth with a snap and squinched his eyes shut. "The Chancellor. The Chancellor here. Chancellor Konoe? She called Jim?"

Studying the young man before him, Henri frowned. "Okay. You didn't know. There's a group on campus, there've been incidents which may or may not be linked to them, and I'm here getting witness statements and interviewing people who have filed complaints against them." Seeing Blair's obvious confusion, he concluded, "I think maybe you'd better have a talk with Jim."

"I think maybe I'd better," Blair muttered. "So what did you need me for? Obviously, I've been kept out of the loop on all of it up to now."

"Ah... hunh." Henri scrubbed his face with one hand. "Ah, well, I just need to go over your statement with you. You know the drill, hell, you're a better cop than most of the uniforms."

The not-so-subtle attempt to break Blair out of his obviously growing anger went zooming over his curly hair at the speed of sound. "Yeah. Right. Whatever. Do you mind if I do it later, H? I'm supposed to pick up lunch for Jim on my way to the station, and I'm late." He shook his head, his lips a thin line. "Don't want to ruin my perfect errand-boy rep, now do I."

Without waiting for a reply, Blair got to his feet and stalked off, muttering as he headed for the parking lot. Henri watched him go, eyes wide. "Oh shit I am in for it now," he said softly to himself.

All the way to Shipman's Deli, and then to the PD, Blair repeated his mantra to himself, trying to remain calm. Needless to say, it didn't work, and by the time he arrived in Major Crime, his blood pressure was probably off the scale. He stormed through the double doors and strode to Jim's desk, where his partner sat, looking at him with some alarm.

"Uh, Chief? What's wrong? You okay?"

"What the fuck is going on here, Jim?" It was a struggle, but Blair managed to keep his voice quiet. "I just happened to run into H at the campus. Where he has been assigned to investigate some alleged hate group. Who just might be the assholes that attacked me last night. That YOU were called in to Chancellor Konoe's office about, without me! What the hell is happening here? Am I your partner or not, Jim?" Despite his best efforts, his voice rose as he confronted his partner, and by the time he paused for a breath, he was quite loud.

Before either one of them could speak, Simon appeared like a thundercloud at the open door to his office. "Ellison! Sandburg!" he barked. "My office. NOW."

Blair tossed the two deli bags he still held onto his desk and turned, without a word, away from Jim. When they got into the office, Simon closed the door behind them, turned, and watched as Blair went to the window and Jim sat at the conference table. "What's going on, gentlemen?" he asked, his voice mild.

"What's going on, Captain?" Blair snapped, not turning around. "How the hell should I know? I'm always the last to know what's going on around here."

Jim winced and Simon noticed it. Without taking his eyes from his partner's back, Jim said quietly, "Sandburg ran into H on campus. He must have wanted to talk to Blair about... what happened last night."

Frowning, Simon looked between the two men. "What did happen last night? Does it have anything to do with the handsome shiner our resident consultant is sporting?"

Blair just snorted. Jim sighed and said, "Yeah. Sandburg was attacked on campus last night, after his evening class. Four perps. Called him names, ganged up on him. You remember Bob Gemmell?" Simon nodded shortly. "Gemmell and another student helped Sandburg out and..."

"Who probably wouldn't have managed at all without their help, right, Ellison? Poor little old me, poor overly-protected me... couldn't..."

"That's enough." Simon's voice was low, but it carried authority. "Jim? Would you excuse us, please? I'd like to talk to Mr. Sandburg alone. Privately, Jim," he added.

Nodding, but not saying anything, Jim stood and walked out, carefully closing the door behind him. Simon took a seat at the conference table and leaned back. "Sit down, Sandburg." When Blair didn't move, his Captain added, "That wasn't a request. Sit. Down."

Reluctantly, Blair turned, pulled out a chair, and slouched in it, crossing his arms and looking anywhere but at Simon. "What the hell was all that little demonstration of temper about?" Simon finally asked, leaning forward.

Pursing his lips, Blair turned his head and glared at Simon. "What, you didn't know either? And here I thought it was just me. After all, H seemed to know all about it. How Jim was called into the Chancellor's office, how Rafe and H were assigned to campus to look into some hate group. Some hate group that I've never heard of!"

"So I take it you're a little pissed."

"A little!?" Blair stared at his captain, incredulous. "Yeah. You could say that. I practically live on campus, Simon! Not to mention I could have used a warning about these jokers. And not only do you and Jim go behind my back, the Chancellor even..."

"Hold on there, hotshot," Simon interrupted him. "No one has been going behind anyone's back, Sandburg. Yeah, the Chancellor called Jim in to consult on this case. Because she knows what Jim is. Because she trusts him... only by extension, Sandburg, only by extension! Through you. As to why you haven't heard of this group, well why do you think? You used to live on campus, Sandburg; but now you're spending all your time here, working your ass off for us. Had you been on campus, you probably would have known."

"Yeah, yeah, but now I am on campus, much to Jim's displeasure, and not here, where I... where I guess he thinks I should be." Blair's jaw was working as he ground those words out, and he didn't seem inclined to listen to Simon, who sighed.

