Title: Growing Pains 
Author/pseudonym: Candy Apple 
Rating: MAO
Pairings: J/B

Status: NEW, complete
Date: 9-5-98
Series/Sequel: Story 12 in the New Beginnings Series (follows "Winds
of Change")

Disclaimers: Pet Fly owns the guys and The Sentinel.  No money being
made.  Just for fun.

Summary: Jim and Blair continue to deal with the fall out of Blair's
decision about his dissertation.

Warnings: Mild angst, h/c, a little language and some m/m



GROWING PAINS

by 

Candy Apple



     "Like I said, Jim, this whole operation should be routine, and--"
Simon stopped mid-sentence as he noticed he'd lost Jim's attention
complete.  The cop sitting in the chair across from his desk had his
head almost visibly cocked, the way Simon recalled his favorite
childhood pet dog used to do.  "Jim?"

     "Sorry.  Sandburg's here," he explained calmly, as if hearing his
partner when he wasn't even visible out in the bullpen yet was the most
ordinary thing in the world.  

     As Simon opened his mouth to continue, he was cut off again as
the door to his office flew open and a blue hurricane ripped through the
office until it slammed into Jim, who had stood to receive the
whirlwind in the grey dress pants and dark blue dress shirt.

     "They gave me an extension!!"  Blair shouted, hugging the
larger man with no regard for the fact he was dislocating most of the
vertebra in Jim's neck.  Sparing himself the unnatural angle, Jim
hoisted Blair off his feet briefly and squeezed back before releasing
him.  Blair stepped back, positively radiating joy.

     "I don't understand, Chief.  I thought...I mean, the dissertation--"

     "*That* dissertation, yeah, but--oh, sorry.  Hi, Simon," Blair
said quickly.  Before the other man could answer, he turned back to
Jim.  "But the one I'm going to do about victim advocacy in U.S. police
departments is a go!  I have to define the subject, and turn in a basic
outline of my project in a couple weeks, but they're gonna let me stay
on!"

     "Victim advocacy?  Whoa, whoa, wait a minute, Sandburg. 
What are you talking about?"  Simon interjected, as if the nagging
voice in his head had just informed him that this would somehow not
only impact him, but would probably make his life considerably more
difficult.

     "I thought you were gonna ask Simon--"

     "We didn't get that far yet."

     "Oh..."  Blair bit his lip and looked at Simon, and then back at
Jim.  "I kind of interrupted something, didn't I?"

     "Actually--"

     "This was more important," Jim responded, smiling down at his
lover, seeming not to have heard Simon's aborted reply.  "What about
the fellowship?"

     "Well, uh, that's a different story."  Blair's face fell almost
visibly.  "See, I'm so far beyond any deadlines to even turn in
something written, and this means an indefinite period of new
research...and they feel my aborting the other dissertation is my own
fault and I think the word 'irresponsible' came up..."  Blair trailed off,
suddenly interested in the third button down on Jim's shirt.

     "You lost the fellowship?"  Jim asked gently, resting his hands
on Blair's shoulders.  The other man just nodded.

     "It's not the money so much...it's the...teaching."

     "They won't let you teach?"  Simon interjected again, his tone
shocked.  Blair was a natural born teacher.

     "I was a *teaching* fellow, Simon.  If I don't have the 'fellow' 
part, I don't have a teaching job either."  Blair shrugged.  "But at least
they didn't toss me out of the doctoral program."

     "This isn't fair, Chief."  Jim started pacing.  

     "Do one of you want to tell me what the hell this is about?" 
Simon demanded.

     "It's about Blair burning his dissertation," Jim responded.  "To
protect me," he added quietly, looking at his lover, who now sat
slumped in one of Simon's chairs.  Blair was a living dichotomy of joy
and misery, having avoided one negative outcome and succumbed to
the other.

     "You're not studying Jim anymore?"  Simon asked Blair, who
just shook his head.  "Wow."  Simon leaned back in his desk chair.  "So
what's this 'victim advocacy' thing you're going to do instead?"

     Blair looked up at Jim before answering, and Jim rescued him.

     "The Cascade PD doesn't have a Victim Advocacy Unit.  A lot
of the major departments are adding them, and it's something we need
to take a look at anyway.  So I was thinking...who better to work on
developing a plan for that than someone who studies people, speaks a
number of languages and understands a little something about almost
every culture he'd come in contact with here?"

     "Were you going to run this by me, or the chief, or just get
started on it on your own?"  Simon asked, his sarcasm obvious.

     "Jim was going to talk to you this morning.  But I was so
anxious to tell him how the meeting with the committee went that I
didn't even think about interrupting."

     "With the budget the way it is, I don't see the chief agreeing to
something like this right now," Simon responded.
     
     "I'm already getting a stipend as a consultant.  What if it didn't
cost anymore than that for me to work on it?"

     "Hold it, Chief.  That's practically the same thing as slave labor,
and you aren't going to do that.  You don't have to."

     "I want this to work, Jim."

     "So do I.  But not with you working for nothing.  This is going
to use your skills and your degree and your connections.  Unless you're
going to get paid what we'd pay a stranger we hired off the streets, then
it's not going to happen."

     "I do have some say in this," Blair protested, not liking Jim
laying down the law quite so finally.

     "Time out, you two," Simon spoke up.  "If you're going to have
your first big lovers' quarrel, do it at home.  As far as this idea is
concerned, we have to pitch it to the chief.  Or, rather, I should pitch it
to a few more people among the upper brass, and when I've got some
support for it, we take it to the chief."

     "You'd do that?"  Blair asked, sitting up straight in his chair.

     "Aside from the personal purpose this would serve, I think
you're right, Jim, that we do need to address this idea.  Our services to
crime victims are at best, adequate, and at worst, pathetic.  In this case,
we have someone who would have professional credentials to
coordinate the effort, and who also has work experience within the
department."  Simon nodded.  "I think it has a lot of possibilities.  Just
keep quiet about it a while and let me do some networking."

