----------------------------------
Medium, Well Done
by Lianne Burwell
October 1998
----------------------------------

Detective Jim Ellison glared at the screen, hoping that the display would 
change. It didn't.

Here they were, living in a computerized age, and the brass seemed to 
think that it meant they could demand that everyone fill out even *more* 
forms, since they weren't storing or searching paper files anymore.

Jim sighed, then started typing up the reports on his latest case, a 
series of robberies in the richest area of town. It had taken him only 
two days to catch the guy after being assigned the case, and now it 
looked like it would take him even longer to fill out the paperwork. Add 
on the time for the trial... Sometimes he wondered why he bothered. Then 
he stopped a killer, or rescued a kidnap victim, and felt the 
satisfaction. At those moments, he knew that he wouldn't quit. At least, 
not unless they forced him into a desk job.

"Hey, Ellison!"

Jim turned to see the terrible twosome coming in. Detectives Rafe and 
Brown had been good on their own and with other partners. Together, they 
were proving a combination almost as good as he and Blair had been, even 
without Jim's enhanced senses.

"What's up, guys?"

"Heard anything about this new exchange cop?"

"Just that he's from Australia. Probably thinks he's Crocodile Dundee or 
something. Simon's picking him up at the airport right now."

"Actually..." Jim winced at the sound of his captain's voice from the 
doorway. "*She* got through customs faster than expected, so we're back."

Everyone turned to take a look at the newest detective in the Major 
Crimes department, courtesy of an international exchange program. She 
wasn't hard to look at. Tall, beautiful, with long curly hair and a wry 
smile that spoke of a sense of humor.

But her clothes! Jim winced at the sight of the black coat trimmed with 
fur died a blinding shade of pink. Suddenly Jim was having visions of 
their new Forensics Chief, Cassie Welles, and her wardrobe. It was 
ridiculous for a woman to expect to traipse around crime scenes dressed 
that way. Cassie tended to dress more like a streetwalker. Hopefully, 
*this* woman would dress a little more reasonably. But the coat wasn't 
promising.

"Ellison," Simon said, heading for his office with the Aussie following 
close behind him. "My office."

Jim groaned, then saved his paperwork. He had a bad feeling about this.

* * * * *

Megan looked around the office, trying to get a feel for her new - if 
temporary - captain. There were photos on the desk, mainly of a teenaged 
boy, but there was none of any women. Combined with the lack of a 
wedding ring, it spelled divorced dad. The rest of the pictures often 
featured two other men. One of them was the fellow now coming into the 
office, Ellison. The other was of a smaller man with long curly hair and 
a wide grin, just the sort of fellow she liked to hang around with. Not 
the sort of guy you'd expect to see hanging around with two large cops.

Speaking of Ellison, he had the look of a man about to go in front of a 
firing squad. She was guessing that Captain Banks wanted her to work with 
the man, and he probably knew it, but he didn't have to look so bloody 
thrilled (insert heavy sarcastic mental tone) about it.

"Detective Jim Ellison, meet Inspector Megan Conner. She's got a shit-
load of forms to fill out, but as of tomorrow morning, she's your partner 
for the duration of her stay in Cascade."

Give me strength, Megan thought at the look of horror on the man's face.

"Simon, I work alone."

"And I know why. But you're the only detective *without* a partner. 
You'll survive." The tone was gentle, but the expression on Banks's face 
said that Ellison would *not* be able to change his Captain's mind.

"Yes, sir," Ellison said in a resigned tone. "If there's nothing else, I 
still have to fill out the forms on today's arrest."

"Go," Banks said with a wave of the hand. He waited until the man was 
gone before turning back to her.

"Sorry about that, Conner. Jim's a good man, and I think you'll work well 
together, if you can ignore his... eccentricities."

Megan wasn't too sure about that, but decided to give the man the benefit 
of the doubt. After all, she'd been told that she had just as big a chip 
on her shoulder at times. "Understood, Captain. But why does he work 
alone? I thought all American cops worked in pairs."

Banks leaned back in his chair, and pulled out a cigar. Megan winced, 
then gave a small sigh of relief when he didn't move to light it. "Jim 
was a transfer from Vice. Not long after he joined Major Crimes, his 
partner disappeared while delivering the ransom in a kidnapping case. IA 
figured he ran with the money. Actually, we found out a couple of years 
ago that he'd recognized the kidnapper, and was killed, his car dumped in 
the river with the kidnap victim's body in the trunk.

"After Jack disappeared, Jim refused to work with a partner. I went along 
with it, because he worked well on his own. He was an Army Ranger before 
becoming a cop, after all. Also, he was a very closed off person, and few 
people were comfortable working with him.

"Then, almost three years ago he showed up with an anthropology grad 
student in tow. Blair Sandburg." Banks was looking fondly at one of the 
pictures of him and Ellison, along with the third man. That must be 
Sandburg, she thought. "Sandburg was studying closed societies for his 
doctoral thesis, and Jim arranged for him to get ride-along status with 
the PD. Almost overnight, Jim started to loosen up. Then Sandburg's place 
got demolished in an explosion, and he moved in with Jim.