"I'm not going to watch my best team self-destruct over this, Sandburg," he finally said. "I don't know what's eating you, but it isn't this case. Get out of here. Go on home until you can control yourself better -- meditate or something. I'll send Jim home later. But I want you to work this out, Sandburg. You hear me?"

Clearly withholding a biting remark by sheer force of will, Blair nodded shortly, got up and went to the door. Simon followed him, and motioned for Jim to come in to his office. "Bring that Constantine file with you, Jim," he called, watching Blair's jerky movements as he gathered his coat and backpack and left the room.

Jim stood still, clutching the file in question, as he watched his partner leave the room. Then he sighed, his shoulders slumped, and walked into Simon's office. "Here you go, sir," he said softly, handing over the file.

"Thanks. Sit down."

"I've got some work..."

"Is there something wrong with my voice today? I said, siddown." Simon glared at Jim over his desk until the detective took a seat. "That's better. Now. I sent Sandburg home until he could control himself. Now you will tell me what the hell's wrong with the kid."

Shaking his head, Jim replied, "I don't know."

"Oh, don't give me that bullshit. You know him better than anyone."

"Do I?" Haunted blue eyes came up to meet Simon's. "I thought I did. But... he's different somehow, now, Simon. He's gone back to his real love -- teaching -- but I think his time here has changed it for him. He's taking more chances. You should have seen him last night when he got home. He was so up... grinning ear to ear because he was involved in a fight. That's not the Blair I know."

Simon looked puzzled. "It isn't?"

"No! He's... he's shot a person, Simon! He beats on people and then crows about it! That's not my Blair."

Relaxing back in his chair, Simon frowned as he puzzled this out. "Jim, I think you're overreacting. Blair has never been a shrinking violet -- he didn't like it, but he never hesitated in shooting Ervin. He took out two of Kincaid's men and he didn't even have a weapon, for God's sake."

"No, you don't understand," Jim interrupted him. "It's not just that. It's... it's everything. Oh, I don't know." Restlessly, Jim stood and took his accustomed place by the window, smoothing down his ever-thinning hair.

Frustrated, Simon sighed and shook his head. "Okay, okay. Fine. You say he's changed. I don't really see it, personally, although that display of temper was certainly not all that normal -- nothing I haven't seen before, though. But if you say it's true, then it must be." Jim turned from the window, surprised at his Captain's harsh tone. "But I'm going to tell you one thing, Jim, and I'm only going to tell you this once, so pay attention.

"You two are partners. You're my best team; you have the highest arrest and convict stats in the state. You're also romantically involved. You know the department regs on that. And this kind of situation is precisely the reason why they were written. Yeah, yeah, I know all about the Sentinel thing, and that's why I'm willing to cover your asses for you. But you have to meet me halfway here, Ellison. If you two can't get over... whatever the hell it is that's got you so worked up, then I'm going to have to reassign him -- to another partner or department. You hear me, Ellison? I will not tolerate this kind of behavior on my watch."

Jim swallowed and nodded, his face stricken. Simon hardened his heart, knowing how much the two men meant to each other, but also knowing that their work partnership had to take precedence over their romance -- at least in this venue. Hoping his brutal words had done more help than harm, he concluded more gently. "All right. Go on, get out of here, do some of the work you get paid for."

Dropping his eyes, Jim silently left the office.

By the time Jim got home, it was nearly dark. The lights were on in the loft and he could hear Blair moving around; he didn't know if that reassured him or terrified him.

"Fear-based responses," he muttered to himself, sitting in the cab of the truck. "What are you, a man or a mouse? And why do I have a sudden yen for cheese?"

Even to himself, his jokes sounded lame and flat. Steeling his backbone, he got out of the truck and walked into the building.

Blair was cooking. He couldn't be so angry then, Jim thought, if he was cooking -- maybe. Then he sniffed carefully for signs of arsenic amidst the stir-fry, of course finding none. Blair wouldn't be that obvious. Reluctantly, Jim entered and quietly hung his coat on the hook by the door. Standing at the stove and stirring something in the wok, Blair didn't turn to greet him.

Jim put his keys in the basket and stood still, looking at his partner, his lover. Blair didn't acknowledge him, but turned the gas off the stove and started spooning the food to a platter already covered with cooked rice. "Set the table, then," he finally said, his voice short and flat. Wincing, Jim moved to do so.

They sat and ate in chilly silence, the tension growing thicker with every bite. Finally, his plate still mostly full, Blair tossed down his fork.

"Okay, Jim, just tell me this," he started abruptly, not looking away from the remains of his dinner. "Am I still your partner or what? Or was this all a ploy to get me to move out or something? 'Cause, man, if that's what you want, I am down with that."

Startled, Jim gaped at Blair. "No!" he said. "Of course you're still my partner. Why would you even ask that?"

"Well, what am I supposed to think, Jim? You have a meeting with the Chancellor about my campus behind my back..."

