Disclaimer: Pet Fly and Paramount own the copyright to The Sentinel and its characters. This piece of fan fiction was written solely for the love of the characters and to share freely with other fans. No profit is being made from the posting of this story.

Acknowledgements: I would like to give a nod of thanks to ShayAlyce, who suggested a "five years after" story needed to be written. Additional thanks must also go to my betas, who always make my stories into gems. In the great tradition of all-star casts, they are, in alphabetical order: Elaine, KimberlyFDR, Lyn, Mary, Montserrat and Terri. Ladies, thank you all so very much for your help. I also wish to thank the publishers and editors at devious developments press for their input and for publishing this series.

Thanks: A special thanks to the Court TV program "Forensic Files: Nursery Crimes" for the murder weapon and some crime details.

Medical Note: A tracheostoma (stoma) is a hole about the size of a quarter in the throat where the Adams apple used to be. It is created when a patient is forced to have his entire larynx removed due to cancer or other disease. The surgery physically separates the esophagus and trachea. The trachea ends at the stoma; the patient now breathes through this opening, instead of through the nose/mouth. Unless there is some sort of internal or external artificial device, the patient can no longer speak. Blair uses an in-dwelling artificial voice prosthesis that allows near-normal speech. This prosthesis bridges the gap between the esophagus and trachea with a one-way valve that allows the patient to eat normally and still speak. For more information on how this all came about, see the three earlier stories in the series: "Without Words," "Never Get an Anthropologist Talking," and "Labyrinth."

Summary: A five-year cancer survivor, Blair finds himself going undercover into a cancer support group to help flush out a mercy killer and, in the process, becomes a target.

Comments welcome and appreciated!

Blair squirmed on the examination table as Dr. Stuart paced the room, reviewing the results of the most recent round of blood tests. Glancing up, he smiled at his expectant patient.

"You can get dressed now, Blair," he said, settling into the chair at his small desk. "You've been cancer-free for five years now," he began, riffling through the papers again.

Blair buttoned up his shirt and adjusted the ascot that covered his stoma, before hopping down from the table and coming to sit next to the doctor. "And...?" he asked, excited and nervous.

"And, with these latest results, you can officially join the ranks of the five-year cancer survivors."

"So... that means I'm cured?" Blair asked hopefully. For the last five years, he had been haunted by the apparition of cancer, which hovered near, ever in the background of his thoughts.... A cancer that had taken his voice, and left him with an artificial rasp that, while adequate, would never sound quite normal.

Dr. Stuart dropped his gaze briefly before looking into the steady blue eyes of the man seated next to him. Clearing his throat, he said, "Just like an alcoholic will always be an alcoholic, or a drug addict an addict, no matter how long they've been reformed, you will always be a cancer survivor. Nothing is ever certain, and until there's a definitive cure for the disease, there's always a chance of recurrence."

Blair fidgeted in his seat, twisting the gold ring on his left hand. "But five years..."

"Five years is a very good sign," the doctor agreed. "Your chances of long-term survival are excellent."

"Jim said we'd take a special vacation -- Hawaii, or a cruise -- if this check-up was clean," Blair admitted. "So it's safe for me to travel now?"

"Wherever you'd like to go," Stuart agreed. "I'd still like to see you for annual check-ups, and anytime you have a concern, of course. But I don't expect any problems from here-on out." He slapped his hands on both of his knees and stood. "How about we clean the prosthesis while you're here? Then you won't have to worry about it while you're on vacation."

Blair nodded and opened his mouth wide so that the doctor could spray the lidocaine to numb his throat. With a white-knuckled grip on the edge of the chair, he did his best to sit still while the doctor probed his throat with the forceps, pulling the plastic valve free. Even after all these years, he still hated the procedure, enduring the discomfort out of necessity.

Stuart dropped the device onto a tray that he handed to his nurse. "It will be just a few minutes," he said, turning back to his patient. Blair nodded again, watching as the doctor exited the room and closed the door behind him.

Alone for the moment, Blair let his mind drift. Jim was going to be so excited to hear the good news. All the check-ups, all the tests over the past five years had paid off, and now he was free to go about living the rest of his life. A crooked grin quirked the corners of his lips as he thought about ways he and Jim might celebrate the occasion that evening: a special, romantic dinner for two by candlelight; some making out on the couch accompanied by mugs of the warm, spiced wine Naomi had recently sent; and finally, passionate sex under the stars, the view afforded by the skylight in the loft bedroom.

His fantasy was interrupted when Dr. Stuart came back with the freshly cleaned prosthesis. A few quickly exhaled deep breaths took the edge off his arousal. He smiled up at the doctor.

"Five minutes, and you'll be able to go home," Stuart said, returning the grin. He sprayed a bit more lidocaine before inserting the artificial voice prosthesis. A finger inserted through Blair's stoma helped to seat the device precisely; connecting his trachea and esophagus with a one-way valve that allowed him to speak.

Blair endured the insertion, much as he had when the device had been removed. He hated the intrusion into his stoma to set the valve. The opening in his neck had become an erogenous zone since Jim had discovered his sensitivity to it. As such, the doctor's finger felt almost like a violation, a rape. When Stuart finished, he swallowed, making sure his voice was steady before he spoke. "Thanks, Dr. Stuart." He adjusted the ascot that hid the opening and stood, extending a hand, which the doctor shook with warm regard.

"You're most welcome, Blair," he replied. "It always does my heart good to see one of my success stories walk out of here."

