The moment Jim stepped out of the car onto the sidewalk, he felt something was wrong. There was something off, out of place, something he couldn't quite localize -- but it was something in their building.

"Jim?" Blair was looking up at him with a puzzled frown.

Jim realized he'd been frozen in place while Blair locked up the car and came around to stand at his side. "Do you feel that?" he asked, knowing the answer would be negative, but needing to be sure.

"Feel what?" Blair asked.

Jim hardly registered the hand coming to rest on his arm, but he felt his concentration grow, focus.... "There." He started moving, striding purposefully toward the doors of their building, peripherally aware of Blair trotting to keep up.

The loud, hysterical bawling hit Jim full in the face as he opened the door. It grated right through his bones and set his nerves on a nearly painful edge. Beside him, Blair crooked his head, apparently trying to identify and locate what to him must be a faint sound. Jim hit the stairs and led the way to 207, Blair scrambling right behind him. By the time they came to a halt in front of the apartment door, even Blair was wincing at the continuous, high-pitched crying.

"Mrs. Johnson!" Blair knocked on the door. "Mrs. Johnson? Is everything all right?"

Jim took a deep breath and forced himself to focus. There, beneath that painfully high-pitched wailing, a rapidly fluttering heartbeat -- an infant or toddler, he decided. Another heartbeat, much calmer and slower -- and who could remain that calm with a screaming infant in the place? That kid was crying loud enough to wake the dead.

"I think she's unconscious, Chief," Jim said.

Blair experimentally rattled the doorknob, then pushed the door, testing its give.

"Move over, will you?" Jim said, thinking he could kick in the door, but Blair raised a hand, indicating Jim should stay put. Sticking a hand into his pocket, he fished out his wallet, then slid out a credit card. Jim raised an eyebrow, but kept his mouth shut. A minute later, Blair proudly swung the door open, having successfully jimmied the lock with the card.

"I'm not going to ask where you learned to do that," Jim said, landing a hearty pat on Blair's shoulder as he slipped past.

"Yeah, it's amazing what one learns while associating with the PD," Blair said, hurrying after Jim.

That pulled Jim up short. He allowed himself a disbelieving glance at Blair's carefully innocent eyes before turning back to the matter at hand. Three long strides brought him to kneel at the side of their elderly neighbor, who was, as he had suspected, unconscious on the living room floor. The toddler crouched by her side stopped screaming long enough to take in his face, then resumed wailing with renewed vigor. Jim shook his head in a vain attempt to clear his head, then winced as that sent a quick jolt of pain rattling through his skull. Damn. He still wasn't totally recovered from that whack in the head.

Blair already had his cell phone out and was requesting emergency medical assistance, giving the necessary information in clear, rapid staccato. Jim reached out and placed a hand on Jenny Johnson's body, rapidly scanning for any external injuries.

"Jim? Is she responsive?" Blair asked.

"Nope," Jim replied as he gently but firmly slapped her cheek. "Rapid breaths, skin hot and dry, sweet breath... and I feel track marks on her thigh." He looked up at Blair. "Chief, you know if she's diabetic?"

Blair turned down his lips and shook his head, then continued talking into the phone as he moved into the kitchen. Jim heard the refrigerator door opening, a soft, "Aha!" -- then Blair was telling the dispatcher that yes, he had located insulin.

Jim made sure Jenny was resting comfortably, covering her with a throw from the sofa. Nothing else to be done until the EMTs got here, other than keep an eye on her to make sure she didn't stop breathing. Jim cast a long, assessing gaze at the red-faced toddler, who seemed able to keep up that wailing indefinitely. Didn't it ever get tired? How could such a little body contain enough energy to keep that up so long?

Blair came over and crouched down next to Jim, eyes also fixed on the kid.

"You know who this is?" Jim asked.

Blair puffed out his cheek. "My best guess is, this is Annie's kid. Mrs. Johnson told me she married a theology student -- last year, the year before, something like that."

So that would make this kid Jenny's grandson. Well, he assumed the kid was a boy, seeing how he was dressed in a blue, 'boyish' outfit. "Theology student, huh?" Jim mused out loud.

Blair nodded. "Training to be a minister, I think."

"Oh," Jim said. "And I thought anthropology students were bad."

"Hey!" Blair protested, but stopped short when that startled the kid into a fresh outpouring of tears and wails. "Oh god," he muttered. "Jim, do something."