Jim tossed his own fork down, interrupting Blair. "First off, I did nothing behind your back. Lin called me and asked me -- me specifically -- to come by to help out with something. And secondly, it's not your campus!"

"'Lin' called you." Blair dragged his eyes up to meet Jim's, and Jim was startled to see the pain and fury in them. "So 'Lin' calls you, wants to get your help on a case involving the campus I am a student at, and yet you don't bother to tell me, your nominal partner, your alleged lover, of an investigation that seriously affects me." He stared at Jim for a moment, breathing deeply. "So tell me, what would you think?"

"It's not like that," Jim started to say, but he was interrupted.

"Well it sure as hell looks like it from this end! Jesus God, Jim, these punks attacked me last night! It would have been nice to know about them in advance, man!"

"There wasn't time to tell you!" Jim said stridently. "You were teaching all day, Sandburg! I hardly even saw you Monday, which, for the record, is when I first found out about it! It's not my fault if you're never at the PD any more because of these... these damn classes!"

Mouth agape, Blair stared at Jim. "Is that what this is all about?" he asked. "My teaching again? You know I'd rather be with you, be at the PD, much more than teaching! What, are you punishing me or something?"

Looking away, Jim pushed his chair back with a screech and stood. "NO! That -- that has nothing to do with it," he replied shortly, picking up his plate and carrying it into the kitchen.

"Oh, here we go again," Blair said, sarcasm dripping from his voice as he threw up his hands. "Mr. Repression strikes again. What fear-based response is eating your ass now, Jim?"

With a crash, Jim's plate landed in the sink. "Fear-based response? Sure, Sandburg, let's talk about fear-based responses," he said, his voice picking up volume. "Like the response you had to being called a faggot. Let's just talk about that one, shall we? Or would the little cocksucker just be a poseur out of liberal guilt, only pretending to be queer to -- what, to indulge his sugar daddy?"

Trembling, Blair stood, his lips a thin, white line. "Low blow, Ellison," he ground out. "Even for you. May I remind you just WHO demanded to pay my tuition this semester? I've NEVER asked for anything from you. And I've never had any issues with being your lover. Until now, anyway."

"As long as you needed me for protection," Jim growled. "But now that you've turned into this... this macho man punk, fighting at the drop of a hat..."

"WHAT the FUCK are you talking about?" Blair yelled.

"YOU!" Jim roared back. "I'm talking about YOU! Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately? You're running around campus like a goddamned Rambo, thinking you can take on the world!"

Blair came around the table and faced Jim across the island counter, his fists clenched in rage. "IF you'll recall, Detective, I was all set to go into the fucking police academy to become a cop, JUST because you..."

"Pull the other one, Sandburg, we both know you wouldn't have made it through the academy," Jim shouted back, his face turning red from anger.

"Oh? And what's THAT supposed to mean?" Blair demanded. "I'm not good enough to become a tight-assed, repressed, knuckle-dragging pig? Maybe I'm not SMART enough to learn how to eat donuts and drink swill?! Is that what you're saying, Ellison?"

"Oh, no," Jim sneered, fighting back emotions trying to take him over, "I'm sure you would have passed the book learning, Sandburg, after all, that's what you're good at, right? Mr. Super-Renaissance-Man, who can teach and learn and still fight for truth and justice with his bare hands!"

"I've never had a problem defending myself, Ellison, you can get that through your solid rock head right now!" Blair bellowed back. "The only one with a problem here is YOU! You're treating me like I'm some kind of -- of fainting, helpless heroine in a romance novel or something!"

"If the shoe fits, Sandburg...!"

Blair pounded the countertop, hard, then twisted away. "You ASSHOLE!" he shouted, walking jerkily away from Jim. "You shithead! How the hell did I ever fall for someone like you?" Whirling, he pointed a quivering finger at Jim, fury pouring from every inch of him. His mouth opened, as if to speak, but nothing managed to come out except harsh panting.

Jim hadn't moved, couldn't move, from the spot in the kitchen where his legs had apparently grown into the floor, and watched the meltdown of his partnership with a tight pain in his chest that was nearly overwhelming. He, too, was shaking, in rage and anguish, the engineer watching his train go out of control and knowing he was utterly incapable of stopping it.

With great effort, forcing his rigid muscles to move, he turned to the refrigerator, opened it and got a beer. His back to Blair, he removed the cap and swigged half the beer in one big gulp, desperately trying to still the trembling in his body. Behind him, Blair panted; his heart raced and heat poured off him.

Once again, Jim's brain disengaged from his mouth. "How the mighty have fallen," he said, softly but clearly. "Sandburg without words. Alert the media."

"Fuck you, man. How's that for words."

Jim turned in time to see Blair don his coat and pick up his backpack. "What the... where the hell do you think you're going?"

"What the hell do you care?" Blair demanded in reply, stepping into his shoes and pulling his backpack up over his shoulders. "As long as it's away from here, hell sounds pretty good to me."

"Sandburg, don't you dare walk out that door," Jim said rapidly, trying to get his feet to move, trying to go to his lover and fall to his knees, to beg forgiveness.