     "This isn't going to be something that ends up going to someone
hired from outside, is it?"  Jim asked, picturing in his mind Blair's
whole project being handed to some outside applicant who was the
chief's ditzy niece or some other act of gross nepotism.

     "There aren't a lot of guarantees, but I would do my best to
pitch the idea and Sandburg as a package.  I don't want some air-headed 
social worker coming in here and giving us all sensitivity
training either."

     "Well, actually, Simon--" Blair was cut off by a hand that
moved over his mouth but only lightly touched it.  Jim kissed the top of
his head.

     "Put a sock in it, Chief.  Quit while you're ahead."  The hand
moved away from Blair's face, never having pressed hard enough to
prevent Blair from speaking if he'd wanted to continue.  Blair smiled a
little nervously.  If in fact this plan worked, seminars for the cops
would be one of the primary components Blair would want to see
become mandatory.

     "If I could possibly infringe on you to finish up this meeting,
Jim?"  Simon looked up at his star detective, who jerked his eyes away
from his lover's to look at his boss.

     "Right, Simon."  He took the chair next to Blair's, and after they
caught the younger man up to speed about the new homicide case Jim
was being assigned, they resumed the meeting that had been in
progress when Blair burst into the office.

********

     Jim thrust into the tight, hot, moist depths of his lover as Blair
opened himself there on his elbows and knees in the middle of the
mattress.  

     "Oh, yeah, like that," Blair groaned, thrusting back against Jim
to double the impact of his lover's cock against his prostate.  "Oh
yeah..."  Blair groaned, then let out a little cry as Jim reached under
him and pulled him back so he was sitting on Jim's thighs, his legs
straddling the other man's lap.  A large hand enclosed Blair's throbbing
shaft and began pumping in rhythm with their sex.  

     "You're so tight, baby...so good," Jim growled in Blair's ear,
then nipped at the lobe.  "Love you," he whispered.  His mouth moved
down further and clamped on Blair's neck, sucking hard on the soft
skin.

     "Love me hard, lover...make me...scream for you," Blair
managed, his head thrown back against Jim's shoulder, damp curls
sticking to his lover's skin as Blair rode Jim's cock insatiably, starting a
pattern of moans and whimpers as the stimulation to his prostate
reached an almost unbearable level.  

     "Ride me, baby, that's it," Jim ground out, a slave to the rapid
rhythm of Blair's hips as the younger man writhed on his lap, his
movements becoming faster and harsher as he reached his climax.   He
let out a wild cry of pleasure as he stiffened against Jim and came
explosively, Jim's hand milking him while his frantic passage spasmed
around its impaler.

     "Oh, Blair..."  Jim panted, picking up his pace a bit and
finishing with a couple of broken groans, filling Blair.  He wrapped
strong arms around his lover's body and held him tightly, burying his
face in sweaty dark curls.  "Love you, baby."

     "Love you too," Blair sighed, not attempting to move out the of
the tight circle of Jim's arms.  They remained joined there, Jim
wrapped around Blair, kissing and licking at the side of his throat,
rubbing his face against Blair's hair and his cheek.  He breathed in the
scent deeply and let it obliterate everything else for just one glowing
moment before dialing it down and taking control of himself.

     "We never tried it this way before.  Was it okay?"  Jim
whispered against Blair's ear.

     "Okay?"  Blair said, almost laughing.  "It was...amazing.  But
you know what I like best--promise not to laugh?"

     "Never, sweetheart."  Jim squeezed tighter.

     "This part.  You all wrapped around me."

     "You already know how precious you are to me, right?"  Jim
sighed.  "It feels so good to just hold you and feel you breathe, hear
your heartbeat."  Jim nuzzled Blair's neck.  "You want to take a
shower?"

     "In a little while.  Right now, I just want to stay like this. 
Nothing else exists outside this room right now...outside your arms.  I
wanna keep it that way a little while longer."

     "I'm sorry about the fellowship, sweetheart.  I still think it
sucks."

     "I've been dragging along with this sentinel project for eons
now, and then to walk in and tell them that when I'm supposed to be
turning in my first chapter, I'm changing topics altogether and have to
start my research from scratch--I'm pretty relieved they're letting me
stay on and letting me stay in the Anthro Department.  I mean, they
could have pushed me out and said I was proposing something that
belonged in Psych or Soc or CJ."

     "I know how much it means to you to teach."

     "It's really hard to believe I won't be starting in the fall with new
students."  Blair held onto Jim's arms.  "I really love teaching, man.  It's
so hard..."  Blair trailed off and bit his lip.

     "Let it out, baby.  It's okay."  Jim kissed Blair's cheek and his
temple, then rocked them a little.  These were quiet tears, the only
sounds the occasional intake of breath or little sniffle.

     "It hurts," Blair said softly.

     "I know, sweetheart.  I know it does.  I'm so sorry."

     "I mean," Blair hiccupped, "I understand...why they did it...  I'm
taking...so long...and there are new...students...and their budget...is
limited..."

     "Stop trying to defend them, baby.  It hurts and it sucks and it's
okay for you to be angry and it's okay for you to cry or scream or throw
things or whatever would make you feel better."  Jim moved slowly
and withdrew from his lover, maneuvering them on the bed until they
sat there facing each other, wrapped completely around each other.

     "There were...students...who signed up...for classes...because I
was...teaching them," Blair choked out.  "What do I...tell them?"

     "That you changed your course of research for the diss, and you
need more time to work on that project alone, without the added
responsibility of a teaching courseload, and the department was kind
enough to relieve you of that responsibility."  Jim stroked the damp
curls and patted Blair's back while he cried.

     "You say...*I* obfuscate," Blair managed.

     "Takes one to know one, I guess."  He was silent a few
moments, just holding Blair close and regretting that he had been the
reason for his lover's pain.  "You've been through so much in the last
couple months, Chief.  There are probably a lot of confused feelings in
there and this just touched it all off, huh?"  Jim said gently.