"Me? Why me?" Jim asked. "You've done pretty well with kids in the past."

"Jim," Blair gazed into Jim with huge, earnest eyes, "those kids were old enough to talk to. This...." He waved a hand at the screaming toddler. "This thing doesn't talk."

"Da!" the toddler screamed, as if to defy Blair's statement. "Da!"

"See? He's talking," Jim pointed out.

"Fat good it does us," Blair muttered, pulling his hair in frustration. "His Da isn't here."

"Well, we've got to do something."

"Yeah. But what?"

They stared at each other in consternation.

A knock on the door startled them out of the impasse. "Why, Detective Ellison," smiled the young uniformed officer. "Somehow, when I heard the address, I knew you'd be involved."

Jim frowned as he got off the floor to greet the new arrival. "Officer Cohen. I didn't hear any sirens," he commented.

"Was just around the corner when the call came in. No need to turn on the siren to drive a block," Cohen explained as he glanced around the room and exchanged a quick wave with Blair. "You seem to have the situation pretty well under control here."

"Yeah. Well, except for...." Jim tilted his head at the kid.

Cohen frowned. "That's not this lady's kid, is it?"

"No. She lives alone," Blair confirmed. "Looks like she was babysitting. We think it might be her daughter's."

"Do you know how to contact the daughter?" Cohen asked as he moved to crouch in front of the kid. "Hi, little fella," he said, reaching out to stroke the toddler's head, then jumped back as the kid yelled bloody murder.

The three men stared grimly at each other.

"Okay," Cohen declared. "We need to locate the parents."

Jim sighed in relief as he realized that an ambulance was turning down the lane that led to Prospect. Maybe one of the EMTs would know how to handle a kid.

Fifteen minutes later, Jim was seated on the sofa, holding the howling kid in his lap, watching the orderly chaos as Jenny was readied for transport, and wondering how in hell he had gotten stuck in this position. The EMTs had taken one look at Jenny, tested her blood sugar, whistled at the results, and started pumping insulin into her after a quick radio conference with the doctors. They'd managed to rouse Jenny long enough to get her to confirm that the toddler was, in fact, her grandson, Matt, and Blair was now on the phone, trying to locate Annie and her husband, Eric. Officer Cohen was standing out of the way in a corner, keeping an eye on the scene and occasionally talking into his radio. So how had he ended up the only adult in the room with nothing to do, and therefore the obvious choice to hold on to the kid? And when was the kid going to stop crying? Even Energizer Bunnies eventually had to run out of power. Right?

Jim closed his eyes. His head throbbed, felt like it was twice its size. He knew he was running a low-grade fever. He took a deep breath, concentrating on tuning out the wailing, the various voices in the room, the bustle of bodies and equipment. Focus on the feel of the warm soft body lying against his stomach, the tiny hands grasping his shirt, the strongly rapid thrumming of the tiny heart, the rise and fall of the small lungs against his as they expanded and contracted with each wail. The sweet milky odor of a baby's body, accented slightly by the dry whiff of baby powder. Blair's voice, calm, confident and authoritative, drifting across the room -- "Yes, it's an emergency. Yes, I need to get in touch with them immediately...."

A gentle hand on his shoulder startled him out of sleep. The hand tightened, signaling him not to move. He slowly turned his head, and Blair's face moved into focus. He blinked, awareness dawning that there was... well, no sound. He shifted his gaze down, careful not to disturb the weight lying against his chest. The kid -- Matt, he reminded himself -- was sleeping quietly, one thumb stuck in his mouth. Well, well. And he looked downright angelic now, curled in a half-fetal position, one hand still tangled tightly in Jim's shirt.

Jim raised his eyes and looked around the now quiet apartment, knowing the three of them were alone. How long had he slept?

"So," he said, returning his gaze to Blair, "You got in touch with Annie?"

"Ah... yeah." Blair puffed out his cheeks and swept his hair back from his face. "About that."

Uh-oh, Jim thought.

Blair carefully settled himself onto the sofa next to Jim and Matt. "You see," he began. "Annie and Eric are at this wedding.... I mean, Eric is doing the wedding. It's like, his first wedding."

Oh. Guess the theology student was now a rookie minister.

"I mean," Blair went on, "it's a wedding. You can't have a wedding without the minister."