~oO0Oo~

Jim waited impatiently on the couch in the loft. Simon had allowed him the afternoon off to accompany Blair to his check-up, but Blair had wanted to go alone. A key turned in the lock and the door swung open. "How'd it go?" He folded the newspaper he'd been pretending to read and looked up expectantly at his partner.

Blair paused in the doorway for a moment before flinging himself into the waiting arms of his lover. "Free! I'm cancer free! We can go on that trip now," he said, peppering kisses over Jim's face and jaw.

"This trip?" Jim asked, pulling the airline tickets from his pocket and waving them in front of Blair's face.

The anthropologist grabbed the colorful envelope and opened it, bouncing off Jim's lap and onto the couch cushions as he pulled the tickets out. "Hawaii... wow," he breathed, grinning ear to ear.

Jim chuckled. "I'm surprised you can get worked up over Hawaii after all the exotic places you've traveled to in your life," he commented.

"But I've never been to Hawaii," Blair explained, still sorting through the contents of the envelope. "And besides, even if I had, I've never been there with you."

"Going takes second place to the reason we're going," Jim said, tackling his partner and pinning him to the couch. "God, I can't believe we don't have the specter of cancer hanging over our heads anymore."

"I know. I've been holding my breath for the past six months," Blair said with a chuckle. "But by tomorrow afternoon, we'll be sunning ourselves on Kaanapali Beach."

The phone interrupted the anthropologist's excited chatter. Jim reached over to grab the receiver. "Ellison."

"Jim?" the familiar voice of Captain Banks greeted his detective.

"Oh, hi, Simon."

"Jim, I hate to ask this--" the captain began.

"Then, don't, sir," Jim interrupted.

"It's important," Simon insisted. "I just got a case in that needs your expertise. Well, actually," the captain said after a brief pause, "it needs Sandburg's expertise."

"No, Simon. We're flying to Hawaii in the morning."

"What is it?" Blair asked softly, pressing up against Jim to see if he could hear the other end of the conversation.

Jim covered the mouthpiece of the receiver with his hand. "It's nothing. Simon got in a case he thinks needs your help. I told him no."

"Here. Give that to me," Blair said, struggling with Jim for possession of the phone. Finally getting the receiver free, he spoke. "Hey, Simon. What's the case?"

"Blair, no!" Jim hissed under his breath, trying to grab the phone back.

Blair stood and sidestepped neatly, ducking and weaving to stay out of Jim's grasp. "Uh-huh. Okay, Simon. We'll be right there." He hung up the phone and turned to his partner. "We need to go down to the station."

~oO0Oo~

As they entered the bullpen, Simon stuck his head out of his office door and flagged them in. "Hi, Blair... Jim. Come, take a seat."

"What's this about, Simon?" Jim growled, not pleased with having his vacation plans interrupted.

"I got a call late last night from a Dr. Matthew Fleming," Simon began.

"Matt Fleming?" Blair's eyes grew wide. "He works at the Cancer Research Institute with Dr. Stuart."

"That's the one," Simon confirmed. "Among his other duties, he runs a support group for end-stage cancer patients."

"What's this got to do with us?" Jim asked. "Blair's been cancer-free five years now."

"But he knows what it's like to be sick," Simon gently reminded his detective. A quick glance toward Sandburg confirmed his feelings. "Dr. Fleming has been losing patients recently. Three have died in the past two weeks."

Jim grunted. "How unusual is that, if they're terminal anyway?"

"Jim!" Blair slapped his tactless partner's thigh with the palm of his hand. "Show a little respect!"

"I'm sorry, Chief," Jim said, turning to Blair, his voice still gruff. "I don't like talking about this stuff. We lived it for nearly a year, and it makes me uncomfortable. I thought we were done with this crap!"

Blair's demeanor turned from scolding to reassuring, as he wrapped an arm around the larger man's shoulders. "It's okay, Jim. This isn't about us. Let's hear Simon out." Turning to the captain, he asked, "Is there something unusual about these particular deaths?"

"Dr. Fleming seems to think so," Simon answered. "While these were terminally ill patients, at the time of their deaths, they were actually doing fairly well. Each was strong enough to attend the sessions in the hospital's day room, and all were in good spirits."

"Were autopsies done?" Jim asked.

Simon shook his head. "No. The hospital wouldn't authorize the expense, as these were end-stage cancer patients. The death certificates all state some form of cancer as the cause of death."

"But Dr. Fleming thinks differently?" Blair glanced between the faces of his troubled lover and his captain.

"He thinks there was no good reason for them to die when they did."

"What were the circumstances surrounding the deaths?" Jim asked, finally overcoming his discomfort with an interest in solving a perplexing riddle.

"All the patients were in-house, assigned to the hospital's cancer hospice wing. They died in their sleep." Simon sighed. "Dr. Fleming specifically asked for Blair on this case."

"Me? Why?" The young detective looked surprised as he pointed to his chest and turned a wide-eyed gaze on the captain.

"Why do you think, Sandburg?" Simon's voice was an exasperated growl. "He wants you to go undercover as a member of the support group and see if you can find out anything."

"Oh hell, no, Simon! No way!" Jim interrupted before Blair could speak. "That's putting Blair in too much danger. If someone in that hospital is a mercy killer, what's to keep them from coming after him?"

"I can take care of myself," Blair said, his artificial voice a growl. "If there is a mercy killer on the loose, at least I'll be alert and watching."