"By that point, Jim was a completely different person. He smiled more. He 
became a person who you'd want to spend off-duty time with. His ex-wife 
liked to joke that if he'd been like that when they were married, they 
never would have divorced. Somehow, no one was surprised when he and 
Sandburg became... more than partners and roommates." He glared at her, 
as though daring her to comment.

Actually, Megan was surprised. It sounded like the people here had taken 
it in stride when Ellison and his partners became lovers, from what Banks 
was saying. "What happened to him?" she asked when Banks seemed lost in 
thought. The big man shook his head, like he was pulling himself back to 
the present.

"Sandburg was killed less than a year ago, during an investigation into 
gang warfare. It was a fluke. He was waiting in the truck, while Jim went 
to investigate an explosion. The gang were building a bomb that went off 
at the wrong time. One of the fleeing gang members saw Sandburg, and 
killed him so that he wouldn't be able to identify him. Jim found the 
body."

Banks' eyes looked suspiciously bright by this point, and Megan could 
understand why. Losing your partner probably topped the list of the worst 
things that could happen to a cop. And when that partner was a lover, and 
not even a cop...

"Any way, we got the SOB, and put him behind bars for life. Since then, 
Jim hasn't gone back to the way he was before Sandburg, but he insists on 
working alone. Since his last two partners were both killed, I'm sure you 
can understand why.

"*But*. But, he is still my best detective, and he is the only one 
*without* a partner, so I want you to work with him. I hope you don't 
have a problem with that?" His tone said that he really didn't care if 
she *did* have a problem.

"No problem, sir. And I'll tread lightly," she promised. While she still 
didn't like the attitude, she could understand it. She'd win him over, 
she was sure. Eventually.

* * * * *

Blair was at the university, watching members of the anthropology 
department unpack a shipment of artifacts from South America. Being a 
ghost might make it difficult to continue his research, but he managed, 
as best he could.

He was circling around one statue, just unpacked, that he recognized from 
Jim's dreams. He'd always had trouble getting Jim to tell him about the 
dreams he had of the temple in the jungle, but now he was able to walk in 
those dreams. It certainly saved time.

He was just checking out some of the finer details, wishing he could 
write down descriptions of them. Even with the eidetic memory that had 
turned out to be a side-benefit of being a ghost, he still wished he 
could make notes.

Then it hit him. Anger. Fear. Frustration. Jim.

Blair closed his eyes and concentrated on Jim. It only worked with Jim or 
the loft, but by concentration, he could transport himself to those two 
locations (if a person could be *called* a location). Anywhere else, he 
had to go on foot, or by 'hitching' a ride.

When he opened his eyes, he was at the police station. Jim was typing at 
his computer, hard enough that he was in danger of destroying it. He 
looked angry enough to chew steel and spit nails.

"What's wrong?" Blair asked.

Anyone looking on would assume that Jim was muttering to himself, or the 
screen, but only Jim knew to whom he was *really* talking.

"I can't believe Simon. I do *not* want a new partner. I *especially* 
don't want some exchange cop for a partner." He grumbled on, 
concentrating on the screen, but it wasn't very heated. Rafe, passing by, 
gave a small snicker.

"Got it," Blair said, then headed for Simon's office. Sticking his head 
through the doorway, he saw Simon handing form after form to a young 
woman who looked a little overwhelmed by the sheer weight of the paperwork.

Blair couldn't stop the flash of jealousy of someone else working as 
Jim's partner, but there wasn't much he could do about it, and it had 
been only a matter of time before Simon would have assigned someone.

Sometimes being a ghost really sucked. But it beat the alternative.

* * * * *

The next morning, Blair decided to stick with Jim for the day. While his 
Sentinel hadn't zoned while using his enhanced senses even *once* since 
Blair's death, he didn't want to take any chances on this Conner chick 
seeing something that might make her think that Jim was a few neurons 
short of a synapse.

Actually, Blair sometimes wondered about why Jim *hadn't* had any zone-
outs since his... death. The best theory he'd been able to come up with 
was the fact that he, as a ghost, was more tightly linked to Jim than he 
could ever have been when he was still alive. Their link was so tight 
that he could pick up on Jim's emotions, even from across town, and once 
he could have sworn that he'd actually heard Jim's thoughts. Maybe, as 
time went by, they'd even learn to communicate mentally. It would 
certainly lower the chances of Jim giving himself away by talking to 
apparently empty air.

All in all, Megan wasn't too bad. She'd shown up wearing an outfit a 
little more practical and subdued than the one she'd had on the day 
before. They'd given her the desk closest to Jim, and she kept to it. She 
asked intelligent questions about the cases he was working on, and didn't 
ask any awkward ones. Blair guessed that Simon had warned her about 
subjects to avoid.

But, this being Cascade, she only had a couple of hours to relax into the 
rhythm of the Major Crimes section before a call came in, and they were 
off and running.

