This story could not have been completed without Tricia's support and encouragement. Thank you, Tricia, for always being there.

This story is based on the televised episode Hear No Evil.

A significant portion of the dialogue in this story is adapted from that episode. A transcript of the episode can be found at Becky's Episodes Transcripts Page.

However, this being the Peru Universe, not everything is exactly the same with the TV episode. If the tone of a character's voice, the accompanying body language, or the wording of a sentence appears to be different from what you see on the screen, then it is.

First of all, there was the physical.

I'd been putting it off as long as I could. I sort of have that kinda response sometimes. You know, ignore a problem and maybe it will go away? Never works, though. But I keep doing it anyway. I know it frustrates the people close to me, which right now consists mainly of Simon and Blair. They both have this real exasperated expression they put on when I'm doing it. I can almost feel the wheels turning in their head as they mentally calculate how much shove to give me in order to get me moving. It's a real fine art, really. If they push too hard, I shut down completely, but too soft a push isn't going to accomplish anything. It's a character flaw, I know. I'm damn lucky to have two friends who care enough to go through the trouble, I know. I still do it with some regularity. I don't know why. It's just such a basic part of me that I can't even contemplate changing it.

So anyway, Simon finally cornered me, told me the appointment was set up, and ordered me to go or else. I complained that I was afraid the doctors will find out about my Sentinel abilities. Simon looked even more exasperated than ever. "But isn't that the whole reason why I have to put up with Sandburg?" he said. "Let him figure out how to deal with it."

I guess that's why Simon's the Captain. He always has the answers. Wait, that's not exactly right. He always knows who knows the answers. He knows who's the right person for a job. Soon as I heard him say that, it made me feel like an incompetent idiot for not thinking of it myself.

So I picked up Blair from the university and headed to the doctor's office. I was still miffed after the exchange with Simon. Blair was a little annoyed at the short notice. So we weren't on the best footing with each other. So when, after going on about how we could have used more time to prepare for this, Blair topped it off with, "We'll just have to do the best we can," I shot back with, "What do you mean by 'we'?"

As if I didn't know very well by now that this is a joint project.

Blair winced at that barb. For a moment, he seemed at a loss what to say. But only for a moment. The next thing, he's rattling on about his thesis, his book, his movie rights, in a purposefully nonchalant tone that barely covered his hurt.

I checked in at the front desk. By the time I sank into a seat next to Blair, he had shoved our spiteful little exchange somewhere deep in the back of his mind and was totally focused on getting me to relax. He even played a mindless little joke on me to get me to laugh. I felt like a total bastard for snapping at him. Paradoxically, it worsened my mood.

The physical went well. It was not so much the mantra that worked, as Blair's approach of injecting humor in the situation. Once I admitted to myself the ridiculousness of sitting there in a hospital gown, which, as we all know, leaves all the important parts exposed, while reciting a mantra to make myself calm down, I, well, calmed down.

I came out to the waiting room, where Blair greeted me with a genial, "Hey, man, how'd it go?"

I made a noncommittal grunt and walked out, leaving Blair to scramble after me.

"So?" Blair prompted again once we were in the elevator.

"Nothing," I said. "Doctor says I'm in perfect shape."

"Well?" Blair bounced up and down. "That's good isn't it?"

"Yeah, except for one thing."

Blair's face fell. "What?" he asked.

"She said I had ear wax. She washed out my ears."

"Ear wax?" Blair repeated. His face turned thoughtful, and he chewed on his lower lips, a habit he has when he's concentrating on something. "Ear wax," he muttered, as if trying to digest the concept.

The elevator reached the lobby. The instant I stepped out, I was overwhelmed by the barrage of sound that suddenly assaulted me. Blair instantly grabbed my arm and hustled me into a corner away from the traffic.

"Come on, Jim, turn down your dials," he said in a strong whisper, "Deep breath, hold it, exhale. Another one, hold it, let it go. Found the dials yet?"

I nodded. "Yeah, I'm alright," I said, straightening out. I started to walk away, but Blair held me back with a hand on my arm.

"Hey, Jim, listen to me," he said. "There's going to be even more noise when we get out on the street. You need to be ready for it."

I had to admit that his point was sensible, as always.

"So what do I do?" I said, petulantly. I always act like a spoiled child when something goes wrong with my senses. Another character flaw I have no plans for correcting in the near future.

"Where are your dials for your hearing?" Blair asked.

"I dunno, how should I know?" I said, still in my spoiled child mode.

