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Til Death Do Us Part
by Lianne Burwell
May 1998
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Blair Sandburg blinked, trying to figure out where he was.

He remembered the stakeout. There had been word that a biker gang was 
moving into Cascade. They had been assigned to watch the house that the 
suspected gang members had moved into. They were watching the house when 
Jim had heard something.

Jim! Where was Jim?

Obviously not here.

So, Jim had heard something, and had gone to investigate. Blair had 
stayed in the truck until... Until what?

Brief images flashed through his mind. Scattered images. An explosion. 
People running. A man. A gun. A flash. Then...

Oh, God! He'd been shot! In the stomach...

He looked down. There was no sign of a wound. Or of clothes for that 
matter. He was naked.

What was going on?

He looked around. There wasn't much to see. Mist. Flashes of light. No 
colors.

Then a bright light appeared in the distance, attracting his attention. 
He started towards it, curious. It moved away, and he started to run. He 
was running after the light, when a voice brought him up short.

"Shaman."

He stopped, and turned his head.

"Incacha?! But you're..."

"Dead? Yes. And so are you."

"I don't understand."

"You died six days ago. Killed by the renegade warriors that you and the 
Sentinel pursued."

Blair blinked. It explained a lot. Maybe. He certainly had now problem 
with an existence after death, but... "So now what?" He didn't bother to 
wonder how he could understand the Chopec shaman without an interpreter.

"Now you make your choice."

"Choice?"

"To stay or be reborn."

Blair thought for a moment. "What does staying mean?"

"You remain your Sentinel's guide. His shaman. He alone will be able to 
see you, hear you. You will not be able to touch, although you will be 
able to walk in his dreams. It will be difficult for both of you. If you 
choose this, you will be bound together until you *both* are dead. There 
is no changing your mind."

"And if I choose to be reborn?"

"Another will take your place, coming when they are needed most. If 
Enquiri accepts his new Guide, he will continue on. You will be reborn, 
and when you are ready, you will find a new Sentinel, and bind again."

"And if he doesn't?"

"A Sentinel cannot function without his guide."

Blair didn't have to think long. He knew Jim. The Sentinel was *not* 
going to accept a new guide. He was probably blaming himself for letting 
Blair die, and Blair knew he'd never want to risk that again. No. He'd 
let himself die before he accepted a new guide.

Besides, he'd rather be a ghost with Jim that be reborn without him

"I'm staying with Jim."

Incacha smiled widely, telling Blair that *he* also thought it was the 
right choice.

"Then go to your Sentinel, Shaman."

"How?"

But he was gone. So was the light in the distance that he'd been chasing.

But there was a new light. Not the same harsh, bright light from before. 
This one was warm and inviting. It made him think of home and love and 
happiness. When he moved towards it, it did not retreat from him.

Blair took a deep breath, and stepped into the light.

* * * * *

Blair opened his eyes, and found himself lying on the couch in the loft, 
fully dressed. For a moment he thought it had all been a weird dream. 
Then he noticed that everything seemed to have a barely-real tint to it. 
He stood, and took a couple of steps. Everything seemed to work.

He went into the kitchen area, and looked around himself in shock. The 
place was a mess. Whatever Jim Ellison, neat freak, was doing these days, 
it certainly wasn't house work. He reached for the taps, planning on 
filling the sink to let the dishes soak, but his hand passed right 
through it.

"Okay, Blair," he told himself. "You *are* a ghost. Cool."

Then he realized. If he *was* dead... Jim! He headed for the stairs, 
wondering if Jim was even there.

He was.

Jim was asleep, but he looked like hell. The sweats he was wearing had 
stains on them. His face didn't look like he had shaved in days. There 
were tear-tracks on his cheeks, a slight odor of alcohol. Not enough to 
suggest he was drunk. More like a sleep aid.

"Oh, Jim..." Blair reached out, then stopped. He couldn't touch anything, 
he remembered. He would just pass through.

"You will not be able to touch, though, together, you will be able to 
walk in his dreams" For a moment, he heard an echo of Incacha's words.

So, he could walk in Jim's dreams. But how? He reached towards Jim again, 
not stopping this time. When his hand reached Jim's face, it passed 
inside. For a moment, it felt weird. Then it was like he was caught in an 
undertow and dragged under. In.