* * * * *

"So tell me, Conner," Jim said to the woman in the passenger seat of his 
truck. It was strange having someone else there, and seeing the curls out 
of the corner of his eye was even stranger. He kept expecting it to be 
Blair sitting there, solid instead of the faintly translucent form that 
Jim saw when he was awake. "What made you decide to go for the exchange 
program? After all, Washington state is a far cry from Australia, 
especially this time of year."

The woman grinned, and gave a theatrical shiver. It was even colder than 
usual, for the season. "Actually, I applied because I heard that a 
criminal I've been chasing was going to be in the area. My supervisors 
told me to drop it, but I couldn't. So when I heard he was headed for 
this area, the exchange program was the perfect solution for me."

Jim groaned, mentally. All he needed was a partner with an agenda. "If 
you think..." He started to say in a growl.

"Don't worry," Megan said with a rueful expression. "Brunell was 
arrested six days ago in Vancouver. He's probably already on his way back 
home for trial. I would have preferred to be the one to catch him," she 
said with a shrug, "but the important thing is that he *was* caught."

"And you still came."

"Yeah, I still came. First of all, I was committed to the exchange 
program. Secondly, I think it's a valuable experience, no matter what my 
motivations for signing up were. I think we can learn a lot from each 
other, don't you?"

"Maybe," Jim replied, pulling up in front of the small suburban house.

It looked like a quiet neighborhood. There was just one patrol car and 
the coroner's vehicle in front of the house, and that was enough to bring 
out a crowd of neighbors. And Cassie's van, Jim noted with a frown.

Jim showed his badge to the officer outside the house, even though the 
man already knew him. Having a foreign tagalong meant he had to be on his 
best behavior, completely by the book. 

Inside was the body.

The victim was an elderly woman, probably in her eighties. She was 
lying on the floor in her living room, the back of her skull caved in. A 
fireplace poker lay next to her, crusted with blood, an obvious murder 
weapon. Cassie was poking around in corners, but he did his best to 
ignore her. When Cassie had first joined the Cascade PD, she had set her 
sights on Jim, and he was *not* inclined to play along. That, combined 
with her bull-headed, detective-wannabe attitude, had almost resulted in 
a full-out war between them, but they had settled into a 'don't bother me 
and I won't bother you' attitude that at least let them work together. 

Jim turned to the uniformed officer. "What can you tell me, Stephens?"

The young man turned to address him. "Mrs. Wanda Bulmer, widowed. Her 
granddaughter, Miss Jennifer Green, found her this morning when she came 
to pick her up to go grocery shopping. According to the ME, she's been 
dead since yesterday evening."

"Hi, Dan," Jim nodded to the Amerind squatted next to the body.

"Hey, Jim. I'll be able to tell you more after the autopsy, but death was 
from a single blow to the head. She probably died between six and nine 
last night. I should be able to get a better fix after some tests. Can I 
remove the body?"

"If all the photos have been taken."

Officer Stephens nodded. The body was bagged, and moved out to the 
waiting vehicle. Jim and Megan headed for the kitchen where the woman's 
granddaughter was waiting. Over to the side, he would see Blair frowning 
at where the body had lain. He wondered what had disturbed his partner, 
but couldn't stop to ask.

Jennifer Green was sitting at the dinette table, red-eyed and looking 
like she was in shock. Megan immediately moved to her side, and Jim 
decided to wait and see what his new partner could do in a people 
situation. You could learn a lot about a cop that way.

"Miss Green? My name is Megan Conner. I'm with the police. Can you tell 
us anything about what your grandmother was doing since you last saw 
her?" Her voice was low and soothing, her face showed only concern. In 
many ways, she reminded him of the way Blair had been with shocky victims 
or witnesses.

That was one thing that he missed about having Blair as his partner. 
Blair had always been able to 'connect' with people they were 
questioning, even the crooks at times. Unfortunately, the same people 
tended to find Jim intimidating.

He listened with half an ear as Conner coaxed the woman out of the trance-
like state she was in. Instead, he was casting out with his senses, 
looking for anything that seemed out of place. Blair was next to him, 
coaching him in a low tone. Even though no one else could hear him, he 
tended to lower his voice when talking to Jim. He had said once that he 
still felt like he had to conceal what he was doing, worried that others 
would notice.

He didn't hear anything out of place, and there didn't seem to be 
anything to see in the room. In fact, the room was clean enough to 
satisfy even his own standards. He made a mental note to ask Miss Green 
if that was normal for her grandmother.

But scent. He frowned, concentrating.

"Miss Green," he said suddenly. "Does your grandmother normally burn 
incense?"

Megan frowned, her nose wrinkling. She obviously couldn't smell the sweet 
herbal scent that was tickling his own nasal passages.

"No..." the teary-eyed woman said, hesitantly. "But she mentioned that 
she had seen some sort of psychic recently. I told her it was nonsense, 
and she shouldn't waste her money on frauds like that, but she said that 
he was the real thing, and that he'd helped her talk to my grandfather. 
He's been dead for twenty-three years," she added.

"Do you know what his name is?"

"She called him Master Michael. That's all I know."

"Well, thank you very much," Jim said, indicating to Megan that they 
should head out.

Master Michael. It was a place to start, since the incense smelled 
recent. Less than twenty-four hours, at least.