"You have an appointment with Dr. Fleming in an hour," Simon said, checking the clock on the wall. "He'll fill you in on the details and on what he wants."

"Wait a minute," Jim said, pushing his chair back to stand. "You were pretty sure about this, weren't you?"

"I was pretty sure about Blair," the captain answered with a smile. "I knew this was something he couldn't help but want to be a part of."

"Thanks, Simon," Blair said, rising. "I'll do it."

Simon smiled and thumped the junior detective on the back. "I knew I could count on you, Sandburg."

~oO0Oo~

The interior of Dr. Matthew Fleming's office was a soothing mixture of cool colors and paintings of serene beach scenes. His desk was dotted with exotic shells and porcelain seagulls.

Jim sat stoically silent, uncomfortable with being in an oncologist's office again. Blair was examining a particularly fine specimen of a conch shell when the doctor walked in. "Blair! It's good to see you again." He extended his hand, and they shook. He waved his guests to seats and settled behind his desk. "You're looking much better than the last time I saw you."

"That wouldn't take much," Blair chuckled, recalling the last time he'd been hospitalized with a secondary infection that had threatened his life. "I just got my five-year bill of health." He turned, gesturing toward Jim, who extended a hand at Blair's introduction. "This is Jim Ellison, my partner."

The doctor shook the proffered hand. "Nice to meet you, Jim. And congratulations to you, Blair." The doctor settled in his comfortable, leather upholstered chair. "Actually, that's why I requested you," he began. "Because I remember how sick you were there for a while. You can empathize with these patients, blend in."

"What is it you want us to do?"

Fleming folded his hands on his desk and leaned forward. "I'd like to admit you to the hospital as one of my patients, and I'd like to have you join our support group. You're a police detective, an anthropologist, and a cancer survivor... you can fit into this group and use your knowledge and skills to discover whether or not we have a mercy killer on our hands."

Blair nodded. "I still sometimes have nightmares about those days in the hospital," he admitted. "But I know what it's like to be there. And no matter how bad it got, even when I was ready to give up, I still really wanted just one more day, one more week, one more month to be with Jim." He turned to his silent partner and reached over to give his hand a squeeze. "Nobody should have to die before they're ready, or before God takes them Himself. When do you want me there?"

"The sooner the better," Fleming said. "I've lost three patients in the past two weeks."

"That's what Captain Banks told us," Jim added. "Could we have a day or two to think about it?"

"What's to think about, Jim?" Blair asked. "People are dying who aren't ready to go."

"Then can I have a day or two to adjust to the idea?" Jim asked. "Please?"

The younger man gave it some thought. "A day or two might be better, if you can wait," Blair told the doctor. "I'm awfully healthy and fit -- I've been working out with Jim lately," he confessed. "I really don't look the part of an end-stage cancer patient."

"Today is Tuesday," the doctor said, flipping the pages of his desk calendar. "How about I admit you on Friday?"

"Great," Blair agreed. "That will give me some time to look sick."

Jim grimaced at the words. "And just where do I fit into this great plan?" he asked.

"As my distraught lover, of course," Blair said with a smile, raking his fingers through Jim's short hair. "You'll be in the hospital day and night, sitting by my bedside, waiting for me to die. It's perfect!"

"Don't even kid about it!" Jim snapped. "This is going to be hard enough as it is."

"Calm down, man. Shhh... It's going to be all right," Blair soothed. "I'm fine. I'm perfectly healthy. I'm just play-acting, okay? And you'll be there to watch my back, like any good partner would."

Jim frowned. "I still don't like it," he growled.

Dr. Fleming turned a sympathetic look on the older man. "Neither do I, if the truth be told," he admitted. "There are things we can do to help Blair with looking the part, but I find them distasteful."

"Like what?" Blair asked, interested in what the doctor was contemplating.

"Once you're admitted to the hospice, I'll see to it that you're given a steady drip of saline to look as though you're being treated," the doctor said. "I can add a small dose of a safe emetic to the solution so that you'll throw up."

"Is that really necessary?" Jim asked. "Blair spent months on chemo being sick. I don't want him to have to go through that again."

"Jim..." Blair reached up to stroke a hand down his lover's arm, reassuring him. "We'll talk more about it when we get home, okay? I can make arrangements with Dr. Fleming after we've decided on how we're going to do this." He turned to the doctor. "Would that be all right with you? It's been five years, but the hell we both went through is still pretty fresh."

"By all means," Fleming agreed. "I don't mean to upset either of you, and I want you to know just how grateful I am that you've agreed to help." He stood and extended a hand first to Blair, then to Jim. "Thank you. See you on Friday, Blair?"

"I'll be there," Blair promised.

As they made their way across the parking lot to the truck, Blair turned to his partner. "Would you mind making a stop at Singer's Drugstore on the way home?"

"Sure, no problem. What do you need?"

"Just a few things. Nothing big," Blair answered.

A few minutes later, they pulled up in front of the drugstore and Blair hopped out of the truck. "Be back in a minute," he said, waving to Jim.

"Pick up another tube of Astroglide while you're in there," Jim called out the window, as a pair of elderly ladies passed by.

"Oh, my. Young men these days..." one of the ladies commented to her friend, clucking her tongue.

The other shook her head and smiled. "Tsk, tsk... such a shame. Two more good looking ones out of circulation." Both women chuckled, glancing surreptitiously over their shoulders at both Jim and Blair, causing Jim to blush with embarrassment.