     "How'd you know?"  Blair pulled back to look at Jim, still
sniffling, tears still leaking out of his eyes.
     
     "Sweetheart, you had a very close brush with death, and we had
our whole relationship to fix up, and then we became lovers, and then
you had the dissertation decision to make, and now this.  Not to
mention the whole situation with my dad, which went less that
perfectly.  You're entitled to be shaken up from all that."  Jim brushed
at the wetness on Blair's face.  "Changes can hurt--that's why they call
them growing pains."

     "I love you, y'know."  Blair huddled back against Jim again, and
the large arms enclosed him.

     "I love you too, baby.  More than anything.  I don't want you to
worry or be afraid.  Everything'll be okay.  It's all up in the air right
now, but this will all work out, I promise.  And eventually, you're going
to be teaching again, Chief.  It's just going to take a little time.  Try to
think about it like a break from your regular schedule so you can get
this new research off the ground."

     "I didn't want to start living off you.  Your dad's gonna think he
was right."

     "First, even if I paid every bill for both of us, you wouldn't be
'living off' me.  We'd be getting through a rough time together.  And
who pays the bills in this household is none of my father's damn
business."  Jim squeezed Blair tighter and rocked a little.  "Besides,
Simon still hasn't done his fancy footwork to get you a real job at the
PD.  Don't write that off yet.  If this works, you could be a salaried staff
member there."  

     "It just feels like...when I died, and then I came back, I couldn't
have my old life back.  Like I was too late coming back and they gave
my slot to somebody else already.  I know that doesn't make sense."

     "Sure it does.  You're going through a lot of painful changes,
sweetheart.  They may actually end up being changes for the better, but
they hurt now, I know."  

     "We were a good change," Blair concluded, pulling back and
smiling up at Jim.

     "The best, Chief."  Jim returned the smile before capturing
Blair's mouth in a passionate kiss.

********

     Blair sighed and wrote the check for the new tires on the Volvo. 
He had known the expense was inevitable, but that didn't make him any
happier to part with the money at the moment.  

     "Blair?"  A voice came from behind him.  He turned around,
and was surprised to see Jim's father behind him, dressed in a golf shirt
and shorts, with his wallet in hand, waiting behind Blair and the
customer still ahead of him who was transacting the last of her business
with the man behind the counter.

     "Hi, Bill.  Good day for golf," Blair commented, smiling.

     "Yeah, I just finished eighteen holes with a couple friends at the
club.  Thought I might as well get some new tires on the old bucket." 
The "old bucket" was a three-year-old Cadillac Sedan DeVille, dark
navy blue with what looked like an expensive custom top.

     "Nice car," Blair responded.  

     "Thanks.  How'd you know which one was mine?"

     "Well, the lady ahead of us is driving the blue Riviera, the red
Corvette didn't strike me as your style, and the green one's mine."

     "The Volvo?"

     "Yeah."

     "1968 isn't it?"  At Blair's surprised expression, Bill explained,
"I used to always have a classic car--it was a hobby for a while.  That's
a nice one.  Looks like you keep it up very well."

     "Yeah, it's my baby.  Even if it's more trouble than it's worth," 
Blair admitted, laughing a little.  "I had a '62 Corvair before this one,
but it was totaled."

     "Ouch," the older man winced.  "Those cars are real collectibles
now."

     "Tell me about it."  

     "Do you and Jim have any special plans for today?"  Bill asked. 
Blair wasn't sure if this was just polite conversation or if there was an
impending invitation in the question.  It was a beautiful, sunny
Saturday, and he had thought of getting their stuff together before Jim
got home so they could drive up to the cabin.

     "Jim's at work.  He ought to be home later this afternoon, so
we'll probably do *something*, but I don't know what yet."

     "If you're not busy later, would you like to have dinner at the
house?  Sally could make us something special--maybe Jimmy's
favorite."

     "Which is?"  Blair asked, smiling.  

     "Sally's meatloaf.  He used to consume it by the pound,
especially when he was a teenager.  She finally made one meatloaf just
for him."

     "Sounds great.  If Jim's free, we can give you a call and let you
know for sure?"

     "No problem.  I'm going to be home this afternoon anyway."

     Just then, it was Blair's turn to pay for his new tires, and as he
left, he spoke one more time to Jim's father.

     "We'll get a hold of you in a couple hours and let you know,
okay?"

     "Great.  I hope you can both make it."  The elder Ellison smiled
a little.

     "Me too," Blair said sincerely, pleased with the invitation and
hopeful that Jim would feel the same way.

********

     Late that afternoon, the two men arrived at the Ellison
household, both dressed casually but neatly.  Blair's hair was tied back
loosely, and he wore a deep blue short sleeved shirt with a pair of good
jeans.  Jim had grudgingly parted with the suit he'd originally pulled
out and worn a lighter blue shirt with a pair of tan pants.  Blair had
insisted that the get together would be informal, and when Bill Ellison
opened the door to greet his guests wearing a golf shirt and a pair of
blue pants, looking relaxed and casual himself, Jim had to concede that
Blair was right.

     "Sally's set up some hors d'eourves in the living room for us. 
What would you like to drink?  I have beer, club soda, soft drinks--"

     "Beer sounds good," Jim replied.  Blair nodded his agreement. 
With that, his father retreated behind a bar at the far end of the room
and produced three bottles of beer.

     The three men sat in the living room, snacking on the finger
foods Sally had left out for them, making polite small talk.  It was just
the kind of get together Jim loathed.  Blair had done an excellent job so
far of not allowing long gaps in the conversation, both questioning
Jim's father about his travels in Europe and sharing a few anecdotes of
his own.  When the subject of what exactly Blair did at the University
came up, there was an uneasy silence until Blair decided to forge ahead
with the truth.

     "The reason I got together with Jim in the first place was
because I was doing my doctoral dissertation on sen--on people who
had the same kind of special sensory abilities that Jim has.  I was able
to offer Jim some suggestions on channeling his abilities, and he was
allowing me to use him as a research subject."