* * * * *

Back at the PD, Jim immediately went to Bunko, in its basement room. The 
Bunko squad went after the perps behind a variety of scams, including 
fake psychics, so if there was anything on file on this 'Master Michael', 
they would be the ones who knew.

"Hey, Shindou," he called coming into the room. "How's it going?"

"Not bad, not bad," said the large man, coming out from behind his desk. 
Most people think of Orientals as being small, but Shindou was even 
taller than Jim, and built along the lines of a sumo wrestler, but more 
muscular. "Who's the lovely lady?"

"Shindou, meet Inspector Megan Conner. She's here, from Australia, 
through an exchange program. Conner, this is James Shindou. Fakes and 
con-men run when they see him coming, not that it does them any good. If 
they don't stop, he just runs right over them, leaving a greasy smear on 
the pavement."

"Don't you listen to him, m'dear," Shindou said, bending over Megan's 
hand in a flamboyant gesture. "So," he said, turning back to Jim. "What 
brings you down here?"

"Ever hear of a psychic calling himself Master Michael?"

Shindou frowned, eyes turning towards the ceiling as he considered the 
question. He didn't bother to consult the computer or files. "The name 
isn't familiar. Either he's new in town, or he just hasn't attracted our 
attention yet. What's up?"

"One of his clients died last night. Definitely murder. There was a faint 
scent of incense, so I think his might have been there recently. That 
makes him a potential witness or suspect." They both knew that suspect 
was far more likely.

"Well, I don't have anything on him. But, if he's new in town, you'll 
want to talk to Mama LeBeau. She keeps track of everything in town to do 
with the occult. Here's her address," he said, scribbling on a spare 
scrap of paper.

"Thanks for the info."

"No problem. Let me know if you find out anything. I'll add this guy to 
the files with a 'watch for' flag."

"See you later."

Jim headed door, Conner right behind him. He'd let Simon know what they'd 
found so far, then go see Mama LeBeau.

* * * * *

Mama LeBeau had a shop in the Cajun Quarter of Cascade. Sometimes Jim 
wondered how Cascade could have so many ethnic quarters when it really 
wasn't that big a city. On the other hand, the 'Cajun Quarter' was only a 
stretch of about three blocks on New Orleans Street, so it was probably 
pushing it to call it a 'Quarter'.

Mama LeBeau had an herbalist shop and Jim was suppressing sneezes from 
the second the door opened. Megan was looking around, obvious curiosity 
and fascination written all over her face. Behind them, Blair had stopped 
dead.

"Yes?" came an elderly voice, in response to the ringing of the bell that 
was attached to the door. A woman came through the fringe hanging in a 
doorway behind the counter.

"Mama LeBeau?" The woman was both ancient and ageless. Jim figured that 
she was probably somewhere between sixty and six hundred, but he couldn't 
be more exact than that. Her dark face was wrinkled, like one of those 
dolls with a head carved from an old apple, and her eyes gleamed 
brightly. Her smile was open and friendly.

"That's me, child. Come in, all of you." She gave a little wave, and Jim 
felt a sudden lifting of tension, and behind him, Blair finally moved all 
the way into the store. "Now, the two of you," she said, pointing to Jim 
and Megan, "have police written all over you, so p'tit James must have 
sent you. How can Mama be of help?"

Jim goggled at hearing Shindou referred to as small, especially by the 
elderly woman who couldn't be more than four foot ten. "A woman was 
killed last night. The only lead we have is that she'd been seeing a 
psychic calling himself Master Michael. Shindou didn't recognize the 
name, but said that if anyone would know, it would be you."

"Let me check, child. Would you like some tea?" Mama LeBeau led them 
behind the counter and into the back room, which turned out to be a very 
normal-looking kitchen.

"Yes, please," Megan said, before Jim could decline.

The elderly woman filled a kettle, and put it on the stove to boil. "Now, 
I have heard of a new boy in town using that name. He claims he can talk 
to the dead, but he is not a *real* medium. On the first meeting, he asks 
for personal items from the seeker, and the one they seek, then tells 
them to come back in a few days. He says the items help him search 
through the afterlife, but really, he uses the time to research. He uses 
the research to help him tell the seeker what they *want* to hear."

Jim frowned. "What sort of personal items?"

"No, child. It is not some elaborate robbery scheme. He asks for things 
like scarves, or ties, or a favorite object that *isn't* valuable. 
Anything the person had a lot of contact with. He tells them nothing 
valuable, so that they will be less suspicious. No, all he asks for is a 
large fee, and his clients sometimes give him gifts. This is why I have 
not talked to p'tit James about him. He gives them what they ask for, 
without being greedy. If they are gullible enough to believe him, that is 
their business."

By this point, the kettle was whistling. Mama LeBeau took down four cups 
and saucers. Loose tea leaves were distributed between the cups, and the 
boiling water was poured over them. Mama LeBeau placed two in front of 
Jim and Megan, then placed one cup in front of her seat, and the other in 
front of...

Blair.