* * * * *

He was standing on the street, outside the gang's headquarters. The 
building was burning, and people were screaming. Somewhere, he could hear 
sobbing.

He turned towards where the truck was parked, and saw Jim there. He was 
kneeling on the ground, with his back to Blair. He was clutching 
something to his chest. Blair came closer.

Jim was sobbing. Pleading. Blair realized that it was *his* body that Jim 
was holding. He reached out.

"Jim?" No answer.

"Jim!" He touched his partner's shoulder. Jim jumped to his feet and spun 
around, still clutching the body to his chest. His expression was one of 
shock.

"Blair?" He said, shakily. He didn't notice when the body in his arms 
disappeared.

"It's me, big guy. If you don't mind me saying, you look like shit, man."

Jim laughed, harshly. It quickly turned hysterical, and he collapsed into 
a semi-seated state next to the truck. Blair dropped to his knees next to 
him.

"Jim! C'mon, man. Snap out of it." It didn't seem to have any effect.

Blair wondered if he could *influence* the dream, rather than just walk 
in it. He closed his eyes for a moment, concentrating hard. When he 
opened them, everything had changed.

It was night, in the jungle. A campfire blazed merrily. A bedroll was 
spread on the ground near the fire. It was Peru. Their camp from the 
first night when they had arrived to look for Simon.

They'd been so distant, for a while. Jim was shutting him out, and he 
thought it was because he was having second thoughts about being Blair's 
thesis subject. When the offer had come to be part of an expedition to 
Borneo, Jim had encouraged him to take it. Blair hadn't been sure what to 
think anymore.

Then the call had come about Simon and Daryl disappearing in Peru. Jim 
was determined to go after them, and Blair *couldn't* let him go alone. 
That decision had changed both their lives.

That night, Blair had woken to see Jim watching him. He'd reached out a 
hand, and Jim had taken it. They'd reached out to each other, not as 
researcher and subject, not as cop and partner, not as roommates. They'd 
reached out as two lonely people who wanted to stop being lonely together.

Women, criminals, the brass, family. They'd all tried to come between 
them after that day, but none had succeeded. Not even death.

Blair sank down onto the bedroll, hanging on to his Sentinel. As Jim 
continued to sob, he stroked the man's back and murmured reassurances. 
Eventually he was able to make out what Jim was saying through the sobs.

"Can't do this without you, Chief. Love you. Need you. How could you 
leave?"

"I didn't leave, Jim. I'm right here. Maybe not the same way as before, 
but I couldn't *leave* you. Not when I was given a choice."

Jim pulled away, sniffling. "Choice?"

Blair hung on to him. "This is gonna sound weird, big guy."

"Of course it will. It's just a dream."

"Sorta. Ummm... Well, here goes. After I... died, I was in this white 
place. There was a light, and I was trying to get to it when Incacha 
appeared."

"Chief, Incacha is *dead*."

Blair gave him his best 'well, duh!' look. "Anyway, he said I had a 
choice. Be reborn, and eventually bond with another Sentinel, or stay 
with you. If I stayed with you, it would be as a ghost. If I was reborn, 
another Guide would find you, and you would either bond with him or her, 
or die."

Jim shook his head. "Another Guide? Never."

"Kinda what I figured. Besides, I didn't want another Sentinel, I wanted 
to be with you. And I didn't want you with anyone else, so I chose you."

Jim ran a hand over his face and hair. "Assuming this is real, and not 
some grief-induced dream, what does this mean. How are you going to 
explain turning up as a ghost?"

Blair frowned. "Uh, Jim. You're the only one who will be able to see me."

"Great. How about touch?"

"Only in the dreams. Otherwise, I'm immaterial."

Suddenly, things started to fade.

"Listen. Jim. You're starting to wake up. We'll talk later."

"Your funeral is today." Jim sounded so... lost.

"After the funeral then. Please. Trust me. I love you. "

The landscape disappeared. Jim was disappearing too. Blair could feel 
the connection starting to fade.

"Later, lover."

* * * * *

Keeping out of sight, Blair watched as Jim rolled over and sat up in bed. 
Jim rubbed his eyes, then looked out the window.