Jim closed his eyes. He would have liked to sigh, but he was afraid that'd disturb Matt. "Okay," he said. "What about social services?"

"We called, but they aren't a babysitting service. I mean, it's not like he's been abandoned or something. So..." Blair shrugged, "Annie and Eric will get here as soon as they can, but they are in Glen Oak."

"Glen Oak? That's, like, an hour's drive!"

"Yeah."

"Okay," Jim said, resigned to the situation. "How long are we talking about?"

"Three, four hours. Look, Jim." Blair put a hand on Jim's arm. "You could go upstairs and rest. Your head's bothering you. Right?"

"It's all right," Jim reassured. He stared up at the ceiling. The layout of this apartment was almost the same as theirs, but without the loft section, the ceiling was uncomfortably close. "I could use some of your herb tea, though," he admitted.

"Well, maybe I could go up, and..."

"No," Jim said. The gentle weight of Matt on his chest and the presence of Blair at his side... both were right. Breaking it up was wrong. He was sure of that, even if he couldn't explain why.

"But Jim...."

"Look, Chief," Jim said, "can we all move upstairs? Is that possible?"

Blair frowned, then looked around the room. "I suppose," he admitted. "It'll take some doing to gather up all Matt's stuff, and he'll most likely wake up if we move him, but, yeah, it can be done."

"Do it."

Blair looked at Jim. "You're sure? I mean..."

"I want my tea, Chief, and we aren't splitting up."

"Okay. If you're sure." Blair still looked dubious, but he got up and began moving systematically through the apartment, collecting the baby stuff.

Jim leaned back into the sofa and closed his eyes, wrapping one arm around Matt to hold him more securely. Okay, not the way he'd envisioned spending this afternoon. He'd been looking forward to Blair's herb tea -- which he'd still get, true, but -- he'd been looking forward to touching Blair, tasting him, maybe snuggling into bed together for a little afternoon nap. They'd take it slow and easy -- he really didn't feel up to anything vigorous -- but Blair wouldn't mind. They'd make themselves comfortable in the roomy bed upstairs, and this time, Blair would be on top, like he'd promised, and he'd hold Blair close, letting Blair's weight press him into the mattress -- that same solid weight that had tackled him onto the asphalt, that first day; that same weight that pressed close against his side, following him into and through danger; that same weight -- which was standing in front of him, peering down, loaded with an awkwardly bulky bag across one shoulder and clutching another equally bulky bag in one hand, while the other hand held a rolled-up blanket tucked against his side.

"We need all that?" Jim asked, incredulous.

Blair shrugged. "It's the same principle as packing for an expedition," he said. Jim must have looked blank, because he quickly explained, "You have to take everything you might need, because you don't know which things you will need."

Yeah, that seemed to make sense. But still.... All that stuff, for this little thing? And he'd thought Blair came with a lot of stuff. Well, whatever. Time to get this show on the road. He shifted slowly, adjusting Matt's weight in his arms so he could maneuver to a standing position, hoping against hope that the kid would stay asleep.

They actually got as far as the hallway before Matt stirred. Jim didn't wait while Blair struggled to lock the door while juggling his burdens. If possible, he wanted to get up the stairs and into the loft before the kid started screaming in his ears again. Matt made a soft, inquisitive sound as Jim turned into the stairwell, and lifted his head off Jim's shoulder. Next thing Jim knew, an unexpectedly powerful wiggle had almost sent him out of Jim's arms. Heart in mouth, Jim struggled to regain control of the wiggly mass, which seemed to twist and turn every which way imaginable. He was no longer sure of which way he was holding the kid -- he wouldn't have been surprised if it turned out he was dangling him upside down. Blair elbowed his way into the stairwell, took in the sight, and shook his head in disbelief. Jim glared, and Blair just shrugged, then dashed up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. Matt finally stabilized, dangling in Jim's hands, facing outwards, and Jim decided to take what he could get and hurried up the stairs after Blair. At least the kid hadn't started crying. Yet.

Blair had just gotten the loft door open when Jim got there. "Thanks for the help, Chief," Jim threw out sarcastically as he stepped into the loft ahead of Blair.

"Hey, I just figured I'd put down the stuff first. You know?" Blair shot back as he started unloading himself.

"Yeah. Right." Jim looked around the loft, suddenly at a loss as to where to unload his burden. "Uh, Blair? Where should I put him?"