     "So you aren't observing the workings of the police
department?"  Bill clarified.

     "No--well, at least not as the subject of my dissertation, anyway. 
I'm telling you this because I know you have Jim's best interests at heart
and it's safe to discuss this openly."

     "You don't need to worry that he'll take out any ads," Jim added,
a trace of old bitterness in his voice.  
     
     "I didn't want you to end up as some kind of..."

     "Freak?"  Jim supplied.

     "I was thinking more along the lines of a lab rat.  I don't think
any of us in this room believe our government is above secret testing,
using people with special abilities for their own purposes." 


     "Those are the concerns that I had, so I...abandoned that
research project."

     "What he means is he burned his dissertation and gave up his
fellowship to protect me," Jim added, determined Blair wasn't going to
downplay the magnitude of what he'd done.

     "Why would changing your dissertation subject mean giving up
your teaching fellowship?  Aren't you still planning on something
related to your field?"

     "Well, I had to come up with some explanation for dropping
this project, so I told them I felt I was too personally involved with my
subject and that I'd lost my professional objectivity."  Blair sighed. 
"They viewed that as a major slip in my professional conduct, not to
mention the fact that I was to the stage of handing in written chapters
for review.  So starting over is, like, *years* of additional work.  All
things being equal, they were willing to let me stay on in the
department as a grad student, but without supporting my work."

     "That's ridiculous," Bill opined, shaking his head.  "Is it more
professional to continue working with a subject when you're not
objective?"

     "It's professional to maintain your objectivity," Blair responded. 
"Anything other than that...well, yeah, it's better to admit it when your
research is going to come out flawed or skewed in some way, but
getting yourself into that position is, well, frowned upon, to put it
mildly.  Their contention is that I'm obviously not at a level of maturity
in my profession where I need to be if I got this far in my research and
just now realized that I screwed up."

     "You didn't say they said that," Jim interjected, frowning.

     "Well, I didn't feel like rehashing the complete tongue-lashing."

     "Dammit, Blair, this isn't right.  Let me go in with you and
straighten it out," Jim protested, seeming to forget there was anyone
else in the room.

     "NO.  I made my decision, and it's final.  I knew it was going to
be a mess professionally, and it'll just take some time for the dust to
settle."  Blair took a drink of his beer.  "Could we change the subject,
guys?"  he asked with a slightly uneasy smile.

     "Don't you worry.  I'll take care of this."  Bill was on his feet
and striding toward the telephone on one of the end tables.  He picked
up an address book that was sitting next to it and flipped through the
pages.  When he found what he was looking for, he tossed it down and
picked up the phone, punching out a number.  "Richard Fuller--he's on
the Board of Regents--is a good friend of mine.  We'll get this situation
taken care of right now."

     "No.  Bill, please, don't do that," Blair spoke up immediately. 
The other man hung up the phone and stared at him, puzzled.  "Look, I
really, really appreciate that you would make a call on my behalf--I
mean that.  But I don't want someone pulling strings for me."

     "You're protecting my son.  You've sacrificed years of work to
protect Jim.  It isn't fair for you to be punished for that now."

     "And it isn't exactly fair for me to get my fellowship back
because I have a connection to someone on the Board of Regents. 
When you strip away all the personal issues from this, they're not really
in the wrong here.  While personal involvement isn't the real reason I
abandoned the project, it should have been.  A long time ago.  I haven't
been objective about Jim for a long time.  I've lived with him,
interacted with him, and fallen in love with him.  I was wrong to keep
pursuing my research with him as a subject anyway.  I don't know as it's
exactly just and fair for me to expect Rainier to pay me for several
more years while I correct a screw up that I should have spotted years
ago, when I first had feelings for Jim beyond a researcher-subject
relationship."

     "You would have never called it quits if you weren't worried
about me," Jim said, shaking his head.

     "You're probably right.  And what does that say about me, I
wonder?  I was going to go ahead and turn in a dissertation based on
data gathered from someone I was in love with that I ended up
marrying.  Sometimes I wonder where the hell my head was this long. 
I wanted the best of both worlds.  I wanted Jim and I wanted the
research.  You don't get both--not and produce a valid, solid piece of
research.  I finally made the choice I should have made a long time
ago."

     "So you're at peace with their decision?"  Bill asked, finally
returning to his seat on the couch.

     "I didn't say that.  But I know they're on firm professional and
ethical ground in making it, and I don't have any justifiable reason to
question their decision.  Which is why, as much as I appreciate the
thought behind it, I can't let you try to pull strings and get me
reinstated."

     "If I make those calls, Blair, you'll be fully reinstated by
Monday morning."

     "I know."  Blair took a deep breath and swallowed.  "But it's
time for that fellowship to go to another student who has his act
together and is just starting out.  I've had it for a long time now, and I
don't deserve it any longer."

     "Excuse me, but dinner is served," Sally announced as she
stepped into the living room doorway.

     "Smells fabulous, Sally," Jim responded, trying to ignore the
fact he had a lead weight in his stomach over Blair's whole professional
situation.  Hearing how negative Blair's feelings were about his conduct
had polished off the last of Jim's appetite.  Every day it seemed he
learned how many layers there were to this turbulent period of change
for his lover.  And every day, it seemed to be a bit bleaker.

     "I've heard all about Sally's meatloaf," Blair said, smiling at the
older woman and rising from his chair.  "Now I finally get to taste it." 
Blair had recovered with his usual social grace, and led the way to the
dining room as he worked at getting to know Sally a bit better.

     Once dinner was served, Sally excused herself despite both
Jim's and Blair's pleas for her to join them, explaining that she played
bridge on Saturday evenings with a group of friends.

     The meal progressed with some lighter small talk, which
seemed a relief to Blair, who had spent enough time hashing over his
somewhat battered academic career.  It seemed that Jim and his father
were making a few more attempts to communicate--or more notably,
Jim had progressed past answering his father with sharp comebacks or
monosyllabic grunts.