"Morning Blair, wherever you are."

Blair felt like crying. Jim obviously thought it had just been a dream. 
Hopefully he'd be able to convince him later, when they could talk alone. 
He needed to be careful, though. Push too fast and he could cause a lot 
of trouble. A detective with a dead partner would be in therapy. If the 
detective started talking to empty air, he could end up being commited 
for evaluation.

No, he was going to have to work slowly to make sure that Jim both 
believed him, and wasn't going to do anything suspicious in front of 
others. He would have to come up with something concrete for Jim. The man 
was *such* a skeptic.

Blair stayed out of sight while the man showered and shaved. At least Jim 
was looking alive this morning. He certainly looked better than the 
sleeping man he'd seen last night. Blair continued to observe while Jim 
changed into his dark suit, and headed for the door. He wanted to say 
something about Jim not having breakfast, but stuck to his decision to 
stay out of sight until after the funeral.

It was weird, he thought, going to his own funeral. He wondered who would 
be there.

* * * * *

Blair was shocked. The place was *packed*. He didn't really pay much 
attention to the service. He was to busy looking around. It seemed like 
whole the police force was there, not just people from Major Crimes. A 
lot of his students were there, including ones who hadn't had a course 
with him in *years*.

It was amazing.

They'd even arranged something that was almost a cop funeral, but wasn't 
quite, since he hadn't actually *been* a cop. Naomi wasn't there, but 
Blair wasn't surprised. Last he had heard, she was somewhere in the 
middle-east. He doubted that *anyone* would have been able to find her in 
time.

But what really shook him was the press. Everyone attending the funeral 
had to run the gauntlet of reporters. He wanted to yell at them to leave 
his friends alone, but that would have been futile.

He had wandered around, during the service, shamelessly eavesdropping on 
everyone. Some of the things he heard left him torn between embarrassment 
and pleasure. What worried him more was what he'd heard from Jim's fellow 
cops.

Apparently, Jim had been a wreck for the last week, since Blair had died. 
Simon had even taken his gun from him, for fear that he might commit 
suicide. As far as Blair was concerned, Jim still looked like shit, but 
everyone else seemed to think that he'd improved a *lot*.

After the service, he tagged along with Rafe and Brown to the cemetery. 
Blair figured that Jim must have arranged the plot, since Naomi was more 
into the scattering the ashes business. Once there, he stuck close to 
Jim, but still out of sight. The last thing he wanted was for Jim to 
freak out in front of people.

"Jim... are you okay?" The concern in Simon's voice was thick.

"Yeah. I think so. I had the weirdest dream last night, though. I've been 
having... nightmares. Ever since... Anyway, they always are about what 
happened. Last night, though. Last night, Blair showed up. Different. He 
made the nightmare go away, and we were back in Peru. Where we first came 
together. He said something about making a choice to stay with me."

Simon frowned, and Jim reassured him. "No, not like that. I don't know... 
Maybe my subconscious is trying to reassure me. Maybe it's a different 
way of trying to deny he's gone. Or maybe Blair *was* talking to me from 
the other side. I don't know. All I know is that when I woke up this 
morning, I felt like... like maybe living is a good idea. I realized that 
Blair wouldn't want me to waste my life grieving. He'd want me to 
remember him, but also to go on with my life."

Blair smiled. He'd convince Jim later that he *was* still there, but in 
the meantime, at least Jim was functioning. Simon looked a little happier 
too.

The funeral had ended, and the mourners were starting to drift away. Most 
stopped by to offer their condolences to Jim. They'd both been surprised, 
when they had come out, at how accepting everyone they knew was. There'd 
been minor harassments, but a lot of them had been nipped in the bud by 
their friends. They hadn't needed to stand up to the bigots - there'd 
been a steady stream of friends doing it for them first. The sympathy was 
genuine, and so was the grief.

Finally, the last had disappeared, leaving only Jim, Simon and Daryl. 
Blair watched from behind a tree.

"C'mon, Jim. We'll get you home."

Jim brushed a hand over the headstone, then followed Simon to his car. 
Blair watched them drive away, then concentrated on the loft. When he 
opened his eyes, he was there.