Blair gave him a vicious look and the finger. He slammed the door on his way out.

Bellowing incoherently, Jim heaved his bottle after his departed lover. It hit the support beam and shattered, showering the kitchen and dining room with beer and shards of green glass.

As Jim sagged against the cabinet, sliding to the floor, the neighbors in the apartment below thumped the ceiling, complaining about the noise.

Blair raced down the stairs, nearly falling several times as his legs seemed to give out on him. He made it to the Volvo and fumbled with his keys, wiping the moisture that seemed to gather at his eyes no matter how often he brushed it away. It took him longer than it should have, but finally he was able to get in, start the car and put it in gear -- before realizing he had no idea where to go.

Resting his forehead on the steering wheel, he allowed himself to give in to despair for a moment, sobbing and heaving for breath. Then he pushed himself upright, swiped savagely at his face, wincing as his shirt cuff hit his still-swollen cheek, and pulled out onto Prospect.

Without thinking about it, he headed for Rainier, the only other place that had ever felt like home to him. He was more than halfway there before he realized he no longer had an office in which to crash; with a hitching sob, he realized he had Eli's office keys, and could go there. Stoddard didn't have a couch like his old digs, but there was an old, beat-up leather armchair he could curl up in and sleep, until tomorrow.

And then he wondered, what about tomorrow? What was he going to do now that he seemed to have destroyed his relationship with Jim? Coasting to a stop at a red light, Blair felt his emotions threatening to overwhelm him again. "Sticks and stones can break my bones," he whispered, quoting his mother, "but words will break my heart. Good gods and goddesses, you've certainly made a mess of things, haven't you, Sandburg?"

A beep from behind him made him realize the light had turned, and he pressed the gas, driving mechanically. Dammit, he wasn't completely to blame here. Jim had his share of it, had always had his share of it. It was just that... just that normally, only one of them suffered. Now both were.

Turning into the parking lot at the University, Blair suddenly saw movement out at the extreme edge of his headlights; what the hell was that? A dog? Screeching to a stop, he stared incredulously through the windshield. It was a wolf. The wolf.

Feral yellow eyes glared at him for a moment, then gracefully the creature loped off into the darkness. Stunned, Blair sat frozen for several moments before he could continue into the parking lot and slip into a spot in the nearly-empty lot.

Shaken, Blair climbed from the Volvo and once again shouldered his backpack, plodding to Hargrove Hall, his eyes downcast and his shoulders slumped. A distant howl -- of obvious rage and anger -- froze him in place briefly, then caused him to hurry inside. He paid no attention to his surroundings, and so completely missed seeing two unfortunately familiar young men following him.

Finally reaching Stoddard's office, Blair fumbled once again with his keys, unlocked the door, entered, and closed it behind him. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head on the frosted glass as he twisted the lock to secure the door.

The frosted glass... Suddenly, he remembered the etched-glass wolf that Jim had painstakingly removed from his old office door and installed in the window of his bedroom -- their office now. Or it had been. If Blair ever went back to the loft. Was ever allowed back into the loft.

He let his backpack slide to the floor, and flicked on the lights. Turning around slowly, he let himself sink to the floor before opening his eyes -- on a jungle.

Eventually, Jim managed to get himself out of his stupor. Working on auto-pilot, he mopped up the spilled beer and deposited chunks of glass into the trash. One particularly sharp shard cut into his palm, and he watched, bemused, as the bright red blood pooled and began to drip down his arm. His head hurt, his throat and chest ached, and his senses were going berserk on him -- one moment he could hear clear across the bay and the next he couldn't even hear his own heart thundering in his ears. Sight and smell were the same way, and touch... well, all his hands wanted was to touch Blair again.

Before the blood could drip onto the floor, he wrapped the injury in a clean dishtowel, then stumbled into the living room and collapsed on the couch, raising the injured hand over his head, using his forearm to shield his eyes. He knew Blair was gone; he had tracked his lover's progress as best he could with his faltering hearing, until not even echoes remained. Rubbing his uninjured hand over his face, he groaned in pain; how could he have said some of the things he had? Nothing... nothing that either of them had said was true, but they knew exactly what buttons to push and how hard to push them. They knew each other so very fucking well.

Dammit.

There was no way Blair could forgive him this time, he was well and truly fucked, in deep, DOA. And Jim knew, knew like he knew where he lived, like he knew his hair was falling out, that he could not face going on without Blair. Definitely not as a Sentinel. Maybe not as a man.

He had screwed up -- again -- and hurt Blair -- again. The only good thing about the situation is at least this time he... hadn't... died... Letting his head fall limply back over the back of the sofa, Jim let the emotion overwhelm him. "I am such an asshole," he choked out, "But... but... he... Oh, Jesus. What am I gonna do now, without him..."

After a few minutes spent wallowing in self-pity, Jim was startled by a sound, just on the edge of his crippled hearing. Incapable of moving, he focused on it, trying to figure out what it was, then abruptly realized it was the scream of a big cat. Suddenly, there was no oxygen in the room and his mouth and throat were dry as old sticks. With effort, he lifted his head -- which somehow weighed several tons -- and opened his eyes.