     After making a reasonable dent in the food Sally had spread out
for them, they cleared the table and put the dishes in the dishwasher. 
Blair had simply started cleaning up when they finished, so whether
Bill Ellison was used to helping out his maid or not, he did so that
evening, leaving the kitchen in fairly good shape, with the dishwasher
humming merrily with the dinner dishes inside.

********

     "Why didn't you tell me how nasty things got with your
committee, Chief?"  Jim asked as he slid into his side of the bed.  Blair
was propped up on his side of the big bed, staring at a book moreso
than reading it.  Jim plucked it from unresisting hands and held his
hand out, where Blair placed his glasses.  Jim set the two items
carefully on the nightstand and moved to settle Blair against his chest. 
When they were both comfortable, Blair let out a long sigh.

     "I was kind of wrung out."

     "You seemed so...*up* when you showed up at the PD."

     "I'd spent the whole drive over there psyching myself up about
all the reasons this was a good outcome.  They didn't throw me out of
the grad program, they accepted the victims' advocate idea...it could
have been worse."  Blair closed his eyes and relaxed against Jim.  "I
didn't want you to feel any guiltier about this than you already do,
because the truth is, it isn't your fault.  And everything I said earlier is
true.  I wasn't objective about you from way back...well, from about a
half hour after we met.  I liked you."

     "I treated you like crap when we first met."

     "You were abrupt."

     "Abrupt?  I threw you against the wall."

     "Well, yeah, there was that."  Blair chortled a little.  "You were
freaking out, Jim.  People have blown their heads off--or someone
else's off--for lesser upheavals.  I understood that."

     "Is it wrong to *like* your subject?"

     "Well, not exactly.  I mean, there's nothing wrong with getting
along with or interacting with subjects.  But when you can't observe
them as a subject anymore...when you love them more than you love
your research...there's just a line you shouldn't cross, and I jumped over
it years ago."

     "So part of why you felt so bad last night was because you'd
gotten raked over the coals pretty well?  You talk about me holding
things back from you...  I just wish I'd known."

     "It's over, Jim.  I need to put it behind me and move on.  If
things go well with the victim's advocate project...that'll make it all
worthwhile.  I really believe in that.  It's needed and valuable.  Not a
dusty concept that'll end up on the bottom shelf of a library archive."

     "I never thought your research was useless, baby.  I know I said
some lousy things to you about it when we were...before
everything...but I never thought it was useless."

     "That's good to hear," Blair responded.  

     "I'm sorry about my dad and his quick-fix solutions."

     "Actually, I'm not.  Your dad offered to call up some big shot
friend of his he probably golfs with at the club to defend his son's lover
from getting what he thought was a raw deal.  Jim, I might not agree
with what he was suggesting, but the fact he *suggested it* is like, a
major step in the right direction."

     "But you don't want that kind of help."

     "No, I don't.  But don't you get it?"  Blair raised upon an elbow
and looked into Jim's eyes.  "He made me the kind of offer he'd make
to family.  I think your dad values his reputation, and his social status. 
And he was offering to use both those things to pull some strings for
me.  He's *trying*, Jim.  That was his way of trying to do something
good for me, for both of us.  If he thought I was repulsive, or our
relationship was completely gross and he couldn't deal with it, he
wouldn't be having us over for dinner and offering to call his big shot
friends to help me out."

     "I don't know how you see him in such a good light."

     "Jim, you've got to start evaluating your father by his motives,
not by what he ends up doing.  We don't value the same things, or play
by the same rules, as the social jet set or the wealthy upper class.  You
don't believe in the priorities your father tried to jam down your throat. 
That's wonderful.  But those priorities are still part of who he is, even if
he has gotten smart in the last little while about what's really important. 
So to him, it's a very big favor and show of familial support to offer to
'make a call' and straighten things out for me."

     "You think I'm too hard on him?"

     "I think he hurt you very deeply," Blair said softly, running the
backs of his fingers lightly along Jim's cheek and jawline.  "And that's
hard for me to get past.  And I know that when you see him and talk to
him, it's a painful reminder of all the...well, the *pain* from your
childhood.  You look at him and see the man who called you a freak
and withheld his love and support when you needed it the most.  If you
want to turn your back on him for good, you know I'll be behind you. 
But I see him wanting so badly to make amends, and I see something in
you that wants that too."

     "Maybe I have to just see them as separate people--what he was
then and what he is now."

     "Or maybe you need to tell him what's still there that you can't
move past.  Maybe he can help.  Maybe you need to talk it out with
him."

     "Do you have any idea how much I love you?"  Jim asked,
pulling Blair's face down to his for a prolonged kiss.  "More than
anything."

     "I love you too.  I can deal with anything as long as I have you."

     "Ditto, Chief."

     "Sleep?"

     "Would you think we were an old boring married couple if I
said that sounded good?"

     "No, I'd be relieved."  Blair laughed a little.  "I'm wiped."  He
flopped back down in Jim's arms with a contented yawn.

********

     Several days passed as Jim and Blair returned to their regular
routine at the PD, and Blair struggled to keep his mind off the fact that
the fall semester was starting at Rainier.  Technically, he was still on
the rolls as a student, but he wasn't taking classes anymore, and now he
wasn't allowed to teach them either.  For the first time since he was
five years old, the coming of Fall didn't mean anything more to Blair
than a drop in temperatures and the changing colors of the trees.

     Blair had never met Chief Warren face to face before, so when
Simon walked into the bullpen with a tall, distinguished-looking older
man with silver hair and wire-rimmed glasses that matched, dressed in
a business suit, Blair assumed it was a city councilman or some other
visiting big shot.  

     "Sandburg," Simon said, approaching the desk where Blair was
typing up a report.  Jim was visiting a friend down in Vice to share
some information on a case, and had left his partner on his own to sift
through some paperwork.  "This is Chief Warren.  Chief Warren, Blair
Sandburg."  