* * * * *

Blair could hear the voices as Jim reached the loft. Simon still sounded 
concerned, but Jim was reassuring. Finally, Simon's footsteps faded away, 
and Jim unlocked the door. He came in and hung up his overcoat.

"Hi Jim."

Jim whirled, white as a sheet. Blair was sitting on the couch, watching 
him. Jim came towards him, looking like he was about to fall over. He 
reached out a shaking hand to touch Blair, but his hand passed right 
through. Jim's legs folded under him, and he collapsed onto the couch. 
His face went blank, and Blair realized that the man was going into a 
zone-out.

"C'mon, big guy. Come back to me. Don't do this."

Jim blinked. "Blair?"

"That's me."

"You're dead."

"I know. Not exactly what I expected, either."

"You're dead!"

Blair sighed. "I explained this last night, Jim."

"Last night?" Jim said, confused. Then his memory obviously kicked in. 
"My dream."

"Right. After I died, Incacha told me I had a choice. Be reborn, or stay 
with you. I chose you."

Jim took a deep breath, his face a picture of concentration. "You said... 
you said I'm the only one who can see you?"

"Right."

"Chief... Um...I *want* to believe..." Blair snickered at the inadvertent 
X-Files reference, and Jim managed a hint of a smile. "Chief, if I'm the 
only one who can see or hear you, how do I *know* I haven't gone nuts?"

Blair had already considered that. "I think I can help you prove who 
killed me." Jim flinched. "Did you find the... um... murder weapon?"

"No," Jim said, a slight quaver in his voice. Blair had been thinking 
about this, earlier, and every time he thought of the gun that had ended 
his life he felt a tug pulling him north. He wasn't sure how to describe 
the feeling, except that it *hurt*.

"I think I can find the weapon."

"Then what? You lead me to it?"

"Not quite I'll find it, then tell you. You call Simon and have someone 
*else* go collect it. That way you can't say that you found it with your 
senses and that I'm a figment of your imagination that you're using it to 
justify."

Jim seemed to consider the idea. Blair would have held his breath, if he 
had any breath to hold. His other reason for not letting Jim go after the 
weapon was that he wasn't sure what Jim might do if it let him to the 
killer. Finally, Jim nodded. "Sounds reasonable to me."

Blair sagged in relief. "Great, let's get started. I'll see you in a bit."

* * * * *

Blair left the apartment, then waited a couple of minutes. He was a 
little worried that Jim seemed *too* accepting, and he wanted to be 
careful. Sticking his head back into the apartment, praying that Jim 
wouldn't see him, he looked around. He felt a little foolish at what he 
saw. Jim was standing in the middle of the loft, looking disgusted. While 
Blair watched, he headed to start dropping dished into the sink, which 
was filling with hot water and soap suds. Smiling, Blair left again. At 
least Jim seemed to be ready to start living again.

Outside the building, he concentrated on the weapon again. The feeling 
was definitely leading him north. Following the tug, he weaved through 
pedestrians. He knew he could walk *through* them, but that still seemed 
a little weird. Noticing a north-bound bus at the corner, he hopped on, 
wondering how it was that he could pass through objects, yet still ride 
*in* them.

For the next couple of hours, he continued to follow the tug, changing 
buses or just walking as he followed. It was like the game 'hotter-
colder' that he used to play as a child, except that the closer he got, 
the stronger the tug, and the pain associated with it, got.

Finally, it led him to a trailer park on the northern outskirts of town. 
Checking the number on the trailer he had come to, he stepped inside. In 
the bedroom, he found a rifle, wrapped in a tarp, propped up in the 
closet. Reaching towards hit, incredible pains shot through him, 
radiating from the spot where he had been shot. This had to be it.

Leaving the bedroom, he found three people, two men and a woman, sitting 
in the kitchenette. If he were still breathing, he would have started 
hyperventilating. The one with the eagle tattoo on his arm was the man 
who had shot him. He shut his eyes and though of the loft. Thought *hard* 
of home. When he opened his eyes again, he was there.

* * * * *

Still feeling the fear reaction, Blair was comforted by what he saw. The 
loft showed the signs of a massive Ellison-style cleaning. However, he 
didn't see the Ellison.