Jim felt his blood run cold, and Megan frowned. Mama LeBeau looked 
puzzled at their reactions. "Just because the boy cannot drink it, does 
not mean he cannot enjoy the smell."

"Who are you talking about?" Megan asked, sounding a little lost.

"The young man who came in with you."

Megan shook her head. "No one else came in with us." She looked over to 
Jim for confirmation, but seemed puzzled by the expression on his face. 
Jim tried to school his expression into something a bit more clueless, 
but he could see the shock on Blair's face, and couldn't help reacting.

Mama LeBeau looked at her intently. "Then you must not be the one he 
stayed to be with."

She turned her gaze on Jim, and he felt pinned to the spot. For a moment, 
he could swear that she was looking straight into his soul. Blair was 
bristling next to him, protective, even when there was nothing that he 
could do. Mama LeBeau noticed, and laughed.

"Easy, child," she told him. "I'll not hurt your man. He is something 
special, is he not, for you to stay with him?"

"Yes," Blair said, speaking for the first time. "He needs me, and I need 
him."

"Yes, he would. But the day may come when you two need more than just 
each other. If that day comes, come to Mama LeBeau. I will help you."

Blair considered it, head cocked slightly to the side. Then he broke into 
a bright smile, that Jim couldn't help echoing. "We will," he said.

By this point Megan looked completely confused. Jim just gave her an 
innocent look, which she obviously didn't buy.

"Sooo," he said, bringing them back to the original subject. "Any idea 
how we find this Master Michael?"

"Hmm? Ah, yes. His real name is Michael Drummell. I do not know his 
address, though."

Jim drained his cup down to the dregs, then stood. "Thank you very much 
for your help, Mama LeBeau."

"It is no trouble, child. Tell p'tit James not to be such a stranger."

Jim smiled. "I will."

* * * * *

Jim was headed for the door, Megan trailing behind him, when Blair called 
out. "I'll see you in a bit, Jim," he said, still staying in his seat. A 
faint nod acknowledged him, then Jim was gone. Blair turned back to Mama 
LeBeau. She was examining the leaves left in Jim's cup, a faint smile on 
her face.

"Anything interesting?" Blair asked, curious.

"Nothing of immediate concern, little one," she told him. "So, what did 
you wish to ask?"

"I..." Blair paused, collecting his thoughts. "How can you see me? I 
mean, Incacha said that Jim was the only one who would be able to. It was 
one of the things he warned me of when I was given the choice."

"To go on, or stay with the guardian?" He nodded. "Maybe he should have 
been clearer, then. Your man can see you, but he is the only one who is 
not a shaman who can. By that, I mean those of us with the ability to see 
beyond the here and now. You were the same before your death, were you 
not?"

"Yes, I think. I mean, when Incacha died, he said he was passing the 
shaman gift to me."

Mama LeBeau tsked. "Not quite. You cannot *give* the gift to someone. 
But he could cause a latent gift to blossom. You had the potential to be 
a shaman. He merely unlocked that potential."

"You mean, I would have become a... shaman on my own? Eventually?"

"Perhaps. It would depend on if something else happened to *make* the 
potential come free."

Blair nodded, even though he wasn't quite sure that he understood. Still, 
it gave him food for thought.

"Child, you are still growing. In time, there is much you will be able to 
do. But, for now, be with your man. Together, there many trials ahead for 
you. You need to be ready. Now go. But do come if you need someone to 
talk to."

Blair nodded, then willed himself back to the loft. He wanted to think 
before he rejoined Jim.

* * * * *

"What the hell was that all about?" Megan was confused as hell. The old 
woman had served a cup of tea to an empty seat, and held a conversation 
with empty air. Strangely enough, Ellison didn't seem terribly upset. 
Surprised, sure. Worried, definitely. But not worried that there was 
something wrong with the woman...

"What do you mean?" His tone was completely devoid of expression, and she 
could see his jaw twitch. Megan glared at him.

"You know what I mean. Who was she talking to?"

The man shrugged. "Who knows? Who cares? We got the information we 
needed, and that's all that matters."

Megan's eyes narrowed. He was hiding something. She just wasn't sure 
what. But she sure intended to find out.

* * * * *

Back at the PD, Ellison went to report to Captain Banks, and find an 
address on Michael Drummell. Stomach growling, Megan decided to hit the 
cafeteria for a late lunch. She had bought a sandwich, chips and a drink, 
and was looking for a table, when she saw a group of the Major Crimes 
detectives sitting over at one table. Brown, Rafe and... Taggart, she 
finally remembered. She went over to where they were sitting.

"Mind if I join you?" she asked, and was immediately waved to a chair. 
She sat down and unwrapped her sandwich and bit into it. It was typical 
cafeteria food; edible, but nothing to write home about.

"So..." Detective Rafe said, a charming smile on his face. "How is your 
first day on the job?"

"Very interesting. A murder, already, that took us to the basement here, 
then to talk to a rather unusual old woman who talks with ghosts."

"Ghosts?"

"Well, she seemed to think that a third person went with us to talk to 
her. She said that this person had chosen to stay with Ellison."

Rafe blinked, surprised. He exchanged glances with the other two men. 
"Strange," he finally said.