On a jungle.

"I am calm. I am calm. I am calm." Under his panicky breath, Blair continued the litany, looking around himself frantically. The door at his back had become the trunk of a tree, and Stoddard's office was suddenly a dark glade. Scrambling to his feet, Blair's words became "Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit..."

Directly in front of him, there was a rustling, and he pressed his back more tightly against the tree. Out of the bushes strode a large timberwolf, looking as incongruous in the jungle as it always did. Lifting its muzzle, it howled, a mournful, desperate sound, then glared at Blair, who swallowed hard.

Frozen in place, Blair watched as the wolf paced towards him, stretching up and up and finally becoming a familiar form. Blinking, stunned, Blair stuttered, "In -- Incacha?"

Shaman regarded shaman in silence. Finally, the apparition spoke, gently. "Who are you?" he asked.

Groaning, Blair buried his face in his hands. "Oh, no, not that again," he moaned, then continued harshly, "I have no fucking idea who I am any more."

The shaman's eyes remained calm and unwavering. "Who are you?"

"If I knew who I was," Blair shouted, "I wouldn't have said what I said!"

Sudden realization hit, like a sucker-punch. "Oh my God," Blair breathed. "I -- we -- I fucked up tonight. He's hurting... and I -- I hurt him worse. Goddamn it," he finished sadly, dragging his hands through his hair, "we're getting real good at this hurting each other, aren't we?"

As he normally did when frustrated or thinking, Blair began to pace, his eyes focused on the ground before his feet. "I can't believe some of the things I said -- we said -- tonight. I was just so... so angry, you know? I never even noticed how much Jim was hurting over my not being there. Over my teaching again. He must have been all twisted up... like me. It felt like it was eating me inside, like goddamn Ripley."

Looking up suddenly, Blair found himself face-to-face with -- himself. "A Guide is a Guide only with a Sentinel," the other him said calmly. "You learn from him, he learns from you. It's a partnership, a covenant freely entered and sealed."

"Oh, my God," Blair choked, recognizing the words he'd said to Incacha. Sagging, he let himself fall to his knees on the ground. Wrapping his hands behind his neck, he rocked back and forth restlessly. "I let him say those awful things, shit, I said them back. I let my own nervousness about teaching blind me to his nervousness about letting me teach. I was stubborn as hell, just like him. Neither one of us could back down. And now... now it's destroyed for good."

"Here we go again," Jim muttered, pushing himself more or less upright. The sofa beneath him had turned into the soft jungle floor, and the loft into a dark and steamy glade. Still overcome with emotion, Jim simply stood, swaying slightly, eyes focused on the mossy ground before him.

Another scream slowly forced his head up. Out of the bushes before him strode an inky darkness with yellow eyes -- the jaguar. It stopped several feet away from him and regarded him angrily, its tail twitching. Locked into place, Jim waited, knowing what would happen.

He wasn't disappointed. The jaguar moved, paced towards him, and elongated, stretched, stood on hind legs and became... himself. His jungle self, with a face streaked in paint and dressed in ragged fatigues. Two sets of blue eyes regarded each other silently, then the panther-Jim spoke. As always, its voice was oddly modulated.

"Who are you?"

Jim closed his eyes and sagged. "I... I don't know."

The other-Jim was relentless. "Who are you?"

Almost against his will, Jim's eyes lifted to meet his doppelganger's. "A... I am a sentinel."

"A Sentinel without a Guide is not a Sentinel."

Swallowing hard, Jim muttered, "Nice of you to tell me, finally."

Abruptly, the panther-Jim morphed into Incacha. "Enqueri. This you have known all along."

Jim looked longingly into the eyes of his once-shaman, then sighed. "I didn't want to need him," he said, driven to try and explain. "But he, he made me. He was always there. I got used to him being around. Counted on him. Knew he was always there, and when he started this teaching again, and he was just so goddamned happy about it... I just didn't know what to do." Gasping in realization, Jim added, "And so I struck out. Tried to make him hurt... like I did."

Bowing his head, Jim closed his eyes.

When Blair looked up again, he was back in Stoddard's office, the big oak desk behind him. Shifting slightly, he pulled his legs into lotus and tried to calm his heart and breathing.

After several minutes' work, he calmed enough to enter a light meditation state, attempting to dispassionately examine the anger he felt. He realized that his fight with Jim would not have been nearly so vicious had they not cared for each other so much. Each knew -- with unfortunate clarity -- the insecurities and worries of the other, and while normally that was a strength, in this case it had been a weakness. It had allowed them to wound each other deeply with words.

Eyes popping open, Blair's jaw sagged as he finally realized how much they had come to rely on each other. Incredulous, he saw that was why his teaching knocked Jim for such a loop. "And I rely on him..." Blair breathed aloud, "and I've never realized how much that rankles. I've always been so independent. Never needed anyone. But I need him."