"Jim?"

The bathroom door opened, and Jim rushed out. Seeing Blair, he gave a 
deep sigh. "I had myself half-convinced that you weren't real, Chief. Did 
you find it?"

Blair collapsed on the couch. "I found it," he said. "The guy who shot me 
is there too."

"Then let's go," Jim said, heading for the door.

"No way, man! I am *not* taking you there. You are going to call Simon, 
tell *him* where. Then we are going to wait here. Proving to you I'm real 
aside, I am *not* going to let you ruin your life by letting you go after 
the sonofabitch. Understood? Now pick up the phone and call Simon. I'll 
tell you where while you're talking to him, and you will pass it on. Got 
it?"

Jim's jaw clenched, but he put down his jacket and headed for the phone. 
"Any suggestions on *what* I tell him, Chief," he asked, only slightly 
sarcastic. "After all, I can't exactly tell him that I got the info from 
my dead partner."

Blair rolled his eyes. "Tell him that a snitch contacted you with the 
information. Now *call*."

Jim picked up the phone and hit the speed dial for Simon's cell-phone. 
"Hi, Simon. It's Jim. Listen, I just had a visit from an informant. No, 
I'm not going to tell you who. Anyway, he gave me an address. He says 
that if we get there fast, we'll find the guy who shot Blair, and the gun 
he did it with. Yes, I trust this one."

Jim looked over at Blair, who gave him the address. "The Northview 
Trailer Park, just outside of town. Trailer seventeen. The man has an 
eagle tattoo on his left arm. The firearm, a rifle, is in the bedroom 
closet. Thanks, Simon. No, I'll stay here. I don't *want* to know what 
I'd do to the bastard if I saw him. Call me when there's news."

Jim hung up the phone, then sagged. Blair walked over to him, but didn't 
try to touch him. "What did Simon say?"

"They'll try to come up with some sort of probable cause to search the 
trailer. He'll call later."

"Good. In the meantime, when was the last time you ate?"

"Ummm..."

"That's what I thought. Eat! You can't be Sentinel to the Great City if 
you starve yourself."

"I can't be Sentinel without my Shaman."

"I'm right here, Jim. *Nothing* is going to take me away from you. Now. 
What do you have in the fridge?"

Jim opened the fridge and Blair frowned. "Takeout, I guess. Get something 
healthy, would you?"

"Nag, nag, nag," Jim said, wearing the first honest smile that Blair had 
seen on his face in the last twenty-four hours. "How about beef with 
vegetables, fried rice and chicken chow mein?" Jim asked as he picked up 
the menu from their favorite Chinese takeout. Blair made a production of 
considering it.

"All right, but no MSG. And take some multi-vitamins. There *were* some 
in my desk drawer."

"Yes, mom," Jim replied.

* * * * *

A few hours later, Blair had bullied Jim into eating a full meal, taking 
the vitamins and showering. They were sitting on the couch, watching a 
*really* bad movie, when Jim gave a sigh. Blair looked over at him, 
concerned.

"Chief, I don't know if I can handle this."

"What? Me being a ghost? If you don't want me here..." Blair wondered 
what he would do if Jim rejected him.

"No! I want you here. It's just... I want to touch you and I *can't*. I 
don't know if I can stand having you here, but always out of reach. I 
mean... It's better than nothing, but..."

Blair gave a sigh of relief. "Jim, remember the dream last night?"

"Yeah." Jim shut his eyes in pain.

"What happened?"

"It was that night again," Jim said, a little shaky, eyes not focusing on 
anything. "The bomb they were building in the garage went off. I was 
knocked off my feet. When I got up, I ran for the truck. You were lying 
on the ground, bleeding from the stomach wounds. I called an ambulance, 
but you...died... No matter what I did, you died." Tears were streaming 
down his face.

"Then what?" Blair prompted, gently.

"Then... someone tapped my on the shoulder, calling my name. I turned, 
and you were standing there, whole. I collapsed, then everything changed. 
We were back in Peru, and you... held... me..." Blair could see the 
memory awaken in his eyes.

"Right! Jim, we can't touch in the waking world, but I can enter your 
dreams and we *can* touch there. We can love always, but in the dreams we 
can *make* love. Is that enough for you?"