"Maybe Hairboy decided to stick around," Brown said, and was immediately 
whapped by Rafe. Taggart just shook his head at their antics. Megan took 
another bite of her sandwich and chewed, a thoughtful expression on her 
face.

* * * * *

When he finished filling in Simon on what they'd learned so far, Jim went 
through the phone book, on the off chance that Michael Drummell had a 
listed number. Amazingly enough, he did. Scribbling it down on a piece of 
paper, he went to find Conner.

She was in the lunch room, sitting with Brown, Rafe and Taggart. They 
were regaling her with the stories of some of his wilder cases. She was 
in the process of expressing complete disbelief at the idea that a group 
of South American Indians could stow away on a ship, and make it all the 
way from Peru to Cascade. Hell, if pressed, even Jim had to admit that it 
was pretty damn improbable. Didn't stop it from being true, though.

"Ready to go, partner?" he asked. "I've got an address to check out."

Ten minutes later, they were on the road.

"So where are we going?" Conner asked. Jim was a little surprised that 
she didn't ask about some of the stories that the guys were telling her.

"147 East Lincoln. There's one Michael Drummell in the phone book, so we 
might as well start there."

"Right," Conner said with a shrug.

* * * * *

East Lincoln was in one of those borderline areas of town. Once, it had 
been a nice middle-class neighborhood, but during the recession, many 
people had moved away. The current residents weren't so middle-class. The 
houses showed general disrepair, with flaking paint, overgrown yards and 
the occasional broken window that was covered with just plywood or 
cardboard.

Jim pulled up to the curb in front of 147. It was a small bungalow, built 
in the sixties. Like most houses on the street, the yard wasn't well 
cared for, although it had been mowed recently. The windows were all 
covered with heavy drapes, meaning that he couldn't get a look inside 
ahead of time.

Conner followed him to the front door. Raising his hand, he took a deep 
breath. He knew, immediately, that they were at the right place. Even 
outside, he could smell the same type of incense that had been in 
Mrs. Bulmer's house. Jim knocked on the door, and heard someone coming.

The door opened a crack. "Yes?"

"Michael Drummell?" Jim asked, face carved in stone.

"Yes."

"I'm Detective Ellison. This is Inspector Conner. Could we talk to you 
about one of your clients?"

"Clients?"

"Yes. You do use the name Master Michael, don't you?" A sudden 
acceleration in the man's heartbeat was just additional confirmation.

"Err... Yes." The door shut, and there was the sound of a chain being 
removed, then the door opened all the way. "Come in."

Jim stepped through the doorway, and immediately started sneezing. A 
quick breath pointed out something he'd missed before, checking for the 
incense. "You've been burning sage," he said. It wasn't a question.

"Why yes! I find it helpful for clearing the atmosphere. I'm surprised 
that you recognize it." The man had brightened up.

"I'm allergic to sage," Jim replied, sneezing again. The man's face fell, 
and he started to apologize, but Jim waved it off.

"One of your clients, a Mrs. Wanda Bulmer, was killed last night. We're 
checking on everyone who had contact with her. Can you tell us when was 
the last time you saw her?"

The man went white, and Jim could smell the sweat on him. Strangely 
enough, while his reaction was one of fear, it wasn't what you would 
expect from a killer. "I... Last week, I think. Yes. Last week."

Jim frowned. "Her granddaughter was under the impression that you were 
there last night."

"No! No... Definitely not last night. I didn't have any appointments last 
night."

The man was definitely panicked. Next to him, Conner frowned. "Did you 
see something?" she asked, speaking up for the first time. "If you saw 
someone else do it, we can protect you."

"No! There wasn't anyone else..."

"So you were there."

"No!"

"Sorry I'm late, Jim. I needed to think about a few things after talking 
to Mama LeBeau."

"Aaaahhhh! Stay away."

The sudden shout made both Jim and Megan jump. Jim looked at the man, who 
was staring at Blair with a look of absolute horror on his face. It was 
obvious that he saw Blair, but it was hard to tell just *what* he was 
seeing, except that it scared the hell out of him. Blair had a puzzled 
expression on his face, and he took a step forward.

Drummell immediately jumped back, towards the fireplace. Not looking 
where he was stepping, he tripped over the hearthstone, and collapsed. He 
reached out blindly, and grabbed the poker from the rack of fireplace 
tools. Blair moved forward again, radiating concern.

"Are you all right, man? Umm... You can see me, can't you?"

Drummell actually started whimpering, and pushed himself to his feet, the 
poker still in his hand.

"Keep away from me!" He screamed, as Jim came up behind Blair. Then, 
unexpectedly, he sprang forward, swinging the poker at Blair.

* * * * *

Megan wasn't sure *what* to think by the time they were inside Drummell's 
house. She wasn't sure if it was just Ellison, or if American cops in 
general were like this, but she was confused as hell. This was *nothing* 
like the way an Australian police department worked. On the other hand, 
Ellison worked fast, and he seemed to be on the right track.