Blair sighed and rubbed his temple. I could see him repeating some calming mantra of his own inside his head. "Okay, Jim," he finally said. "Close your eyes, relax, take a deep breath. Now visualize the dial in your head. Got it? Where is it at?"

"Five."

"Okay, hold it there and listen to me. This is very important. When I tell you to, you are going to turn down the dial all the way to zero. Now when you do that, you'll probably be shut off from all sound input, so it's very important that you keep close to me. Don't go off by yourself. In fact, it's probably best to keep your hand on my shoulder all the time. Now when we go outside, I'm going to get us to a relatively quiet spot. Once I think it's safe, I'll tap your arm like this," he tapped out a rhythm on my arm with his fingers. "When I do that, I want you to turn up your hearing up a notch, to one. Hold it there for a while. If you can tolerate that, move it up another notch. Repeat, until the noise gets too loud, then bring it back down to the last level you could tolerate. Got all that?"

I nodded.

"Okay, fine. Turn down the dial... now."

I did. The sudden absence of sound was deafening. I looked down at Blair, who was looking up at me expectantly. I nodded to show that it had worked. He gestured to me to get moving. I grabbed his arm, and we walked out of the lobby into the streets.

The total absence of sound was extremely disturbing and disorienting. Seeing cars and people moving by but not hearing the sounds they should be making made me feel as if I were watching a muted TV screen, made me feel like I was there, and yet not there. Even more disturbing was feeling the blood throbbing through Blair's arms and not hearing the beating of the heart driving the blood through his body. Seeing his hair being rustled by the wind, without hearing the soft swish that it should have caused. I tightened my grip on Blair's arm, feeling as if without that support, that connection with reality, I would crumble down and curl up on the spot.

Blair glanced at me, his face radiating concern. I looked down at him with grim determination, and took a step forward.

We reached my car. Blair held out his hand for the keys. I gave them to him. He unlocked the passenger-side door and motioned for me to get in. I frowned. He repeated the motion, more insistently. I sighed and complied. I shut the door, and did a double-take when I didn't hear a bang. I stared at the door, not quite able to believe that it was really closed. I jumped when Blair touched my arm. Of course I hadn't realized he had gotten into the car.

My jumping had startled Blair, and he, in turn, jumped away. Looking at his surprised face, I just lost it and started laughing. It was weird to be laughing without being able to hear myself. I mean, there I was, heaving and panting and shaking, and not a sound was registering in my ears. Which stuck me as funny, so I laughed even harder.

At first, Blair was startled into laughing along with me, the way people laugh simply because somebody else is laughing, even though they have no idea what is funny. But when I didn't stop laughing, he started to get annoyed. He started saying things to me -- I suppose he was trying to ask what was so funny, but I couldn't hear anything, and he looked so ridiculous moving his mouth and waving his hand around with no sound coming out, it made me laugh even more. Finally, he just folded his arms and glared at me until I finally managed to get a hold of myself. I sat there gasping and wheezing, totally out of breath.

Soon as he saw that I had settled down, Blair reached out and tapped me on the arm. I concentrated on fiddling with my dials as Blair had suggested before. As I turned up my dials and felt the sounds of my surroundings wash over me, I felt my body relax. I hadn't realized that I had tensed up so much. I'd always liked the quiet, but what I hadn't realized before was that quiet wasn't the absence of sound. There are always some sound around you. It's just that some sounds disturb you, while others are soothing, and still others are just so neutral, you don't even notice they are there. Until you can't hear them. Until you realize how lost you are without them.

I took a deep breath and dialed up another notch, then another. After the third nudge, the assault of sounds got painful, so I dialed it back down.

Blair had been watching me closely, and must have noticed when I had settled my dials.

"Okay, Jim?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said. "Good to hear your voice, Chief." I sincerely meant it.

"Oh?" smiled Blair. "I'll remind you of this the next time you say I talk too much."

"Whatever you say, Chief."

We just grinned stupidly at each other for a few seconds.

"So," Blair said, "You doing okay?"

I nodded.

"Now," continued Blair, "I want you to hold onto your dials, so you can turn them at a moment's notice, can you do that?"

"Think so," I said.

"Okay, here's what we do..." Blair launched into an explanation of how I should fiddle with my dials and try to nudge it up a little bit every so often until I got used to hearing sounds at that level. Of course, if I got hit by a loud noise, I was to turn the dials down immediately to where it was comfortable. I should gradually be able to acclimate myself so that eventually I would be able to hold the dials at a normal level.