Blair chuckled at his lover's chagrin and waved again, disappearing inside the store. True to his word, he emerged within five minutes, carrying a small, white pharmacy bag. Dropping the sack on the seat between them, he hopped back into the truck and fastened his seat belt. "Home, James!" he directed with a chuckle.

~oO0Oo~

"So, what do you have there?" Jim asked, following Blair over to the dining table and peering over his shoulder at the contents of the bag. "Ah, good," he said, pulling the tube of Astroglide from the sack. "I love your way of thinking, Chief," Jim grinned at the sight of the large, economy-sized tube.

Blair turned a knowing grin on his lover. "I figure we're going to need that, and more, when we get to Hawaii."

"I plan on using some today," Jim informed him with a knowing leer. "What else you got in there?"

"Would you get your big mitts out of my bag?" Blair complained, slapping at Jim's wrist as he reached in once more, withdrawing a small, brown bottle.

"Syrup of Ipecac? Isn't that the stuff you give to kids to make them throw up?" Jim asked, looking puzzled.

"Yeah, well.... Dr. Fleming's idea was a good one," Blair admitted. "I've been working out with you lately, and I hardly look sick anymore. If I'm going to play the part, I'll have to look it as well."

"Not that way, you don't," Jim said, holding the bottle out of Blair's reach. "I don't want to watch you puking up your guts again. Been there, done that, have the T-shirt. When we're at the hospice will be soon enough. Besides, won't throwing up dislodge your voice implant?"

"Nah," Blair said, shaking his head. "Doc Stuart told me once that it's pretty secure. I'm not going to be having the violent, prolonged vomiting of chemo, anyway."

"Isn't there something else you could do to look sick?" Jim wondered. "Something that doesn't involve chemicals?"

Blair took his other purchase from the sack and crumpled the bag into a ball before tossing it into the trash. "This will help," he said, fingering the sharp blades of the barber's scissors.

"You're not...." Jim's eyes went round with worry. "Come on, Blair. This is just an undercover assignment. You don't have to do this."

"Yes, I do," Blair said with a sigh. "I have to look the part. I have a friend who knows a makeup artist that can help give me that sallow, pale look, but it's going to take more than a little face paint to make me look like I've recently been through chemo and have reached the terminal stage of my cancer."

Jim took the scissors from Blair's hand and laid them on the table. "This can wait," he said. "We have until Friday to get a little research done into the background of this hospice. Until then," he picked up the lube and grabbed Blair's hand, "I have other plans."

"Jim, it's only three in the afternoon!" Blair protested, allowing himself to be dragged up the stairs to their bedroom.

"I've been put under a lot of stress today," Jim said, unbuttoning Blair's shirt, "and I need to unwind." He tugged the shirttails from Blair's jeans and pushed the fabric down his shoulders, baring the furry chest. Fingers splayed across the well-defined pectoral muscles, while thumbs brushed lightly across the dusky nipples.

Blair arched into the touch, moaning his need. His head tipped back and his mouth opened, inviting a kiss.

As Jim's lips pressed onto the waiting mouth, the fingers of his right hand teased away the thin, flesh-colored patch covering Blair's stoma while his left hand tangled in the long hair, recently freed from the band that had contained it for most of the day. His tongue dipped into the moist depths, tasting his lover and dragging another moan from the ravaged throat.

He released Blair's mouth, trailing kisses down his neck. His lips hovered over the stoma, feeling the warm, moist air as Blair exhaled. He let his tongue explore the soft edges, rimming the opening with a gentle lick.

Blair's body trembled and he sank onto the bed, his legs no longer able to support him. His hands scrabbled at the zipper on his jeans, desperate to free his aching erection.

Jim followed him down, his mouth still exploring the sensitive stoma while his right hand reached down to bat away Blair's ineffective attempts at the zipper. Nimble fingers, touch dialed high, unfastened the button and gently opened the zipper, exposing the cotton-covered mound of Blair's erection. Wrapping around the shaft, the fingers squeezed lightly, eliciting a startled gasp from the younger man.

"Slow down! Slow down!" Blair whispered desperately, his voice garbled with the lack of ability to draw a full breath. "Oh, God.... I'm going to come if you don't slow down!"

Jim could feel the cock in his hand jump, the blood pulsing through the veins and arteries making the shaft impossibly harder. He pulled back, releasing his hold on the organ. With great care, he peeled the tight jeans from the lean body, and then eased the cotton boxers off, allowing Blair's erection to spring free. The head was darkened from the excess of blood, and pre-come was leaking, making the mound of the glans glisten in the pale afternoon light.

Blair groaned, the sound rough and unnatural, coming through the artificial valve that allowed him to speak. He ground his hips into the mattress, causing his penis to bob and weave enticingly.

Jim knelt on the floor between Blair's spread legs and took the cock into his mouth, letting his tongue circle the leaking head, tasting the primal essence of his mate. With a rumble that started deep in his throat, Jim went down on the rigid shaft, taking over half its length into his mouth. One hand fondled the heavy sac beneath before taking the bottom few inches of the shaft into a tight fist.

Blair arched into the heat, thrusting into the waiting throat. Jim controlled his movements with one hand on Blair's hip, the other still gripping his cock. A strangled cry issued from above Jim on the fourth desperate thrust. He felt the throbbing pulse in the organ a split second before his mouth was filled with come. He swallowed quickly, and then suckled the softening penis before reluctantly letting it go. His lover was panting heavily, making a strange gurgling sound as he fought to regain his voice.