But once inside, things went from strange to downright *weird*. The two 
of them were tag-teaming the man into admitting that he was at the 
victim's house, when the man seemed to go nuts. He started screaming at 
Ellison to stay away. At least... it looked like Ellison was the one he 
was shouting at, but at this point she couldn't be sure.

But then he grabbed the poker, and went at Ellison, swinging. 
Immediately, she stopped thinking and started moving on instinct. The gun 
she'd been issued was out, and the man was down.

"You okay?" she asked Ellison, as she went to check Drummell. The man was 
on the ground, whimpering. Like she'd planned, she'd hit him in the arm 
that was holding the poker. He was in pain, but there wouldn't be any 
permanent damage.

"Fine. Watch him while I call it in."

Megan nodded, but the sobbing man didn't look like he was going to be any 
trouble. It looked like her first case with the Major Crimes department 
of the Cascade PD was over.

She looked over to where Ellison was punching the phone number into his 
cell phone. "This isn't a normal day for you, is it?" He didn't answer.

"Is it?" she asked again, not really talking to Ellison. It looked like 
her stay in Cascade was going to be even more interesting than she had 
expected.
 
* * * * *

Late that night, Jim dragged himself home. It was past midnight, and he 
was too tired to eat, or even shower. Instead, he tossed his clothing 
into the hamper, and collapsed into bed. Once again, he wished Blair was 
available to help him fill out the forms that went with an arrest. At 
least he didn't have to fill out all the forms that went along with 
firing his gun. Conner was the one saddled with all of them. When he'd 
left, she had still been filling them out. Oh well, she was going to have 
to learn how to deal with them, sooner or later.

As soon as his head hit the pillows, Jim was asleep.

When his eyes opened again, the landscape had changed. He scanned the 
horizon, taking in the desert-like conditions. He was on top of a... He 
wasn't sure, actually. A mesa, perhaps? But the color seemed wrong.

"Ayers Rock, in Australia," came Blair's voice from behind him.

"In honor of my new partner?" Jim asked in a wry tone. Blair came beside 
him, and slipped under Jim's arm.

"Nah. I came here once, with Naomi, when I was twelve. It's impressive, 
isn't it?"

Jim took a deep breath. The air was clear and the silence was comforting. 
"Yeah, it is."

For a few minutes, they stayed quiet, just enjoying the view. Finally, 
Jim turned his attention to Blair. "So, what happened with Drummell."

Drummell had stayed hysterical until Blair had left. Then he had 
confessed to killing Mrs. Bulmer, although he said it was an accident. He 
claimed to have seen a shadow creature menacing her, and when he had 
attacked the demon, the fireplace poker had gone through the demon, to 
hit Mrs. Bulmer. Fingerprints taken from Drummell had matched the ones 
found on the poker on the scene. The man had been sent to the local 
hospital psyche-ward for observation.

Blair sighed. "Mama LeBeau told me that you're not the only one who can 
see me. It seems that people with psychic abilities, like herself, will 
also be able to see me. I think that Drummell had a touch of the power. 
He might fake being a psychic, but maybe, just once, he actually *did* 
call a ghost in a seance. But, since he couldn't see that one, or me, 
clearly, he thought he was seeing some sort of demon. I think that if you 
check, you'll find out that he has a history of hospitalizations, and 
therapists, for these 'episodes'."

"Maybe so. That's up to the courts and psychiatrists to find out. But I 
nearly had a heart-attack when he swung that poker at you."

"Jim, you know he couldn't hurt me. I'm a ghost!"

Jim ducked his head, a small smile on his lips. "I know. It's just a 
built-in reflex, trying to protect you." He ran his fingers through his 
partner's curls. His expression darkened. "Like I couldn't, before."

Blair twisted in his arms, and whapped him on the side of the head. "You 
know, one of these days you're going to have to get over that. I. Don't. 
Blame. You. It. Wasn't. Your. Fault!"

Jim sighed. "I know. Usually, I believe it, too. Just sometimes..."

Blair nodded, acceptance on his face. He understood the difference 
between knowing something, and believing it, deep down inside. "So, what 
about you? That poker did bounce off your arm pretty hard."

Jim flexed the bicep, even though this was a dream form, not his real 
body. "Just bruised. It'll be sore for a few days, but it won't even slow 
me down. I might let Conner do the driving, though."

Blair's eyes widened, and he pressed a theatrical hand to his forehead. 
"You're going to let someone else drive *your* truck? Will wonders never 
cease?"

Jim snorted, and kissed the smile off his partner's face. "Can it, Chief. 
Besides, she needs to learn the city." 

They grinned at each other, then Jim leaned forward and kissed him again. 
The kisses deepened, and they slid down to lie, side by side. Around 
them, the spectacular view was forgotten, as the two men reveled in their 
love-making, and a love that was too strong to be defeated, even by death.

* * * * *

Megan brushed sweat-dampened hair out of her eyes, and continued with her 
shadow boxing exercises. Captain Banks had given her the day off to 
apartment-hunt. The only appearance she had to make at the police 
department was for the required inquiry into her firing her gun, later in 
the morning. Everyone had told her that it was going to be an easy 'in 
and out' meeting, since she had fired on a man swinging a weapon at a 
police officer.