"Got all that?" Blair said, finally. "Now for the first test. I'm going to start the engine. You ready?"

We spent the whole of the ride home and the rest of the afternoon fiddling with my dials. Once we got home, Blair turned on the TV and stereo, grabbed the remote, found some CD's with some weird sounds on it -- I have no idea where he gets those -- and kept turning them up and down, switching from CD to TV and different channels on the TV and back to CD, making me practice hearing sounds at this new heightened level.

We threw together a quick dinner -- neither of us felt like cooking anything elaborate -- ate, then settled down on the couch. By that time, I was feeling like I was getting a hang on controlling my hearing. Blair brought out his books and papers and started working on some project for school, while I turned the TV to the game, the volume turned low so it wouldn't disturb Blair.

It was just like any other night at the loft, the two of us sitting companionably next to each other, each doing his own thing, but somehow comforted by the proximity of the other. It was something we'd started doing almost as soon as Blair had moved in, and it hadn't really changed when he started sleeping in my bed.

It was such a domestic scene. It felt like we'd been doing this much longer than the year and half, give or take a month, since Blair moved in with me. It felt like forever. And suddenly, I was overwhelmed by a wish, a longing, that it would be forever. But forever is an illusion. All things come to an end, sooner or later. But I wanted my time with Blair to end later rather than sooner.

Watching him sitting there, scribbling away intently on his notepad, reminded me of the other world to which he belonged. Of the day when he will complete his dissertation... and then what? A job search, a move to another city, a hug at the airport, promises for calls and letters? Did he even want to leave, to move on? Was I alone in wishing for forever?

Even if we both wanted it, was it right for us?

Who was I kidding anyway? I couldn't let him go, could I? I would rather lose an arm and a leg than lose him. Hell, all my arms and legs. But if he wanted to go...

If I say the word, will he stay? If I say the word, can I have him forever? Three one-syllable words. I had heard him saying to Margaret he wanted to hear it. But what would it mean to him, and to me, if I did?

"You know, I'm wiped," I said. "I'm turning in."

"Go on ahead," said Blair, without even looking up from his paper. "I got to work on this some more."

"Okay, Chief," I said.

I climbed into bed, feeling vaguely annoyed at the empty space beside me. It occurred to me that maybe if Blair hadn't spent the afternoon helping me with my hearing, maybe he wouldn't have to be staying up right now working on his stuff. Somehow the idea irritated me even more.

I tossed and turned, while sleep eluded me. I just couldn't get myself comfortable, no matter what position I tried, or which side of the bed I slept on. There was a faucet dripping in the kitchen. The intermittent drip started to annoy me. Drip. Then just as my attention would start to wander, another... Drip. Every few seconds, but not always quite regularly... Drip.

A car horn suddenly blasted, right next to my ears, I thought. It took me a few seconds to realize that the car was on the street outside. I heard snatches of conversations that were taking place I didn't know where. Drip, went the faucet. Some scratching noise I couldn't identify. Outside again, this time some guy gunning his motorcycle. Cats hissing and fighting in the alley. And god, that annoying scratching sound again. What was that?

I jumped up, ran downstairs and grabbed Blair's pen away from him.

"What's going on?" Blair demanded, wide-eyed with surprise.

"Do you have to write so damn loud?" I yelled.

"Jim, you got..." Blair started saying, at the same time I flung the pen down on the table. The rattle of metal against wood made me wince.

"Man, get a grip," said Blair, "What happened to your dials?"

"Can't find them," I said.

Blair sighed and looked up at the ceiling in supplication. Just then the alarm clock on the table went off, its shrill sound grating against my ears. Blair instantly slapped it off, and looked at me apologetically.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Sometimes, I got to remind myself to stop studying and go to bed."

I dropped down on the couch next to him, accidentally bumping into a book, which landed on the floor with a resounding thud. I covered my ears and moaned dramatically.

"Come on, Jim, you had the dials working earlier. What happened?" said Blair.

"Don't know, can't find them," I repeated petulantly.

"Jim," Blair started in his most patient tone, "You suffered from impacted ear wax. It's no big deal. So do a lot of other people. In your case, your Sentinel hearing compensated and we never knew how powerful it actually was. You just have to start at the beginning again."

"Oh, that's great. That's really encouraging," I groused.

"Come on, Jim," Blair continued to coax, "It'll be fun. I mean, your hearing is one of your greatest assets. And if you've only been using it at half speed, think about what you could do now."