"God, oh, God, Jim!" Blair lay sprawled on the bed, his butt on the edge of the mattress, his feet still on the floor. His spent cock, still partially full, laid wet and glistening against the dark hair of his groin. Following the arrow of hair up to his chest, Jim could see the rosy brown nipples pinched tight with arousal. Above that, a face flushed and satisfied, a small grin playing around the lips, the eyes closed in blissful languor. "You going to just stand there," Blair said finally, "or are you going to join me?"

Jim made short work of stripping and climbing onto the bed. Blair opened his eyes as he felt the mattress dip, and pulled himself fully onto the bed, curling into Jim's arms.

"I love you, Sweetheart," Jim said, brushing some stray strands of hair from Blair's forehead before closing the narrow gap between their lips. His lover opened to him, letting Jim taste and explore. The gentle kiss was followed by several more, covering Blair's face and neck.

It never occurred to Jim to think of Blair as anything less than profoundly beautiful. He had been an extraordinary man before the cancer took his voice and left a gaping hole in his throat and, if anything, he was more extraordinary now. As cliche as it sounded, Jim's heart was full of love for this man, and he wanted nothing more than to cherish and protect him for the rest of his life. Now this precious soul was on the verge of an undercover assignment that would have him reliving the nightmare days of his illness, and Jim wanted to give his lover a memory to carry him through the hard times to come.

He interrupted his rain of kisses to reach for the lube on the nightstand, coating his fingers generously. Blair needed very little preparation as their sex life had become very active in the years since the remission of his cancer. His slick fingers penetrated quickly, dragging a pleasured moan from his partner.

Blair pushed his hips back against the invading fingers, sending them deeper. He arched into the touch as the fingers brushed his prostrate, bringing life back to his spent cock. Reaching between their bodies, he stroked the rigid length of Jim's penis, brushing his thumb across the weeping glans and dragging a needy groan from his lover.

"Roll over." Jim slipped his fingers from his lover's ass and put gentle pressure on his hip. Blair complied with the command, turning so that his back was spooned against Jim's chest.

With a single stroke, Jim was sheathed to the balls. After a brief pause to enjoy the sensation that arose every time he entered his lover, he began to thrust. The motion was slow, but powerful, eventually eliciting a gasp from Blair's throat. "Harder!"

Blair's hips pushed back against Jim, demanding a more forceful entry, and his lover acceded to his wishes, pounding deeply into the tight passage. Reaching over Blair's hip, Jim's hand found the renewed erection and began stroking it in time with his thrusts.

A steady stream of sound issued from Blair's lips, indicating his growing rush toward orgasm. Jim nuzzled into the hair at the back of Blair's neck; pressing kisses against the moist skin as he continued to work his hand up and down the length of his lover's erection.

Blair froze for a moment, balanced at the peak of arousal. Jim ceased his rhythmic thrusting and waited. An instant later, Blair tumbled, crying out in ecstasy as his orgasm rolled through him. For the second time in less than thirty minutes, he had climaxed, leaving his body in a state of exhaustion.

Jim resumed his internal stroking, brought near to the edge himself by the contractions that had squeezed his cock mercilessly when Blair had come moments before. A few sharp thrusts wrung Jim's climax from him a short while later, leaving both men collapsed in a sated tangle of arms and legs.

"Don't wanna move," Blair mumbled, content to snuggle back against Jim, keeping his lover inside him as long as possible.

Jim stroked the sweat-dampened hair, pressing a kiss into the back of Blair's head. "Then don't." With the simple words, he wrapped his arms around his lover and they slept.

It was over an hour later when Blair awoke once more, noting that the angle of the sun through the skylight had changed. He wrinkled his nose at the smell coming off his body and tried to wriggle out of Jim's grasp without disturbing the sleeping man.

"Not so fast, Kemosabe." A strong arm wound tightly around his chest, keeping Blair from moving.

"Sorry, Jim. I didn't mean to wake you," Blair said, twisting to look over his shoulder at his lover.

Jim smiled and shook his head. "I'd think you would know better by now, Chief," he chided. "Want to share the shower?"

Blair's smile lit up his face. He scooted over until he could slip his legs off the bed, and sat up. Reaching back, he helped to pull Jim up. "Thought you'd never ask."

After they had showered and dressed, Jim fixed them a late afternoon snack. Over sandwiches, he brought up a subject that had been bothering him since before their lovemaking. "Blair, about the scissors… you don't really mean to cut your hair, do you?"

Blair finished the bite of sandwich he was chewing and folded his hands on the table. "Jim, man, I'm going undercover to play the part of a terminally ill cancer patient," he explained. "Look at me." He lifted his hands to gesture down his body. "I've been pulling weights with you at the gym for the past four years. Does this look like the body of a terminally ill man?"

Jim shook his head and smiled. "No. As a matter of fact, you look great," he said softly. "What does being in shape have to do with your hair?"

"It's one of the few things I can control at this point to help me look the part," Blair said. "I intend to shave my head, so I'll look like I did in the latter stages of my chemo treatment."

"No way! No, Chief. You are not shaving your head. No." Jim crumpled his napkin and struck the table with his fist. "You can wear your hair up under a cap..."

"I have way too much hair for that, Jim," Blair replied, fingering the silken spirals that fell past his collarbone.

"Then tell everyone it's a wig," Jim insisted.