Sighing, Blair blinked as he processed this revelation. Jim had always struck him as a kindred spirit, someone who doesn't need anyone. For the senses stuff, sure, he needed Blair; that was obvious. It was also pretty obvious that Jim resented it too. But rather than being relieved that Blair was out from underfoot so much, Jim felt threatened.

Rising, he began pacing again. But the evening's events were as much Jim's fault as his own. The things Jim said... even allowing for the fear... Deep in thought, he kept on, wearing a groove in Stoddard's floor.

After a long period of introspection, he came to a rest at the large window, leaning his hot forehead against the glass. Taking a deep breath, he understood -- finally -- that they needed each other, and decided it was time they both admitted that -- as well as time to stop the damn games and grow up a little. Staring blindly out the window into the night, he wondered why it was that people who love each other so deeply can also hurt each other so much.

He chuckled, only slightly hysterical now. "Somebody page Ricki Lake," he muttered.

Stoddard's office overlooked the faculty parking lot. From this vantage point, Blair saw a familiar blue and white truck pulling into the parking space next to the Volvo, and also saw several shadowy figures gathering around the walkway from the parking lot to the hall. The conversation before the fight the night before came back to Blair in a rush. "...big faggot boyfriend to protect you..." Jim. They knew who Jim was, but probably not that he was a cop. Not that these jerks would care.

Only frozen for a moment, Blair turned and ran for his backpack, scanning the room for a weapon of any kind. A rather large display shelf drew his attention, and as he found his cell phone, he grinned in anticipation.

When Jim looked up, he was back in the loft. The only thing that surprised him about that was the fact that it didn't surprise him. "Too used to weird things happening," he muttered, collapsing back on the couch.

He realized with a start that his senses were mostly back on-line, although muted. His heart still hammered in his chest though, and if Sandburg were there, he'd tell Jim to meditate. If Sandburg were there, he'd have a cup of tea for him and a calming hand on Jim's neck. If Sandburg were there... Jim would be able to figure out how to apologize for saying and doing such shitty things. If Sandburg were there, they'd be able to resolve everything.

If Sandburg were there. But he wasn't; he had stormed out of the loft and driven off to someplace... some place else.

"Rainier. He went back to campus." Jim said this out loud, slowly, knowing -- somehow -- that this was so. And remembering Rainier was infested with those nutcases. Damn.

Rising from the couch, he began to pace much as his lover would. He didn't know if he should go or not -- he knew -- intellectually, anyway -- that Blair was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. In the end, what decided the matter was his agony at the idea that he might lose his guide again. Pulling himself up straighter, he thought -- then said aloud, as firmly as he was able -- "I'll do whatever I have to do. He's my Guide." Slipping on his jacket and snagging his keys from the basket, Jim opened the door and nearly ran down the stairs to his truck.

Although it was tempting to put his siren on and race to campus, Jim managed to hold back. He used the time en route to think, to attempt to come to terms with himself and how he felt -- which was difficult enough for him normally, he reflected ruefully.

He was angry at Blair for being away. There was more to it than that, though. He was angry that Blair was teaching, which was taking him away from Jim's side, but even more he was angry that Blair was away from Jim and happy. He should be miserable, as miserable as Jim was, but instead, he was happily teaching and loving every minute of it. Therefore, Blair would rather be teaching instead of with Jim.

Which, of course, made no sense whatsoever. Blair would not ever leave Jim, not for teaching, not for anything. They had promised each other. Just as they had promised to talk more often, Jim winced, remembering.

Well, he'd keep one of the two promises, at least.

Pulling into the faculty parking lot, Jim drove into the spot next to the boxy green car and turned off the engine. So he wasn't faculty; he had an in with Campus Police and wasn't worried. Before he could even remove the key from the ignition, voices caught his attention.

"Who the hell is that?"

"Who the hell cares? Let's just get that little fag and go home. I'm cold."

Suddenly, Jim felt a chill too. Climbing out of the cab of the truck, he pocketed his keys and zipped up his coat, looking warily about. Hargrove was right ahead of him, looming in the darkness, and with his sight dialed up he could see several shapes heading towards it. Heading toward Blair.

Listening intently, he strode down the path that led to the hall.

"Shit, he's coming this way."

"Wait. It's the fag's boyfriend! Two for one, man, you gotta love it."

"Yeah. C'mon."

Jim slowed down, lingering under one of the sodium-vapor lamps lighting the path, letting the thugs get a good glimpse of him. A flash of light from Hargrove made him glance up to see Blair's face at a window, and he smiled -- without really understanding why.

The group of seven young men was moving in around him in a loose ring; using his hearing he kept track of those that moved in behind him while he smiled. "Hello, boys. A bit late for little kids to be out, isn't it?"

"You're the one out late, queer boy," the one closest to him said. "Get him."

The ring closed in and suddenly Jim was in the middle of it. Sidestepping gracefully, he avoided blows and ran two of the gang into each other, silently thanking any deity listening that his assailants apparently knew nothing about real fighting. Then one got in a lucky blow to his middle and he whuffed, bending over, which allowed a kick to connect with his shoulder.