"Well yeah," I shot back, "You aren't the one who'll spend the rest of your life being tortured by dog whistles." I grabbed the couch cushions and held them against my ears.

"You know, Jim, you are being a real asshole," said Blair.

"It's your asshole, stupid," I said.

Blair smiled weakly at the lame joke.

"Okay, Jim," he said, as he started to gather up his stuff, "I have some ideas I want to try out. And I should be going to bed anyway. Just... why don't you wait for me upstairs?"

Ten minutes later, I was settled in my bed, feeling quite comfy, Blair tucked snugly against my side.

"Focus on me, Jim," he crooned, a hand softly ghosting over my chest, tracing swirling patterns over and over. "Feel that? Does it feel good? Close your eyes, open up your sense of smell. How do I smell?"

"Like you," I murmured.

"You like the way I smell, don't you? Can you hear my heartbeat? You like to listen to my heart, don't you? Concentrate on that. Filter out all other sounds."

He placed a soft, dry kiss on my lips. "Like that?" he whispered, his breath blushing softly against my lips.

I growled and pulled his head down for a deeper kiss. Impatiently, I grabbed the waistband of his boxers and pushed it off. I flipped us over, so he was beneath me, and grabbed the lube off the nightstand.

In no time I was inside him, rocking slowly, softly, back and forth. Feeling his legs wrapped tightly around my waist, his hands gripping my arms. Smelling the heady scent of his arousal in the air, hearing the soft sounds he made in the back of his throat with my every thrust. Thinking back, I must have heard the helicopter flying overhead -- I mean, even Blair heard that. But I wasn't aware of it. All I was aware of was Blair. The warmth of his body, the sweat glistening over his skin, the play of his curls against the pillow...

A blood-curling scream pierced my ears.

I was up and grabbing for my clothes before I realized what I was doing.

"Wha-what?" Blair sounded pretty bewildered. "Jim? What's up?"

To his credit, he scrambled out of bed and started pulling on his clothes even before I answered.

"You didn't hear that?" I said, as I finished buttoning my pants.

"What, the choppers?" returned Blair. He looked around for his shirt and settled for pulling on my sweatshirt. "They're flying over us all the time."

"No," I said, "there were screams." I shoved my feet into my shoes.

"Screams? What kind of screams? Where?" Blair asked, as he retrieved his shoes from under the bed.

Just then I heard a voice from somewhere above us say, "Down! Get him down!" Yes, that definitely was coming from the helicopter.

"It's landing," I said, running downstairs and grabbing my coat.

"Jim! Wait up!" said Blair, as he scrambled after me.

The rest of that night seems like one big nightmare. Finding the spot where the body had fallen from the sky, seeing the body dropped from the helicopter -- a police chopper, of all things -- into the bay. Waiting for the Coast Guard to recover the body, finding my worst fears confirmed when the body turned out to be a cop, a guy by the name of Marten.

One or more of my brothers in uniform had killed one of our own.

Of course, nobody believed me. Again. Even Simon was skeptical. He kept harping that we needed proof.

"I saw what I saw." I told him.

"Well, you better have some hard evidence or we are dead in the water," said Simon, as he hurried off to talk to the dead cop's wife.

"Like our friend here," I muttered.

I felt Blair's presence by my side. "The guy had a wife," he said, quietly.

"And 1100 brothers in uniform," I added. "And one of them murdered him."

We went back to the loft for a quick shower and change of clothes before heading out, me to the station and Blair to the University. Blair stopped me as I was about to walk out the door.

"How's your hearing, man?" he asked.

"Fine. I got ahold of the dials," I answered.

"Well, take these with you, just in case," he said, thrusting my ear plugs at me.

"You think I need that?" I said. "I look ridiculous wearing them."

"Take them," he insisted. "If you don't need them, great. If you do, you'll thank me for it."

I grimaced, but took the ear plugs.

I had barely been at the station for half an hour before my control started slipping. The ear plugs helped at first, but soon the sounds were getting too loud even with them. Pens scratching on paper. Typing. Doors opening and shutting. Footsteps, especially the clicking of high heels. Voices, lots of voices. Toilets flushing. Phones ringing.

I looked in vain for the dials. God, did I have to have Blair with me in order to control this thing? I wanted to live with the guy, not be stuck to him. Why was it that his being there helped, anyway? What was this connection between us?