Blair shook his head, a look of sadness in his eyes. "Wouldn't work. I might be able to fool my fellow patients, but it's the mercy killer who counts," he explained. "If I was wearing a wig, I'd take it off every night to sleep. Remember?" He reached across the table to cover Jim's clenched fist with his hand. "I have to really look the part," he insisted.

"You are not shaving your head," Jim repeated stubbornly.

"All right," Blair said, conceding to Jim's wish. "How about I just cut it short and hide the rest under one of your Jags caps?" he compromised.

Jim sighed. "I don't suppose there's any hope of talking you out of it?" he asked hopefully. Blair shook his head. "Can you at least wait until Friday morning to cut it?"

"I suppose," Blair conceded. "But the Ipecac has to start now." He pushed his chair back and rose, walking to the bathroom, Jim trailing behind. Reaching into the medicine cabinet for the dosing spoon, Blair poured in a measured amount of the Ipecac. "Here goes nothing." He put the spoon to his mouth and tipped it up, draining the bitter liquid as quickly as possible. Rinsing the spoon and putting the lid back on the bottle, Blair turned and headed for the living room.

Jim followed, his arms spread wide. "Aren't you going to stay near the toilet?" he asked, amazed that his partner had just turned and walked off.

"Not much point," Blair said, patting the cushion beside him in invitation. "You know, poison control centers don't even suggest using Ipecac anymore, because it can take up to twenty minutes to work."

"So we sit for twenty minutes waiting for you to get sick?"

"I suppose we could do something," Blair suggested, grinning weakly.

"Like what? A hand of poker, maybe?" Jim asked.

"Maybe something a little quieter," Blair replied. "How about we see what's on TV?" He picked up the remote and thumbed through several stations before finally settling on a PBS show on travel in Europe.

They sat quietly for a few minutes, with Jim wrapping an arm around Blair's shoulders. Finally, he found he couldn't stand the silence any longer. "How are you feeling?"

Blair tilted his head back to look up into Jim's concerned gaze. "A little queasy, I suppose," he admitted, falling quiet again immediately after speaking.

Jim pulled his lover against his chest, stroking the soft hair. "I hate it that you have to do this," he murmured into the mahogany curls.

"I'm the best man for the job," Blair responded, the moist warmth of his breath penetrating the thin fabric of Jim's shirt. "I know what it's like to be where these people are."

"I know," Jim said, still passing his hand gently through the tangle of curls. "I just don't like seeing you sick." He felt the slight nod of Blair's head beneath his hand before the body in his arms stiffened. "Blair?"

The younger man suddenly began to struggle against Jim's hold, bolting toward the bathroom once he was free. Jim was on his feet immediately, following behind the rapidly retreating figure.

There was a slam of plastic against porcelain as Blair lifted the toilet seat, falling to his knees in front of the bowl. Jim skidded to a halt behind him, gathering the long hair off Blair's shoulders as his lover bent over and began to retch.

The first spasm brought nothing but a bit of bile and a bad taste to Blair's mouth. He'd barely recovered, spitting the foul tasting liquid from his mouth, when another paroxysm twisted his guts. This time, his most recent meal came up, spilling into the bowl as a series of cramps gripped him.

A short series of dry heaves followed, until Blair finally collapsed back against Jim, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "Damn," he said, his voice weak. "I'd forgotten what that was like."

Jim reached over to flush the toilet and lower the lid. Lifting his partner, he helped Blair to sit while he went to dampen a cloth. He watched while Blair covered his face with the cool washcloth, eventually wiping away the tears and vomit. "I didn't," he said softly. "Blair, you don't have to do this," Jim insisted. "You could help them find someone else, maybe coach them a little. Then we could head for Hawaii and forget about all this craziness."

Blair shook his head. "I gotta do this," he muttered. "Could you get me something for this headache?" he asked, looking at Jim with weary eyes.

Jim rummaged through the medicine cabinet, dumping two white pills into his hand. Filling a cup with water, he brought the medication to his partner. "Maybe you'd better lie down," he suggested.

Blair swallowed the pills and allowed Jim to help him stand. Still a bit unsteady, he followed as Jim began to lead him toward the stairs to their bedroom. He stopped, causing Jim to jerk slightly against his arm.

"What's up, Chief?"

"Just thought maybe the couch would be a better choice," Blair answered. "In case I have to throw up again. It's not so far to go."

Jim nodded, changing his course to steer Blair toward the couch. "Good idea. Wait here a minute, okay?" He lowered Blair onto the cushions then darted upstairs for a pillow and blanket. When he returned, Blair had already laid down, curling into a fetal position and shivering. Lifting Blair's head, Jim placed the pillow beneath the tangle of curls, and then tucked the blanket around the shaking body.

Blair looked up at his lover and tried to give him a reassuring smile. "It's going to be okay," he whispered. Closing his eyes, he willed away the last feelings of queasiness. He dozed, despite the short nap he'd had earlier in the afternoon. When he woke, he looked considerably better.

Jim had settled himself in the yellow chair where he could both read the newspaper and keep an eye on his partner. Putting the paper down, he sat up straighter and leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. "Hey, Sweetheart. Feeling better?"

Blinking, Blair rubbed the sleep from his eyes and smiled at the concerned look Jim was giving him. "Yeah… much." He pushed the blanket down and sat up. "I'm not sick, you know," he added.

"I know," Jim agreed, "but you had me pretty convinced there for a while."

"It brought back some pretty ugly memories," Blair admitted, frowning. "But you know I have to do this."