The look Blair shot Jim as he straightened up from putting down the shoulder bag clearly said, 'What an idiot.' But the look turned to total bewilderment as he, too, looked around the loft -- much to Jim's satisfaction. "Ummmm," Blair finally said, fingers rapidly tapping his chin. "Okay. Sit." He pointed at the sofa. "Just hold him while I clear up the room. Okay?"

"I've been holding him all day," Jim grumbled, even as he complied.

"Come on. It's been less than an hour," Blair cajoled as he began briskly picking things up. "Um.... How high do you suppose he can reach?"

"Put 'em above waist-level and make sure they can't fall," Jim suggested.

"Right," Blair nodded, and continued the Herculean task of toddler-proofing the loft.

Surprisingly, Matt sat quietly on Jim's knee, inquisitively looking around -- for all of a minute. Then Blair, balancing a stack of files, magazines and other assorted papers, got up too quickly, sending a small piece of paper fluttering through the air off the top of the stack. Matt rolled off Jim's knee and onto the floor with a squeal of delight and had crawled halfway across the living room to snatch up the paper before Jim realized what was happening.

"Okay." Jim crouched down in front of Matt. "Look here, kiddo. That's mine." Matt shook his head and continued happily munching the envelope. Jim reached out and took hold of the envelope, pulling it away from Matt's mouth. "See?" Twisting the envelope so the writing faced Matt, he fingered the letters JIM. "That's me."

Behind him, he felt Blair go suddenly still. If the fact that the envelope was addressed to both him and Blair wasn't enough to pique his curiosity, Blair's reaction confirmed this was something goddamned significant. Carefully, Jim plied it out of Matt's insistent fingers, ignoring the squeals of protest. "Nuh-uh," he shook a finger at Matt, holding the card out of reach. "Not yours. Mine. And Blair's."

Matt's squeals turned into an outraged wail as Jim pulled open the flap to draw out the card. Jim stared down at the defiant eyes, overcome by a sudden sense of deja vu. Oh yeah... "Please, please, please... One week, and I'll be out of your hair!"

Blair had resumed moving, picking up something there, opening a drawer here, shoving a CD into the rack over there, but the pace of the movements told Jim that his partner's attention was focused on him as he glanced down at the card. He would have recognized the handwriting even without the signature, but the words totally mystified him. Why would Simon feel the need to reiterate his commitment to their friendship? Wishing the best for what?

Matt made a lunge for the card, and Jim twisted out of the way, barely in time. "Chief!" He waved the card in the air, and Blair plucked it out of his hand and scurried away with it, much to Matt's displeasure.

Jim desperately tried distracting Matt by making what he hoped were entertaining noises and hand gestures, while Blair puffed and huffed as he shoved furniture around, creating a roughly U-shaped 'containment area.'

"So," Jim said as Blair finally threw himself down on the sofa, which now formed one side of the U. "What happened with Simon?"

"Um... closet," Blair mumbled.

Jim followed Blair's gaze to the closet. Judging that it was safe to leave Matt, who was now happily crunching up a bunch of brown wrapping paper, Jim got up and walked over. The scent of dried grass and herbs surrounded him, calm and soothing, as he opened the door. A second later, his eyes focused on the decorated broom. He crooked his head, taking in the sturdy wooden handle, the smooth joint between the handle and the head, the tight weave of the grass, regular but slightly uneven from the grip of a human hand -- he could tell the size of the hand that had woven this, almost see the fingers as they pressed the grass together. It was a beautiful thing, totally incongruous among the assorted bric-a-brac, although it certainly did freshen up the closet nicely. And Simon had gotten them this? Why? What did it mean?

Jim reached for the broom, chasing the faint, elusive glimmer in his memory of when he'd seen something like this before -- then froze as he became aware of another smell wafting through the air, overshadowing the herbs and grass. Shit. Oh yeah. Shit.

He turned slowly and looked down at Matt, who looked back up at him with perfectly round, innocent eyes. "Blair?" he said. "You did bring diapers. Right?"

Blair threw a startled glance at Matt, then looked back up at Jim's wrinkled nose. Without another word, he got up and started digging through the bags. "Does he need a change of clothes?" he asked as he pulled out what looked to Jim like a ton of stuff.

"And how would I know that?" Jim asked back.