I suddenly didn't know whether I wanted Blair around because I loved him, or whether I thought I loved him because I needed him. I didn't know whether he was able to help me because he loved me, or he loved me because I needed his help.

I just wanted to sink into his arms and not think of anything.

Yes, denial and repression is my M.O. If I hit a problem I can't get a grip on, that scares me out of my pants, my first response is retreat and ignore.

Footsteps. Clock ticking. Drawers sliding out, then slamming shut. Simon arguing with Joan on the phone. Elevator dinging. More voices, more footsteps.

"Hey man, how you doing?"

Blair.

Footsteps. Blair's.

Heartbeats. Blair's heartbeats.

Soft, soothing, white... huh? What was that?

"Well?"

There was Blair, grinning like the cat that ate the canary, bouncing up and down expectantly.

Something... some kind of an electronic device, about the size of an alarm clock, sat on my desk where Blair had put it down.

"Well, what?" I asked.

"Does it work?" Blair asked back, still bouncing.

"Oh, yeah, yeah. I'm all ready to wax my board and hit the surf," I returned, sarcastically. "What is this?" I nodded toward the little device.

"What do you hear, Jim?" Blair prompted.

"Office sounds," I said. Even as I said that, I realized that the sounds had been muted, that they were now bearable. In fact, things sounded pretty much normal. "At normal volume," I added.

"Yes! It works!" Blair exulted. "That's a white noise generator. People use it to block out unwanted sound, like if you have trouble sleeping at night," he explained.

Like I didn't know what a white noise generator was.

"Or if you have Sentinel hearing on the fritz," I added, feeling a bit annoyed.

Blair remained undaunted. "Exactly," he smiled. "Try these on," he said, handing me a small case that looked sort of like the things they use for rings.

I opened the case and stared down at the two small ear plugs.

"Each one of these is more than just an ear plug. It's a white noise generator," Blair explained helpfully.

Machines. He was giving me machines to solve my hearing problem.

"These are attractive," I said. As if their outward shape had any relevance to anything.

"Aren't they?" Blair agreed. What, would he agree to anything I said?

"Try them on," Blair urged, "The batteries are already inside."

I put the ear plugs on and flicked the switches. Blair turned off the desktop white noise generator.

"Well?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows.

"Nice," I said.

"Uh-huh," said Blair.

"Not bad," I repeated. "Now, can we get some work done, here? I want you to try and contact Marten's wife."

Blair's face fell. "A 'thank you' would be nice," he muttered.

So I was being an asshole. Again. He was taking the blunt of my assholi-ness. Again.

"Thank you. I'll remember to send you a card, okay?" I said, flatly.

"You're welcome," Blair returned equally flatly. He settled down in a chair, picked up the phone, and started dialing.

Machines. He gave me machines. They worked.

Shit.

No gentle hand on my shoulder. No soft voice whispering, "Now, concentrate on me, Jim..."

I threw down the folder I was looking at and stalked off to talk to Simon.

The I.A. investigator in charge of whatever case Marten had been involved with just had to turn out to be Sheila. She and I had tangled before over Jack's case. She was apologetic when I was proved innocent, had, in fact, left me several messages asking to talk. I never returned them.

What was done was done, right?

And here I was, having to ask her for information. Trying to convince her that my seeing Marten tossed out of a police chopper was more than a fantasy. Having heightened senses is sometimes more of a burden than an advantage. Like in that case with the Juno brothers. If you are the only one who saw what you saw or heard what you heard, how do you know that you are right, and you are not going crazy? Imagining things? Hearing voices in your head?

If it wasn't for Blair, I would have gone crazy a long time ago.

I see what I see. I hear what I hear, feel what I feel, smell what I smell, and taste what I taste.

It was Blair who taught me that.

Like last night. He jumped out of bed and started pulling on clothes just because I was doing it. If I heard something and thought it was important, it was.

And if I said there was a police chopper, there was.

Just like that.

Following Tommy Yuan's crew turned out to be a big score, as Blair managed to tape the police chopper picking up the duffel bag. He also taught me to "piggyback" one sense on another. How does he come up with those analogies anyway? First "dials," and now "piggyback." Yeah, right. They work, though. That's the funny thing. Blair works.

Blair works.

We went back to Sheila and showed her the tape. It still wasn't enough evidence to bring down the crew, but it was enough to convince Sheila to work with me. Problem was, now I had to convince her to work with us, with Blair.

She suggested we talk about it over dinner. I told Blair not to wait up for me if I were late. I had a feeling this was going to take time.