     Blair rose as the older man extended hand and shook it, smiling
slightly.  

     "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir," he said, hoping good manners
would make the right impression on this man who probably held the
key to the future of the victim advocacy project.

     "Captain Banks tells me you're interested in developing a plan
for a victim advocacy unit here at the Cascade PD."

     "Yes, sir, I am.  As a matter of fact, I've been outlining a few
rough ideas already.  I feel it's a service that's badly needed here--well,
at any police department that doesn't already have one in place."

     "I see.  I have to say that it *is* an interesting concept, and one
I've been looking into over the past year or so.  Budget cuts have put a
freeze on the development of new programs, but I would certainly be
interested to hear your thoughts on it."

     "Why don't we use my office?"  Simon suggested, leading the
way back to his office and stepping aside for the other two to enter.  

     Blair was just as glad when they were all seated around Simon's
conference table.  Between Simon and Chief Warren, who was Simon's
equal in height, and their combined ranks at the PD, he felt like he'd
wandered alone into the valley of the giants. //Why did Jim pick this
exact moment to go down to Vice and catch up on old times with his
former co-workers?//

     "Why do you think we need a victim advocacy program here,
Mr. Sandburg?  You've been an observer in this department for quite
some time now."

     "Actually, sir, I think any police department needs to have a
fully developed plan for victim assistance.  It goes without saying that
having a live human being on call to literally or figuratively hold a
crime victim's hand in going through some of the official procedures or
hospital examinations is a lot more effective than having an officer
present for evidence gathering, and handing them a phone number for a
crisis hotline.  In the absence of a better program, that's something, but
it isn't much to offer by way of service to the public.  Aside from that, I
see the 'victim advocacy' unit as being support for victims who may or
may not still be alive.  Take for example a murder case where the only
witness won't cooperate with the police because of language barriers or
perhaps because of some cultural principle that discourages dealing
with the police.  It would be quite helpful to pick up the phone and call
someone who could either intervene themselves, and work with the
witness and translate or reassure them--or who could reach another
person with that capability who would be responsive to the request for
help."

     "Those are all very promising ideas, but you're talking about a
fairly significant staff."

     "Not really.  I'm talking about one full-time coordinator, maybe
a clerical support position, and a network of trained volunteers, which
hopefully would include some people from the community with the
expertise needed.  Obviously, we don't need someone here who speaks
fluent German or who understands Native American culture every
single day of the week.  But these are the kinds of people I would like
to have in our network of volunteers from the community.  People we
could call on, who would have gone through a training program to help
them better relate to crime victims and who could use their expertise to
help us put cases together, assist victims, apprehend perpetrators--I see
it as a very vital part of making the whole PD more efficient."

     "So your primary expenses would be for training programs,
salaries for the coordinator and at least a part-time secretary, and
various administrative costs associated with volunteer programs?"

     "And some training for the PD personnel as well," Blair
ventured, feeling Simon's glare, though he didn't look away from Chief
Warren to verify it.  Jim had been right way back when about the thin
blue line speech and its effect on Simon.  Blair wondered if he'd just
blown the whole thing with Warren by mentioning the idea of training
the cops.

     "Actually, that might fit in rather well with the source used for
the funding of the program.  I was thinking we could tap the
professional development budget, which has been left fairly untouched.
Ideally, those funds are used for in-house seminars, training programs
and so on.  I find very little enthusiasm among the administration for
those projects," he concluded, shooting a knowing look at Simon, who
let out an uneasy little laugh and shifted in his chair.  "Therefore, we do
have a considerable amount of funding available from that source.  I
don't believe, however, it's sufficient to hire someone full-time to
coordinate the program, and I would hesitate to take on the expense of
even a part-time clerical at competitive wages."

     "What if the coordinator's position was a part-time one?  And
what if I could get a secretary for say, $7.00 an hour, 20 hours per
week?"

     "I'd say you were a miracle worker," he responded, chuckling a
little.

     "Student employees at Rainier University are paid less than that
hourly.  If I could work something out with the Social Work or
Criminal Justice Department at the University to consider this field
work, it could function like an internship for a student in one of those
departments.  If we did that, I might be able to get a student who was,
say, a junior, already better than halfway to being a college grad, to
function more like an assistant than just a receptionist.  Or, there's
always the possibility of a grad student--if we did this in partnership
with the University, the options are...numerous to say the least.  We
could get a student who would love to make that much per hour in a
job other than working a cash register or flipping burgers.  I've worked
with some of these kids--they're bright, responsible, quick on the
computer and very much able to handle incoming calls.   Or, we could
set up an internship or field work situation for a grad student, which
probably wouldn't mean a whole lot more in terms of salary, but you'd
have a college grad working for very small wages in return for college
credit or fulfilling a fieldwork requirement.  Or maybe even someone
who's doing research on something related to the criminal justice
system."

     "What's in all this for you?"

     "I want to be the coordinator," Blair answered simply.

     "I gathered that," Warren replied, smiling.  "I meant, why do
you want to do that?"

     "I've been re-evaluating my research plans for my doctoral
dissertation, and my initial plans were not...resulting in the type of data
that would make for a strong paper.  I have discussed it with my thesis
committee, and they approved my changing my research to victim
advocacy.  So I would be getting a part-time job and the opportunity to
gather data for my dissertation--anonymous data, of course."

     "You've been awfully quiet, Simon," Warren addressed the
captain, who had been watching the exchange with interest, while
secretly plotting his first opportunity to strangle Blair.  Simon masked
his true thoughts at the moment with a benevolent, and totally insincere
smile.

     "Just assimilating all these ideas, sir."

     "Interesting ideas they are.  Do you have some initial volunteers
in mind?"  he asked Blair.

     "I have plenty in mind, sir.  To be honest, I haven't made
contacts with them to secure their consent because I didn't know if the
program would become a reality."