Blair threw him yet another incredulous stare, making Jim wish he could get a dime for each time that happened today. "Just check if any got on his clothes, will you?" Blair snapped.

Jim looked back at Matt, carefully keeping his distance.

"Jim," Blair said, voice dripping with exaggerated patience, "unless you've developed X-ray vision I don't know about, you need to pick him up to check his backside, even if you are a sentinel."

Jim sighed. Gingerly, he shifted closer to Matt and grasped him just under the armpits, keeping his hands as high up as he could manage.

"Da!" Matt laughed happily as he was lifted. "Da, Da!"

"Sorry. I'm not your dad," Jim reminded him firmly as he quickly glanced over Matt's clothes. Satisfied that the clothes weren't soiled, he started to put Matt down.

"Da!" Matt scowled, hands stretched toward Jim. "Da!"

"He really thinks you're his dad!" Blair grinned as he dropped down beside them with an armful of stuff, which he began laying out on the floor.

"Do I look anything like Eric?"

"Who knows what people look like to a toddler?" Blair shrugged. "Maybe you smell similar."

Jim blinked. The notion of another guy out there who smelled like him was startlingly discomfiting, leaving him awash in an uneasy tide of jealousy -- a gut-level, instinctual reaction that screamed at him that nobody had the right to smell like him, that only he could make Blair smell like.... Huh? Where did that come from? Blair didn't smell anything like him.... Except, of course, he did, because Jim touched him, and.... Whoa. Whoa, whoa.

"Jim?"

In a daze, Jim handed Matt over to Blair and numbly watched as Blair laid the squirming toddler on the floor and began undoing his clothing. Yes, Blair had an overlay of 'Jim' about him -- and now that Jim was aware of it, he realized that it had been there a long time; that he had been 'marking' Blair, almost from the beginning, even before Blair had moved in here.

"Good boy. Yes, Matt's a good boy," Blair was cooing, in an increasingly frustrated effort to get the kid to stop squirming. Matt was starting to get grumpy and frustrated, too; Jim could feel a temper tantrum gathering just over the horizon. Blair finally got the soiled diaper off, then looked around. "Here," he said to Jim, "hold him while I get rid of this."

Jim slid over while Blair got up and walked to the kitchen. He bent over Matt, trying to get the irritated kid's attention by making faces at him, while he tracked Blair with his hearing. The dirty diaper was stuffed into a plastic bag, sealed off, and thrown into the trash, then the faucet opened as Blair started washing his hand. Matt sniffled loudly, sneezed, and Jim watched in disbelief as a thin, golden stream drizzled in a perfect arch out of Matt's tiny dick, headed right toward....

Jim yelped as the warm, fragrant stream hit him right in the eye, then trickled down his face, filling his mouth with a sweet-salty taste which he desperately tried to spit out.

"Jim? Jim? What happened?" Blair's flustered, breathless voice sounded next to his ear.

"T-towel," Jim managed to gasp out.

"Wha...? Oh. Right. Towel." Blair reached down and grabbed a towel, which Jim snatched up as soon as he felt it pushed into his hand. "Er, did he...? Um... he didn't.... Oh no... he didn't!"

Jim peeked out from behind the towel and watched with unfeigned disgust as Blair dissolved in helpless laughter.

Jim got his revenge, however, when Matt spat out, one after another, all the food that Blair tried to feed him. Canned baby food, warmed formula, juice... all seemed to only stay in Matt's mouth long enough to get just disgustingly gooy with saliva before they ended up on Blair.

"Should I get you a bib?" Jim asked solicitously as Blair stared down at his icky shirt.

Blair shot Jim an evil glare before turning his attention back to Matt. "We've got to get him to eat something," he sighed.

"He'll eat when he gets hungry enough," Jim reasoned philosophically. "Give it a rest, Chief. Go change."

Blair grunted assent and disappeared into his room. Jim looked down at Matt, who was rolling on the spread-out blanket, contentedly chewing on the handmade stuffed toy that looked to Jim like a sausage with legs. The thing probably had had ears to begin with, but only a slight dent on either side of the non-descript oval head, outlined by a thin line of needle holes quite visible to sentinel sight, marked the spots where they had once been. The fabric, worn and faded from repeated washings, was indelibly soaked through with Matt. Watching Matt suck at a discolored corner that was obviously his favorite spot, Jim wondered if lovers also unconsciously tried to steep each other in one another's scent.