Jim closed his eyes, and the tension seemed to drain out of him. He 
opened his eyes and turned to Blair. "Yes," he said, eyes shining. Blair 
smiled, and opened his mouth, but, at that moment, there was a loud 
knocking at the door.

"I'll wait in the spare room," Blair said, getting up. "That way I won't 
distract you."

"Jim, are you still awake?" Came the call from the other side of the door.

"Coming, Simon."

Jim watched Blair leave the room, then opened the door. His captain was 
standing there with a grin on his face.

"You got him?" Jim demanded.

Simon's grin got wider. "I don't know where your snitch got his 
information, but he was right on the money. We got the rifle, and it's 
the same type as the one used to... shoot Blair." The grin faded, then 
came back. "Anyway, Forensics will be running ballistics tests first 
thing in the morning to see if it's a match. We also arrested three 
people. The owners of the trailer, a Mr and Mrs Chris Thompson, and her 
brother, Jeff Stone. He's the one with the tattoo, and we've already 
identified him as a member of the gang who was not found at the site 
after the explosion. Anyway, the brother-in-law is already looking to 
deal. He says that Stone bragged about killing Blair. It looks like we 
got him." The grin became fierce, almost angry. Jim's expression was a 
reflection of it.

"Good. Now just keep him away from me and he *might* make it to trial."

"If he's lucky. The department has a *lot* of cops who want to pay 
Mr Stone a 'visit'. He's got guards to protect him from the *cops*. As 
far as people are concerned, Blair was one of *us*, which makes Stone a 
cop-killer."

Blair gaped from his old room. It was a little scary, thinking that there 
were people willing to kill over the death of a long-haired, gay academic 
who worked, on the side, as a police consultant, but it also felt good.

"Care for some orange juice, Simon?" Jim said, heading for the fridge. 
"I'm afraid it's all I've got available. I poured the last of the booze 
down the sink this afternoon, and I haven't had time to do any grocery 
shopping yet."

"You've cleaned up too," Simon noticed. "I'm glad to see you've decided 
to rejoin the living."

Jim handed him a glass. "Like I told you this morning, Blair wouldn't 
want me to self-destruct. It just took me a while before I was ready to 
realize that."

For a while they just exchanged trivia, Simon telling him about what had 
been going on at work while Jim was on leave. Finally, Jim asked the 
question that Blair, and probably Simon, had been waiting for.

"Simon... How long until I can go back to work?"

"Well..." Simon said, slightly hesitant. "Are your senses under control? 
Without Blair, that is."

"Yeah, I think so."

"Well then, as long as you're willing to keep going to the required 
counseling sessions, I'll expect you... Wednesday."

"I know, and desk duty until the shrinks give the okay. Standard 
procedure after the death of a partner. I'll be there, Simon."

* * * * *

When Simon left, Jim locked the door and turned around. He watched Blair 
walk through the door from the spare room.

"It's going to take some getting used to. Seeing you walk *through* 
things, like that." He gave a smile, then frowned. "Chief... How *did* 
you find the gun?"

Blair frowned. "I'm not sure. I thought about it, and it was like there 
was a tether, leading me to it. There was also some pain, so it wasn't 
exactly a fun experience."

"Can you do it again?" Jim looked curious. Strangely enough, it was an 
expression that people said Blair got when handed an interesting problem. 
Blair wondered if it was the way he looked whenever Jim developed a new 
trick with his Sentinel abilities. "Like... The Robson case. We never 
found the knife."

Blair concentrated, thinking of the crime scene, the body of James 
Robson, found in his office.

Nothing. "Sorry. I don't know. Maybe it was the... personal connection."

Jim gave a half-smile. "It's probably just as well. I have a hard enough 
time explaining the things I find with my senses." Then he blushed. 
"Um... you said... dreams? I really need to hold you."

Blair smiled. "Go to bed, Jim. It's late. I'll be with you in a minute."

Blair waited, listening as Jim prepared for bed. When movement stopped, 
and the sounds of breathing deepened into the slow, steady rhythm of 
sleep, Blair stood and went up the stairs.