     "I have a meeting in fifteen minutes," Warren said, checking his
watch.  "I'll do some thinking on this, and a little further investigation
into the funding options.  I'll be getting back to you by the end of the
week."  He rose to leave, and the other men did as well.  He reached
out and shook hands with Blair again.  "Thank you for your
suggestions.  I hope we're able to implement some of them."

     "So am I.  Thank you, sir."  Blair smiled as the other man left. 
When the door was closed, he looked back at Simon hesitantly.

     "Training seminars, huh?"  Simon rose from his chair and let
himself tower over Blair momentarily before moving toward his desk.

     "Simon, it's not like I'm asking anybody to dress up in a pink
tutu and take ballet classes.  I'm talking about a few brief seminars."

     "And I suppose you're going to teach these seminars?"

     "Maybe one or two of them, but probably not most of them."

     "Why not?"

     "I'm in the learning process on this myself.  And I'm not a
psychiatrist or social worker.  I'd want someone licensed and qualified
to give out advice on dealing with people in crisis.  I might do one on
relating to people of divergent cultures."

     "I can hardly wait.  I thought you were talking about a
department in the PD that would handle this stuff for us, not give us a
bunch of encounter-group sessions so we could do it ourselves."

     "You heard Warren.  Even the *coordinator* can't be full time. 
Which means that a lot of the time, getting someone from the Victim
Advocacy Unit is going to take time, because you'll be calling on
people who may be off-site when you need them.  Which means that
the cops on the case still have to deal with the immediate contact,
which might be the deciding experience for the victim or witness as to
whether or not they cooperate."  Just then, Jim tapped on the door and
poked his head inside.  It was all Blair could do not to run up and hug
him and pull him into the office forcibly.  He stayed where he was. 
The cavalry had arrived.

     "I ran into Warren in the hall--what's up?"  he asked, closing
Simon's door behind him and shocking the hell out of Blair by walking
over to him and greeting him with a quick, close-mouthed kiss.  "Hey,
Chief," he greeted, as if he'd just patted him on the back instead of
kissed his mouth.  

     "Could you two put a lid on it until later?"  Simon asked, still
discombobulated at the turn Blair's suggestions were taking.  And the
fact that Warren liked it that way.

     "Sorry, sir," Jim said, not meaning it, and Simon knew it.  The
important thing to Jim was that Blair knew it, and the little smile on his
lover's face was more than worth it.  Blair's heart had been hammering
and his breathing a bit shallow when Jim arrived.  Now, he seemed to
be relaxing again.  The kiss had been effective if only as a distraction
from the tension in the office and a little reassurance when it was
needed.

     "Simon's pissed off at me because I suggested training for the
cops around here to the chief, and he liked the idea."

     "That's kind of inevitable with a new system being
implemented, isn't it?"  Jim asked innocently, looking at Simon.

     "I suppose so," Simon sighed, relenting a little.  "I guess after
attending that conference last month in Seattle, then that 'training
program' last week related to the gang violence prevention program...
I'm a little down on seminars.  Most of it's stale, canned information,
re-packaged with a big price tag on it."

     "I promise I won't do anything boring," Blair said sincerely.  For
some reason, that made the other two men exchange glances and then
just laugh, shaking their heads.   No, Sandburg would never be accused
of that particular offense.

********

     "Oh God..."  Blair panted as he writhed above Jim, holding onto
the railing.  The other man's mouth skillfully pleasuring him, Blair
closed his eyes and surrendered to the sensations.  He was unpleasantly
surprised when Jim pulled back and freed the stiffened organ.  "Ji-Jim?" 
 he managed, catching his breath.

     "You can think of a better place to put that, can't you?"  Jim
asked, grabbing the lube off the night stand and tossing it to Blair, who
barely caught it in his aroused, less-than-coherent state.  He stared at it,
surprised.  He had only topped one other time since their first time
together.  While that didn't really keep Blair up nights with worry, it
*had* made him wonder if he'd done something wrong or if he was
ever going to get the chance to feel that hot, tight channel clamped
around his cock again.  

     "Really?"  Blair met Jim's eyes.  Loving hands stroked the tops
of his thighs.

     "Really," he replied softly.  "Want you, baby," he added,
catching the hand that still held the tube, kissing the knuckles.  

     Jim waited until Blair had moved down on the bed and then
spread his legs, pulling his knees up to expose his center.  He hadn't
tried this position before, but he knew how much he loved it when
Blair did it and was spread out before him, open and willing. 

     "Come on, Chief, get me ready.  You're gonna lose it if we wait
too much longer," Jim said, knowing that Blair was steeling himself to
put off satisfying the painful erection that bobbed in front of him while
he would slowly work up to the act to ensure not hurting his lover.

     "I love you," Blair said breathily, squeezing the gel onto his
fingers.  Slowly and gently, he began to work at stretching the taut
muscles, his fingers moving as if he had all night to get Jim ready.  

     Jim let his eyes drift shut and concentrated on relaxing.  Blair
had been doing all the giving for weeks now, never demanding equal
time.  That made Jim want to give it to him freely.  If he'd felt
obligated somehow, or that it was necessary to placate Blair, he most
likely would have never wanted to do it.  But his partner never
pressured him into anything, and was almost always responsive to Jim's
touches, and receptive when he initiated sex that put Blair on the
bottom.

     Three fingers were stretching now, and Jim managed to relax
and let them do their work, knowing the sensation was a bit
uncomfortable at this level, at least until one long finger grazed his
prostate.  He cried out with pleasure then, bearing down on Blair's
fingers, trying to repeat the stimulation.  His lover didn't disappoint,
rubbing his finger back and forth over the magic nub.  Soon, he had
Jim writhing on the bed, emitting one long, continuous groan of
pleasure.

     Blair carefully removed his fingers from the tight passage and
coated himself, moving up so Jim's substantial legs rested on his
shoulders.  He slid into his lover's body in one long, smooth, slow
stroke.  Jim grunted a little under him, but the larger man's swollen
erection showed no signs of not enjoying the activity.  Blair grasped the
straining cock and pumped it, smiling down at his lover.