Not out of it yet, Jim spun around, bringing his foot up to connect solidly with what he thought was a chin. He felt the presence of another behind him, but before he could turn, a familiar, much-loved voice yelled, "Ellison! Drop!"

Without a thought, Jim went down to his hands, hearing, as he did, something whistle through the air where his head had been and connect to something else with a resounding THWACK. Immediately jumping to his feet, he saw whoever had been trying to get the drop on him lying on the ground, out for the count, and an exuberant Sandburg wielding a -- what the hell was that? A bat?

"You okay, man?" Blair gasped, jabbing at one of the attackers with whatever he was holding.

"I am now," Jim replied, a bit breathlessly, but grinning. They put their backs together and met the enemy.

Seven -- well, six, now -- against two should have been a rout, but when the team of Sandburg and Ellison was moving well, nothing could stand against it. Jim didn't even bother to draw his gun -- which, he remembered later, he had actually left at the loft. Rather than running as they saw their numbers dwindling, the young men apparently grew incensed and attacked harder, making more mistakes, leaving themselves open.

As wailing sirens closed in to campus, Blair found himself face to face with Reese's boyfriend once again. The man was obviously worse for wear, having met up with Jim's fist a few times. He snarled at Blair, hatred shining in his eyes, and Blair grinned back. "Man, you are so having a bad week," Blair murmured as he swung and connected. Mr. Muscle-Shirt went down like a sack of potatoes, and it was over.

Jim turned around as he heard a crack, and saw Blair standing over the last of the attackers. The piece of wood in his hands appeared to be broken. "Oh, man, Eli's gonna kill me," he muttered, examining the thing. On closer inspection, Jim determined with a laugh that it was a frat paddle, covered with signatures, and now cracked almost in two.

As campus and Cascade police converged on the scene, the two men looked around at the carnage they had wreaked. Jim's eyes met Blair's over the bodies of seven moaning, bloody young men, lying on the cold, wet ground. Simultaneously, they extended a hand to each other, grasping tightly, whispering "I'm sorry" over and over.

"Ellison! Sandburg!" A familiar bellow brought them back to themselves, but they did not let go. "What the fuck have you two done now?"

Neither of them got out of the fight unscathed. Jim had a lovely bruise on his shoulder and a matching ache in his solar plexus; the fight had also opened up the cut on his palm, which was aching. Blair's knuckles were scraped bloody, and he now had a cut above his left eye, the one without the shiner. After the cops mirandized the fighters (the ones still conscious) and had the unconscious ones taken off by ambulance, the party was moved to the PD. Suzanne Tomaki and two of her cops came along, to identify and question suspects, as well as to meet the chancellor and president.

When Chancellor Konoe and President Franklin arrived in Major Crime, the bullpen had aspects of a circus. Blair and H were examining the frat paddle to see if it was salvageable with a peanut gallery of other officers. Franklin was morose, his expression hangdog; Konoe appeared to be nervous but happy, and spotted Blair with some alarm.

She called out to him as she hurried across the bullpen. "Blair! Good heavens, are you all right?"

Her question set off a cacophony of voices, all trying to explain at once. Blair, H, Rafe, Suzanne, her two officers; even Joel got into the act and he was merely working late. Finally, Simon's bellow cut through the noise and silenced everyone. "All right people, I am running a police department, not an encounter group! Chancellor Konoe, I presume?" he said, engulfing her delicate hand in his huge paw. "I'm Captain Banks. It's good to meet you finally."

"Captain," she smiled up at him. "I've heard so much about you. This is President Franklin; we're here because Suzanne called and said something about a riot?"

As Simon escorted the two university officials into his office, explaining the difference between a fight and a riot, Jim joined Blair and H at Blair's desk. He was fresh from making his statement to IA -- Blair having already made his -- and had a wad of wet paper towels from the break room. Perching Blair on the corner of the desk, he proceeded to dab at the cut above his eye, wiping dried blood away carefully. Blair suffered his attention with good grace, smiling gently -- sadly -- into his face.

"Jim, you're good with wood," Henri said, shaking his head over the paddle. "What do you think?"

Glancing at it, Jim shook his head. "I don't know, H. A little glue, a couple of brads; it'll still be broken."

"Eli is gonna kill me," Blair repeated ruefully. His partner chuckled as he tossed the used paper towels in the trash.

"Nah, Chief, it's a battle souvenir. He'll be sorry he missed the Charge of the Sandburg Brigade riding to the rescue."

Hearing Jim's honest admiration and pride behind the teasing, Blair had to swallow back a lump of emotion. "We done good, didn't we, partner?" he asked softly.

Jim's face was wide open, shining with such love that it could have lit up a city block. "Yeah. We did. Finally." he murmured in reply, gently caressing Blair's cheek with the back of his knuckles.

After a moment, the two of them became aware of a third person watching them. Jim turned to look into Rafe's eyes -- which were troubled.

"Uh, booking called, Jim," he said hesitantly. "They're all processed, even the ones in the ER."