Blair plonked down next to him on the sofa, dressed now in a worn, oversized t-shirt and a pair of ragged old sweatpants. One of his t-shirts, Jim realized. He didn't know when Blair had gotten into the habit of borrowing his clothes. It'd never bothered him, even when he found himself fishing around for his favorite shirt only to realize that it must be in Blair's drawer. Having Blair borrow his clothes, knowing that he felt comfortable enough with Jim to do that, to see the visible reminder of that as they worked beside each other all day, was always nice, reassuring, comfy. Looking back, he really couldn't tell when he had started wanting Blair -- and, in the end, it didn't matter. Giving in to the wave of affection and longing that washed through him, he reached for Blair, suddenly unwilling to wait any longer for the touch he'd craved all day.

Blair slid pliantly enough into Jim's side, but stiffened when Jim nuzzled his hair. "Uh, Jim?" he shifted uneasily.

"Hmm?"

"What about...?" Blair inclined his head toward Matt.

Jim eyed Matt, who stared back, the stuffed toy dangling from his hand, momentarily forgotten. "He's not going to tell, Chief," he shrugged, and shifted to pull Blair closer.

"Uh...." Blair let himself be pulled, still clearly reluctant. "It just feels... odd."

"What?" Jim gently carded his fingers through Blair's hair, enjoying the silky feel. "You don't think Annie and Eric ever cuddle in front of him?"

"That's... um... that's..." Whatever Blair was about to say was lost as Jim's mouth found Blair's. Jim slipped into Blair's mouth, immersing himself in the full flavors there, the soft, sensual slide of tongue over tongue, the quiet noises vibrating from the back of Blair's throat. Blair's hand clamped on to Jim's shirt, and Jim twisted slightly, falling back into the sofa, bringing Blair to lie on top of him, half-straddling his lap.

And a small hand grabbed his pants just below the knee, twisting the fabric painfully around his leg, a determined body wiggled into the space between his leg and Blair's, pushing them apart, and Matt thrust his free hand at Jim and loudly proclaimed, "Da!"

Sighing loudly, Jim let go of Blair and swung Matt off the floor onto his lap. "Yeah, I love you, too," he muttered as Matt happily squirmed onto his chest.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a chaotic blur -- both the shortest and longest afternoon of his life. Matt never seemed to be still, crawling at an unbelievable pace all across the loft. He and Blair took turns scrambling after the kid, retrieving him from cupboards, drawers, shelves, cabinets.... It was amazing how many things there were in the place that the kid could get in to, and how skilled the kid was at opening things. Who'd have thought a kid this small could unscrew a lid off the bottled olives and pour the oily contents all over the floor? Thank god only a small bit had gotten on the carpet. And Jim's heart skipped a beat when he saw Matt trying to open the box of drill bits that Blair had missed.

Annie called. First to say she and Eric were leaving Glen Oak, and then again, to let them know that Jenny was being released from the hospital -- turned out she had forgotten to take her insulin shot that morning, but she was stabilized now, and ready to come home. Would they mind very much watching Matt for a while longer while they swung by the hospital to pick Jenny up?

Well, of course they couldn't very well say no, and it was a relief to hear that Jenny's condition hadn't been that serious. Still, the thought of spending an extra hour or so watching the kid.... You couldn't keep an eye off him for a second. No wonder poor Jenny had missed her insulin shot. Here were he and Blair, two of them, and they were still having trouble keeping up. How did anyone do this day after day?

Jim looked down at Matt, who was perched on his lap, finally suckling contentedly on a bottle of warmed milk. The soft gurgles and swishes of the liquid as it swirled inside the bottle before gradually disappearing into Matt's mouth set up a soothing rhythm that matched the low, insistent throbbing in his head, lulling Jim into closing his eyes. He'd rest them just for a minute....

The low chatter of several voices drew him out of sleep.

"...he's decided that Jim makes a great mattress." Blair was saying.

Jim blinked. He was lying stretched out on the sofa and, sure enough, Matt was stretched out over his chest, sound asleep. He looked up blearily at the faces bent over him. Blair, Jenny, Annie, and this must be Eric. Pleasant looking guy, handsome even, but didn't look anything like himself. Unable to resist, Jim took a carefully unobtrusive sniff, absurdly relieved to note that the guy didn't smell anything like himself, either. He groaned and tried to shift, wondering how he was going to get up without dislodging Matt. Annie solved the problem by leaning down to lift Matt, shifting him to get a better grip.