"Because you look too damn healthy to be a terminal cancer patient," Jim finished for him. "Yeah, I know that, too, but it doesn't mean I have to like it."

~oO0Oo~

Blair ate sparingly at dinner that night, chewing slowly, savoring the flavors of the meal Jim had slaved over two hours to prepare.

"You're not eating," Jim said, pointing with his fork to Blair's nearly full plate. "Still sick to your stomach from that stuff?"

Blair shook his head. "Nah, it's not that. Just anticipating…"

Jim arched an eyebrow and stared at his lover.

"It's unpleasant, okay?" Blair said, laying his fork across his plate. "I don't look forward to vomiting up a big meal."

"But if you're going to keep taking that crap," Jim said, referring to the Ipecac, "you're going to have to try to keep your strength up."

"That's the point," Blair argued. "I'm not supposed to be keeping up my strength. I'm supposed to look sick." He pushed back his chair and headed for the bathroom.

Jim was up in a flash, heading off his determined lover. "Look, you don't have to take that stuff right now," he insisted. "At least let a little of the meal get into your system. Wait an hour."

"It takes nearly a half hour for the stuff to work," Blair reminded him.

"Then wait a half hour," Jim begged, desperate to keep Blair away from the medicine cabinet a few minutes longer.

"All right," Blair agreed, turning around. "I guess I can wait for a little while."

Jim guided him back over to the couch and sat down, pulling the younger man into his lap. "You know I'll support you, whatever you choose to do," he said, kissing the tip of Blair's nose. "But the Blessed Protector in me gets all riled up when you're sick or hurt."

"I know that," Blair acknowledged. "We went through a lot together, and it's not easy reliving it. But, Jim… this is important, and I'm probably the only man Simon has that could be convincing enough to pull it off."

"You're right. There's not a single officer in the PD who has gone through the crap you have. Not a single one who would know the look and feel of the illness as well as you." Jim sighed, tightening his hold on the younger man. "This is something you have to do. I understand that."

Blair nodded. "But now," he said, squirming his way out of Jim's embrace, "it's time to get this over with." He stood and headed for the bathroom with Jim close behind.

Within a half hour, Blair was once again kneeling in front of the toilet, vomiting up the remains of his dinner. Jim stood behind him, holding the long hair back and out of Blair's way until he was finished. Exhausted from the second round of vomiting that day, Blair sank back into the strong arms of his partner.

"I think it's time for bed. What do you say?" Jim asked, helping Blair to his feet.

"Yeah." Blair nodded, leaning heavily against Jim.

Jim guided him over to the sink, got out Blair's toothbrush and put some toothpaste on it before handing it to his lover. Wrapping his arms around Blair's waist, he steadied his partner while he brushed his teeth, cleaning the foul taste from his mouth.

"Thanks, Jim." Blair turned in Jim's arms and gave his lover a peck on the lips.

"Let's get you to bed," Jim suggested, guiding Blair out of the bathroom and up the stairs to their room.

Blair sat passively as Jim quickly stripped him and then held the blankets up for him to crawl under. Within minutes his body was spooned against Jim's, trapped in a gentle embrace. Jim nuzzled through the hair at the nape of Blair's neck, and then kissed him behind the ear. Blair twisted his head to look over his shoulder and grin, but the smile didn't quite make it to his clouded blue eyes.

"Sorry, Love. I can't tonight," Blair murmured, closing his eyes and letting a shudder ripple through his body.

Jim cuddled him closer, whispering into Blair's ear. "I didn't expect you to, Sweetheart. Just close your eyes and sleep." He placed another soft kiss in the hollow where Blair's shoulder and neck joined, and then snuggled down to sleep.

~*~*~*~

Two strong orderlies held his arms, pinning him to the bed. The nurse on duty approached with the feeding tube and an insincere smile on her face.

"It will all be over in a minute," the nurse crooned, pressing his head back against the pillow.

"No! No, please!" Blair's voice was a gurgle as he fought against the restraints. "I don't want it. I don't need it."

"But you do, Sweetie," the nurse replied. "You've been vomiting up everything you eat. We need to get some nutrition into you somehow."

"I'll be good," Blair pleaded. "I'll eat. I promise."

"That isn't good enough, I'm afraid," the nurse told him. "You'll just throw up again."

"Jim? Where's Jim?" Blair's eyes glanced frantically around the room, trying to locate his lover.

"Just relax and this will all be over with soon."

"No! Where's Jim?" Blair continued to struggle against the hold on his arms and head.

"He had to leave," the nurse informed him coldly. "He said he couldn't take it anymore."

"Jiiiimmmm..." Blair cried out in loss and desperation as the painful tube was inserted through his nose. He choked; gagging as the tube slipped passed the back of his throat and continued down the esophagus to his stomach.

~*~*~*~

"Jiiiimmmm…!" Blair twisted in the sheets, tangling his arms and legs as he lashed out, desperate to be free.

"Blair! Calm down, Baby! It's me, Jim. I'm here, Blair. I'm here." Jim struggled to sit up, untangling himself from the mess his lover had made of the bed.

"Oh God, Jim!" Blair managed to free himself from the twisted sheets and wrapped his arms around the older man, clinging tightly. "It was awful!"

"Shhh… it's all right," Jim soothed, petting the long locks of sweat-dampened hair. "It was just a nightmare, Sweetheart. Can you tell me about it?"