"Thanks, Rafe," Jim said quietly. "It's your bust, you know. You and H were the ones working it. We just happened to, uh, get caught in the middle."

Henri snorted. "You and your fists, man. And Hairboy's bat!"

"It's a paddle, H," Blair said pedantically. "Something yo'momma should have introduced to yo'backside more often!"

Laughing, Henri punched Blair lightly in the shoulder. "Yeah, yeah, talk to the hand, Hairboy, cause the ears ain't listening!" Jim chuckled as Henri continued. "Seriously, man, you didn't have any problems with IA, did you? Or you, Sandburg?"

Blair shook his head as Jim shrugged. "No more than usual," Jim said for the both of them. "I think I'm actually glad this was the one time in my life I left my piece at home."

Joel, Henri, Rafe and Blair all boggled. "You left your gun at home?" Blair asked, disbelieving.

"Damn, Ellison," Henri said, incredulous.

"So that's why he didn't drop it," Blair laughed, and got another punch in the arm for his trouble.

"I guess there's a first time for everything," Joel muttered, putting on his coat. "I'm out of here, guys. Good night."

As Joel was sent off with cheerful calls and waves, Jim noticed that Rafe hovered nearby. He looked as though he wanted to say something more -- to Jim or to Blair -- but was having a tough time getting it out. Jim lifted one eyebrow in question to him.

Rafe smiled thinly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just wanted to say," he said, speaking low, "that I know. That you haven't changed. Either of you. And I'm sorry it took me this long to realize it."

Touched, Jim smiled and held out his hand. "Thanks, Rafe."

Only hesitating for a second, Rafe took the proffered hand and shook it firmly. "It's -- it still feels kind of uncomfortable to me," he admitted, "but I'll get over it."

"'Bout fucking time," Henri grumbled, grabbing his partner by the upper arm. "C'mon, GQ, we got some little boy student butt-kicking to do. Later guys!"

There were things that needed to be said, but they were better left unsaid until Jim and Blair reached home. And then, of course, there were things that had to be done before things could be said. But finally, well after midnight -- after the reports, and the interviews, and the adrenaline, and Konoe's thanks, and Franklin's relief that his daughter would be fine, and bandages applied -- finally, they faced each other across the loft.

"I would guess that we ought to talk, huh," Jim said softly, restlessly re-folding the afghan on the back of the sofa.

"I think we're a little late for that," Blair admitted sadly.

Swallowing heavily, Jim just replied, "Yeah." After a few minutes, he tentatively reached out, taking a step that put him close enough to Blair to touch. Blair let himself be grasped by the shoulder and tugged forward, so that they were drawn together into a loose embrace. Overhead, rain began falling on the skylight.

Swallowing hard, refusing to look into Jim's face, Blair said, "Maybe... maybe I should sleep down here tonight."

Stifling an instant negation, Jim tried to talk normally. "Is... that what you want?"

Blair rested his forehead against Jim's shoulder. "No," he finally whispered. "But I'm not sure we should... Because of... We -- I -- I mean..."

"Yeah, I know," Jim interrupted softly when Blair seemed to have trouble with his mouth. "We..." he swallowed. "We both said some pretty rotten things tonight."

"When we agreed to talk more, I don't think -- that was what we meant," Blair joked weakly. "I'm sorry, Jim."

"I'm sorry too, Blair."

"We're much better together than we ever would be apart, aren't we?"

"Yes," Jim said, then realized with a start just how true that statement was. "Yes," he repeated, "we are. I know I've said this before, but it's true... I'm going to do my damnedest to talk more, Chief, I swear."

"It's hard -- hard to believe you -- hard to believe we will..." Blair murmured.

"I don't have a good track record here, I know," Jim agreed, his voice wavering with emotion. "All I can do is promise, and try. And I will."

"Then I'll promise to do my damnedest to be more patient with you," Blair replied, admitting it to himself as much as to Jim. "We're too old to be playing these kinds of games."

Jim nodded solemnly. "And in the morning, we're going to start talking. I told Simon not to expect me before noon. You've got classes?"

"Not until ten," Blair confirmed.

"Then... then come to bed -- our bed. To sleep. It's late, we're exhausted, and... Oh, shit. I need to hold you, Chief. And... I need you to hold me. It's hard... hard to..."

"Hard to admit how much you need," Blair murmured, and Jim nodded jerkily, not trusting himself to speak. "I love you Jim. More than I can say."

"I love you too," Jim finally managed to choke out. "I never stopped, and never will."

Arm in arm, they wearily climbed the steps to their bed.

Rain pattered gently against the skylight of the loft apartment at 852 Prospect, and the morning light permeated the place with a gentle, dim glow. The two men in bed on the upper level lay entangled in the sheets and blankets -- the smaller with his face buried in his pillow, the larger on his side with one arm wrapped possessively around his lover. The smaller man shifted, turning and nestling himself against the larger, who merely wrapped his arms more securely around the other and fell, smiling gently, into a deeper sleep.

On the table in the living room, a carved black jaguar and timberwolf stood together, protecting and supporting each other.

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