We went out to a nice, quiet Italian restaurant. We started talking about our personal life over dinner. She told me about her fianc, Stan. I told her about Blair.

I told her about how we met. I couldn't give her the real version, of course. No, I gave her the "Thin Blue Line" version. And I couldn't tell her about how he saved my life that day, because how could I explain why I had been standing like a zombie in front of an oncoming garbage truck? But I told her what a help he was in solving the Switchman case. How he kept his head and helped keep himself and other hostages alive during Kincaid's siege of the police station. By then, I had her sold on having Sandburg on the team.

She told me about how she met Stan. They'd been in the library, and they reached for the same book at the same time. Turned out they liked a lot of the same authors. That derailed the conversation for a while as to what kind of books I liked. Turned out that Sheila and I had a lot of things in common. Maybe not as much as she and Stan, but plenty. Anyway, back to the day they first met, they had gone to a cafe near the library, and were sitting there, chatting, when a waiter had spilled a pot of coffee all over the two of them. Since his place was closer, they went there, she took a shower, and he lent her his clothes. Now talk about a way to break ice with somebody.

By the time dinner was over, we were engaged in a friendly debate over who had the most annoying habits, Blair or Stan. It seemed the most natural thing to go over to her place for drinks.

I don't remember how late it was. Or how many drinks we'd had. I was sitting on her couch, and Sheila was in an armchair off to the side.

"Sounds like you really love him," she said.

I looked down into my drink. "Love?" I said. "It's a word."

Sheila frowned. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"I've said it a thousand times," I said, "to dozens of people. I don't know what it means. I don't know whether I ever did."

"Maybe," she said thoughtfully, "It just means what you mean it to mean. Oops," she giggled, "That came out kind of confused, didn't it?"

"No," I said. "That, that actually made sense."

We sipped our drinks quietly for a few seconds.

"Well, see," I started again, trying to pull together my thoughts into some kind of coherent order, "Maybe I don't know what I want it to mean. I don't know what he means to me, or what I mean to him."

Sheila raised an eyebrow. "Looked pretty clear from over here," she said.

I leaned back into the couch and looked up at the ceiling.

"Everything," I mumbled. "He means everything for me."

"Have you ever told him that?"

I shook my head. "I'm no good with words," I said.

"So just say you love him," Sheila said, "If you mean that he's everything to you, he'll hear you."

Three syllables. Three simple syllables. I can manage that, can't I?

"Thanks," I said, "Maybe I'll try that."

Next morning, as we were driving back to my place in my car, Sheila asked me if Blair might not take this the wrong way.

"Nah," I said. "He's pulled a couple of all-nighters on me. It'll be fine."

Sheila looked around appreciatively at the loft, then offered to cook breakfast while I got changed. I showed her where things were in the kitchen and climbed the stairs to the bedroom.

I found Blair awake, peering up at me as I reached the top step.

"Hey," I said.

Blair blinked, and pushed himself up on an elbow. "Jim?" he said. "You... uh... didn't come home last night."

The uncertain, plaintive tone stopped me short. God, was Blair really this insecure about us?

"Nope," I said, dropping down to sit beside him on the bed. It occured to me the last time we'd both been in this bed, we had gotten interrupted by Marten's scream. Had he kissed his wife good bye the last time he saw her, I wondered. Had he told her he loved her?

"Who's here?" Blair asked.

I reached out and wrapped my hand around his hair.

"Sheila," I said. "She's cooking breakfast."

Blair looked totally perplexed. "Why?"

"She came over so we can start working on the case," I said. "She's a very interesting person once you get to know her."

Blair looked away. "You spent the night with her," he said.

"Blair," I said, "Nothing happened."

Blair still did not look back. If anything, he seemed to curl into himself even more.

"Blair," I tried again, "We spent the evening talking about her fianc. And you. She invited me over to her place for a drink. It got late. I fell asleep on the sofa. That's it."

Blair finally looked at me. "You talked about me?" He asked, uncertainly. "What about?"

In my mind I heard him telling Margaret, back at the hospital, "I just wish, he'd say, just once..."

Was it such a big deal, really? Just three syllables. But what would it mean? If I say them, will he stay? If I say them, can I have him forever? If I say them, will he hear what I mean?

Just then, Sheila shouted up from the kitchen saying breakfast was about ready.

"Come on, Chief," I said. "We've got work to do."

But, first, I pulled him into my arms and held him close.