Matt stirred, then blinked, sleepily rubbing his eyes. He looked around, eyes coming to focus on Annie's smiling face. A delighted smile slowly spread over his face, and he reached out a hand to tentatively pat her face.

"Da!" he squealed.

Da? Annie was 'Da'?

Blair collapsed to the floor in hysterical laughter. Annie, Jenny and Eric looked down at Blair with nearly identical, puzzled expressions, then turned, as one, to Jim for an explanation.

"Um...." Jim pushed himself up into a sitting position and glared down at Blair, who was still hiccupping furiously. "It's just that... um... Matt, you see...."

Annie's eyes cleared in sudden understanding. "Oh. He's been saying 'Da' to you!"

"Yeah," Jim nodded. "We thought...."

"Oh, nononono." Annie shook her head. Blair finally got control of himself and looked up at her for the explanation. "See, he says 'Da' when he wants to be held."

Blair frowned. "'Da' means 'hug'? Why??"

Annie looked back at Eric, and they shrugged in unison. "We really don't know. He just... says that to anyone when he wants a hug. I know. It's confusing, but...." She shrugged again.

"Everyone always thinks he's asking for me," Eric added. "One time, the babysitter came all the way to the church saying he won't stop crying and he was asking for me. Turned out, he just wanted to be held."

"Oh," Blair blinked sheepishly. "It's just that, he's been running after Jim all day saying, 'Da!'"

"And then first thing he says when he sees me is 'Da.'" Annie grinned. "That would be funny, if he thought Jim was me!"

They all laughed at that, while Matt scowled fiercely at the adults, patently annoyed to be left out of the joke.

Things moved quickly after that. Blair, Annie and Eric packed up Matt's things while Jim and Jenny got parked on the sofa with Matt, comparing notes on their emergency room visits. Once everything was packed and loaded onto Eric, and Annie had hefted Matt into her arms, they stood by the door, exchanging pleasantries and patting Matt goodbye, waving as the family disappeared down the stairway. Turning back into the loft, which felt suddenly quiet and empty, Jim sank into the sofa, half-consciously tracking the group as they moved down the second floor hallway to 207.

"Such nice people," Eric was saying.

"Oh, they are both so sweet," Annie interjected.

"Yes, a delightful couple," Jenny agreed.

"Jim?" Blair asked. "What's so funny?"

Jim shook his head.

"Hey!" Blair slapped his forehead. "I never made you your tea!"

"Oh yeah," Jim groaned. "Hey, I'd forgotten about it, too."

"Want me to make it now?"

Jim looked at Blair. "Nah," he said, reaching out and drawing Blair close. "Stay."

Blair curled up against Jim with a sigh. "I don't know how anyone does this all the time!"

"Mmmmm," Jim nuzzled into Blair's hair, wrapping his arms around the warm, solid weight. "Was thinking the same thing myself."

"You looked so cute with Matt sleeping on you," Blair smiled, tilting his neck for Jim to kiss.

Jim bent to the offered neck, nipping softly at the vein. He smiled in lazy satisfaction as he felt Blair's breath hitch. "You weren't doing half bad yourself, Kala," he teased.

"Kala? Wha...? I'm Tarzan's mom?"

"Hey, if the description fits...." Jim quipped as he pulled the edge of Blair's shirt out of his sweatpants.

"What? I'm a gorilla?" Blair snorted. He twitched as Jim slid a hand under his shirt.

"You have the hair for it," Jim murmured, scraping his fingers through said hair.

"Hey!" Blair protested, twisting away. Jim grabbed him and pinned him to the sofa, and Blair bucked, laughing, as he half-heartedly tried to throw Jim off. They tangled playfully, twisting and rolling until Blair ended up on top, sprawled flat against Jim.

"Hey," Blair whispered, his breath roughly caressing Jim's cheek.

"Hey, there," Jim whispered back, and watched as Blair's lips descended to close over his.

And Jim drank in the rich subtle flavors of Blair's mouth, breathed in the deep dark scent of Blair's skin tinged with the faint echo of Matt's milky-sweet baby scent, marveled at the feel of Blair's hair tickling against his face, felt Blair washing over him and into him, and knew that he was home.