Blair sat on the edge of the bed and looked down at his lover. There were 
still lines of fatigue and grief on the strong face, but Jim looked a 
thousand times better than he had the night before. Blair reached towards 
Jim, and once again was pulled into the sleeping mind.

* * * * *

Once again, Blair was outside the biker house. Behind him, the house 
burned. Sirens wailed in the distance, and screams were in the air. Over 
by the truck, Jim waited for him.

"Hi," Jim said. "Sorry about the setting, but I couldn't stop it."

"Don't worry, big guy. I'll teach you some directed dreaming techniques 
later. In the meanwhile..."

Blair concentrated, and the scene wavered. When it steadied again, they 
were in the Cascade mountains, at one of their favorite campsites. The 
sun was shining and the only sounds were birdsong and the brook that ran 
near the clearing. The cool breeze and the fresh greenery said spring.

Jim took a deep breath, and relaxed. He stepped forward, reaching out to 
Blair. Blair met him halfway, and Jim pulled him into a hug.

"I didn't think I'd ever be able to hold you again," he mumbled into the 
dark curls.

"You should know by now that you can't get rid of *me* that easily," 
Blair said, smiling. Jim pulled back to look at him, then burst into 
laughter. There was still a slight hysterical tinge to the laughter, but 
the humor was genuine.

"What am I going to do with you," he asked, only half-serious.

"Love me?"

"Always."

Jim pulled Blair over to the waiting tent. Inside was their air mattress 
and the double sleeping bag. Clothes were disposed of and they tumbled 
onto the bedding, a tangle of limbs, lips tightly sealed.

For the longest time, Jim insisted on just exploring Blair, touching 
every part of his body. Blair certainly wasn't objecting - he just lay 
back and enjoyed. Each touch was gently and worshipful, as though Jim was 
afraid that Blair would either break... or disappear. Caught up in the 
moment, Blair did not try to push the pace. Instead, he rolled onto his 
side and wrapped himself around Jim. Long minutes passed while they were 
content to just hold each other.

Jim nuzzled at Blair's curls, murmuring endearments, then pull away. 
"Blair. Please. I need you."

Blair responded with a long kiss. "Anything you want, Jim. Anything. Any 
time."

Jim pulled away and rolled onto his back, pulling his legs up in silent 
invitation. Naturally, since it was a joint dream, there was a bottle of 
fragrant oil under the pillow, and Blair used it to prepare his lover. 
Then he pressed himself home.

And it was home. He knew that now. Even if he hadn't been allowed to come 
back to Jim, he would have found a way to wait for him. They were meant 
to be together, and he wasn't going to let anything destroy that. Not 
even death.

They rocked together, no rush. The climb to orgasm was slow, and 
deliberate, and very, very sweet.

When they were done, Blair slipped free, and wrapped himself around Jim 
again. He stroked his hands up and down the larger man's sides. "Rest, 
Jim. I won't go anywhere. I'll still be here when you wake up. I'll be 
here for as long as you want me to be."

"Always," Jim whispered, as he slipped into an even deeper slumber.

"Always," Blair promised, kissing the smooth forehead.

* * * * *

Jim shifted his weight from foot to foot. Blair just grinned.

"You look as nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs," he said. 
Jim glared at him.

"I knew I should never have let you watch 'Steel Magnolias'," he growled, 
but Blair just kept grinning.

The elevator pinged, and the doors started to open.

"Ready, Jim?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," he replied. "After all, what could go wrong when 
I have my very own spirit guide?"

Blair followed him down the hall towards Major Crimes, and through the 
door. Heading for Jim's desk, he watched as the others welcomed Jim back 
to work. Finally, Jim was able to make his way over, and sat down in his 
chair. The pile of paper in his in-box was huge, since he was desk-bound 
for the time being. Jim groaned at the sight.

"Damnit, Chief. I really could use your typing skills now," he said in 
mock dismay. Over at the next desk, Rafe looked up with a worried 
expression. Jim gave him a slight smile, and he smiled back before 
returning to the report he was writing.

"Well," Jim said. "Time to get back to work."

He dug into the paperwork while Blair started making jokes. Life was back 
to normal. At least, as normal as it ever got for the Sentinel of the 
Great City and his Shaman.

END