     Jim was flushed, his eyes closed, hair ruffled up in all
directions from their playful wrestling and making out on the bed
before they got down to business.  His chest was heaving slightly, his
expression one of relaxed abandon and building passion as Blair began
slowly thrusting, keeping his strokes in tempo with the strokes he was
giving Jim's cock.  

     "Come on, baby, move...harder..."  Jim thrust up to punctuate
his point.  Blair was in no condition to argue.  He picked up the pace of
his strokes, angling his body so his cock was nudging Jim's prostate
with every move.  The other man grabbed the bedclothes in large fists
and let out several wild moans of pleasure, sweat breaking out on his
forehead as he undulated in time with Blair.

     "Oooh...Jim...so good...you're so...hot...tight...feels so...good," 
Blair grunted between thrusts.  Blair felt Jim's muscles flutter and then
begin clamping down on him just as Jim's seed bathed his chest and
belly and the hand that was pumping the large shaft.  Jim's shout rang
through the quiet loft, which had only been disturbed with their
grunting and the sounds of flesh slapping satisfyingly together.  Unable
to hold back, Blair thrust harder and faster now, feeling his own
orgasm ripping through him.  He let out a long cry of Jim's name, and
spilled his seed into his lover's body, finally slumping on top of Jim in
a sweaty, panting heap.

     "Move, baby," Jim grunted.  Blair realized in some part of his
brain that by falling forward, he was trying to fold Jim in half.  He
moved up, withdrawing slowly, and Jim's legs moved off his shoulders. 
Blair crawled happily back into Jim's arms again, kissing and licking at
the soft, damp skin of Jim's throat.

     "I love you so much," he whispered.  "That was...breath-taking."

     "Love you too, sweetheart."  Jim made the effort to kiss Blair's
forehead, and it landed somewhere near his hairline.

     "Thank you," Blair murmured.

     "Go to sleep, baby," Jim responded softly, hearing the fatigue in
his lover's voice.  Pulling up the covers and wrapping Blair in his arms,
he angled his head to find the full lips this time, kissing them almost
chastely.

     "I'm sticky," Blair protested sleepily, pulling himself up off
Jim's body and staggering unhappily down the steps.  

     Jim heard the water and some splashing sounds, and soon, Blair
returned, clean, with a warm, wet cloth to return the favor.  When both
of them were clean enough to suit them, Blair crawled back into bed,
shivering a little after having darted around the loft naked.  Jim
wrapped him tightly in large, warm arms.  

     "C-cold," Blair stammered, latching onto Jim tightly and
burying his face in the curve of Jim's neck.  Even Blair's nose was cold.

     "Next time, I get up."

     "You *always* get up.  No.  I wanted to take care of you." 
Blair looked up and smiled softly.  "I love you, y'know."

     "I think you mentioned that, sweetheart.  I love you too,
remember?"  Jim tucked a sweaty curl behind Blair's ear.

     "Jim?"

     "What, baby?"

     "Did I hurt you?"

     "No.  I still feel it, but I'm fine."

     "I'm glad," Blair said.  Jim could almost hear the spring of
tension letting loose, and Blair's whole body seemed to relax for sleep
now.  

     "I trust you, Chief.  With my life.  With anything I've got,
including my body.  You know that.  I know you won't hurt me."

     "Don't ever leave me, Jim.  Please."  Blair's arms tightened
painfully around Jim's middle and he felt a tremor pass through the
smaller body.  He tightened his own hold on Blair, rubbing his back.

     "I'd die before I'd leave you, baby.  You know that."

     "Don't say that.  I don't want to lose you, ever.  Not at all."

     "What brought this on, sweetheart?"  Jim asked carefully,
kissing Blair's temple.

     "So much is changing...my whole life is...different.  It's like I
died and...I told you this before."

     "You said it felt like your place had been filled, like you
couldn't have your old life back."

     "Yeah.  It's scary, Jim.  I feel like...like I surrendered something
by dying for that few minutes...like my whole world turned upside
down, and the only thing I still have to hold onto is the only thing I ever
really cared about to begin with--you.  If I lost you...  It's just that
everything's...changing...and I'm...I'm scared sometimes.  About the
future."

     "I know, baby.  There've been a lot of upheavals.  Starting over
on anything is scary."

     "I miss my classes," Blair said quietly.  "I miss my students."

     "Aw, God, Chief I wish I could give you that back.  Turn back
the clock and...fix things somehow so you still had that."

     "I'm excited about the victim advocacy program.  I really am," 
Blair managed, his voice a little shaky.

     "But it's not teaching, is it, baby?"  Jim prodded, stroking Blair's
hair back again and kissing his cheek.

     "I feel so...cut off," Blair said, a hot tear escaping and rolling
down to plop on Jim's chest.  "I don't have any reason to go there
anymore, and I don't see any of the students I used to teach..."

     "You're going to have that back one of these days, sweetheart.  I
promise you.  You'll get your Ph.D., and you'll teach.  Blair, listen to
me, you don't have to take Rainier's shit.  If this doesn't work out, we'll
go wherever it takes for you to get a teaching job or a new fellowship
or whatever you want.  Just please don't feel so bad, baby.  I just want
to make your hurting stop.  You don't deserve it.  You didn't deserve
any of it."

     "You'd do that for me?"  Blair raised up a little and looked into
Jim's eyes.

     "I'd die for you, Blair.  How much more of a stretch would it be
for me to relocate for you?"  Jim asked, smiling a little as if the logic
were so simple that Blair shouldn't have been surprised by it at all.

     "Let's see what Chief Warren comes up with first," Blair said,
more determined now to work things out so Jim could stay where he
wanted to be.

     "Yeah, please, sweetheart.  I just want to see Simon sitting in a
class you're teaching.  Just once," Jim added, laughing.  Blair joined
him, slumping back against the firm chest, thinking that this new life
might not be so grim after all.

********

End of this round...  Stay tuned...