She finished her routine and moved over to the nautilus machines that ran 
around the edges of the hotel's exercise room. She racked up the weights, 
and sat down, slipping her arms onto the padded rests. As she started her 
set, she went over the events of the previous day in her mind. First 
Ellison's behavior at the crime scene, then at Mama LeBeau's, and finally 
at Drummell's home.

At the crime scene, he'd seemed to be picking up on clues that no one 
else did. Strangely, the forensics team seemed to accept it as normal. 
Then that whole business, with Mama LeBeau treating them as a party of 
three, not two.

And Drummell... Everyone seemed to accept that he was attacking Ellison, 
but Megan could have sworn that he had been swinging the poker at thin 
air, in front of Ellison. And the big man had moved to block the blow, as 
though he were shielding someone. Someone who wasn't there.

Moving to the next machine, Megan remembered the conversation in the 
lunch room, and Brown's joking suggestion that Ellison's partner had 
decided to stay around, after his death. Normally, she would laugh the 
comment off, but considered with everything else...

Suddenly, the idea of Ellison's partner-lover still being around as a 
ghost wasn't such a crazy idea.

But, she didn't have time for that, right now. She had to shower, and get 
to the inquiry. Then she needed to find someplace to live during her time 
in Cascade.

But she and Jim Ellison were going to have a long talk, that night, and 
she wasn't going to take no for an answer.

* * * * *

That night, Jim was watching the Jags game on television. The remains of 
a meal from WonderBurger decorated the kitchen counter. He was feeling 
too mellow to worry about cleaning up the bits and pieces. Next to him, 
Blair was sitting cross-legged on the floor, reading one of his 
anthropology journals. The magazine lay open on the coffee table.

"Page."

Jim leaned over and flipped the magazine page. It was so comfortable, he 
didn't even think about it anymore. It was as natural as changing the 
channel.

The Jag center had just finished blowing a free throw, and Blair had just 
finished the article that he was reading, when he heard the sound of the 
elevator stopping. Automatically, he focused his hearing on the occupant. 
Heart-rate was fast, and the person were muttering to herself, as though 
rehearsing for a conversation. Jim stood up and headed for the door. 
Blair looked up, curiosity all over his face.

"Megan," was all Jim said. He opened the door, just as the young woman 
was raising her hand to knock. "Inspector Conner. What brings you out 
here?"

"I thought that maybe we should talk." She said frowning. "May I come in?"

He stood back, and waved a hand. He waited until she moved to couch and 
sat down, before speaking. "Coffee? Tea?"

"Tea would be nice," she said.

Jim filled the kettle and put it on to boil. When he turned around, Megan 
was flipping through the anthropology journal. He cleared his throat and 
she turned to him.

"So, what did you want to talk about?" he asked.

"Yesterday..."

"She knows," Blair said from where he was standing, next to the french 
doors out to the balcony. Jim rolled his eyes, as if to say 'no shit, 
Einstein'.

"Mama LeBeau. The person she was talking to - the one I couldn't see... 
That was your old partner, wasn't it. Blair Sandburg."

Jim glanced over at Blair. He looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded.

"Yes."

"And he was the one that Drummell was screaming at. The one that he was 
attacking when he swung that poker."

"Yes."

"I *knew* it," she said, excited. "Mama LeBeau is obviously psychic, so 
of course she can see ghosts. Drummell must have had a touch of the gift. 
That's why he kept saying that he saw shadowy figures. What about you? I 
mean, you could tell that there'd been a seance at the victim's house, 
and you knew that Drummell was the one that was there. You even knew that 
he was the killer. You didn't just *think* he was the killer, you *knew*. 
You *are* a psychic, aren't you?"

Jim resisted the urge to laugh. After all, he still had trouble believing 
in psychics, but who was he to talk? A cop with hyperactive senses and a 
ghost lover?

"Something like that," he said in a non-committal voice.

"But why didn't you just *tell* me?"

This time, Jim did laugh. "Are cops in Australia really *that* different? 
Claiming to by psychic would make me the laughing-stock of the PD. And 
even if they *did* believe me, it would attract the wrong sort of 
attention."

Megan seemed to honestly consider that. "True. But Captain Banks already 
knows, doesn't he?"

"About my... abilities, yes. About Blair, no. He'd have trouble accepting 
that, so I'd prefer you didn't mention it."

She looked at him for a long moment, an intent look on her face. Then her 
expression lightened. "All right. I won't say anything, about you *or* 
Sandburg, to anyone that you don't say I can. Good enough?" She held out 
her hand.

"Good enough," Jim said with a smile, and reached out to shake it.

At that moment the kettle started to whistle. Jim ducked into the kitchen 
and poured water into a mug. He added a bag of Blair's favorite tea and 
dropped in a spoon, then headed back to the couch and handed it to Megan.

"So, partner," she said, stirring the tea bag around the mug. "Tell me 
all about how you ended up with a live-in ghost."

"Well..." he said. "I guess it started when a Chopec shaman came to 
town..."

THE END