"I-I was in the hospital again," Blair began, his voice shaky. "They wanted to put in a feeding tube…" His voice failed and he swallowed hard, trying to push down the lump forming at the back of his throat. "I-I… you… you weren't there. T-The nurse said you couldn't take it anymore."

"Oh, Chief! God, Blair, Baby… You know there's no way in hell I'd ever leave you, no matter how bad it got." Jim hugged Blair closer, cradling the precious head against his chest. "Don't you?" He could feel the faint nod as Blair agreed.

"I-I'm sorry…" Blair tried to contain his sniffles, pushing back so that he could look at Jim. "I didn't think this would happen."

"What did you expect?" Jim's voice was soft, full of concern. "You're putting yourself right back into the middle of hell. It doesn't matter that you're not really sick. To pull this off, you have to get yourself into that mindset, and it's going to have repercussions."

"Like nightmares?"

"Yeah, like nightmares," Jim said, pulling Blair against him once more. "But I'll always be here for you. I won't ever leave."

"Love you."

"Love you too, Sweetheart. Think you can go back to sleep?"

"Hold me?"

Jim pressed a kiss against the top of Blair's head and then lowered them both back onto the pillows. Never ceasing his comforting hold, Jim cradled his lover until he had fallen back to sleep.

~oO0Oo~

By Friday morning, Blair had dark circles under his eyes and his color was poor. He looked for all the world as if he'd started chemotherapy again. He stood in the bathroom, barber scissors in hand. As he studied his reflection, Jim walked up behind him and snagged the scissors out of his grasp.

"If you have to go through with this, you're going to do it right," Jim insisted. "I called my barber and he said he could get you in this morning. Get dressed." As Blair turned to face him, Jim stole a morning kiss, and then patted the terry-covered bottom to get his lover moving. Without a word, Blair headed for the stairs.

Ten minutes later, he came back down, carrying a packed duffel bag and dressed in a pair of Jim's worn jeans and a flannel shirt, the combination making him look as though he'd lost considerable weight recently.

"You look like shit," Jim greeted him, wrapping an arm around the younger man's waist and pressing a kiss against his temple.

"Good, that's the plan," Blair said with a grin. "Let's get this show on the road, shall we?"

The trip to the barber was uneventful, but once he'd entered the shop, Blair hesitated. Jim put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him forward.

"Hey, Rick. This is Blair," Jim greeted his friend as he urged his partner forward.

"Come on over and have a seat." Rick smiled at Blair, gesturing toward the barber chair. "This the one you told me was never going to wear his hair short again?" he asked, turning to Jim. "What's up?"

"Police work," Jim answered enigmatically, not wanting to give away too many details of the undercover assignment, even to his barber.

Rick nodded his acknowledgment and then turned to Blair. "How short do you want it?"

"It's going to have to be pretty short," Blair said, running his hand through the mane of curls. "Jim insists on leaving as much as possible, but it'll have to be short in the back and on the sides. I need to be able to hide it completely under a baseball cap or scarf."

"Well, let's see what we can do," Rick said, fastening an apron around Blair's neck and taking out his scissors.

It was twenty minutes of agony for Jim, who watched as Rick first cut, then shaved the precious hair.

"How's that?" Rick handed Blair a mirror and turned the chair around so that he could check the back as well as the front.

Blair ran his hand over the closely cropped sides and nape, before brushing his fingers through the short curls left on the top of his head. "Looks pretty good. Let's see how it works." He held out his hand and Jim took the Jags cap from his head, handing it over. Blair pulled the cap over his hair and checked the mirror. "I think that'll do. What do you think, Jim?"

"I think it's too damn short," his partner grumbled. "But it's better than shaved."

"The Ellison seal of approval," Blair declared. "I guess that's it, then. Thanks, Rick."

"No problem, Blair. Good luck with your assignment, whatever it is." Rick took the apron off and dusted the last of the loose hairs from Blair's shoulders.

"See ya next week," Jim promised, handing over a ten-dollar bill on his way out. Rick grinned and waved at the departing men.

"Still need to see that makeup artist friend of yours?" Jim asked, climbing back into the truck.

"What do you think?" Blair wore the ball cap with the brim turned to the back. His pale features and dark-rimmed eyes stood out starkly on the unusually sunny October morning.

"I don't think you need to fake anything," Jim answered grimly. "You really do look like shit." He twisted in his seat to face his lover. "Are you sure you want to go through with this? It's already stirred up unpleasant memories. What do you expect to happen once you're in the hospice?"

Blair sighed, staring at his hands in his lap. "I don't expect it to be easy," he said softly. "But there's something more at stake here than my insecurities and fears." He looked up, capturing Jim's eyes with a determined gaze. "People are dying, Jim. People that value every single day they're alive, just because their prognosis is so bad. I've been pretty damn close to where these people are, and I know how they feel. They deserve every day that God and medical science can give them."

"So... are you ready to head over to the hospice?" Jim said, finally starting the engine and pulling out of the parking lot.

"Might as well get it over with," Blair replied, staring at his hands again. "I've got my duffel in the back. There's no point in putting it off."

~oO0Oo~

Matt Fleming greeted the two detectives with a warm smile. "Welcome, Blair... Jim. I've got a private room all set up for you," he said, leading the way down the hall. "All our patients get single rooms, unless they specifically ask for a roomie. Most like to spend some time alone or with their loved ones out of the public eye, so to speak." He stopped in front of Room 107 and opened the door.

Inside, the room looked much like a home bedroom might, with the exception of a hospital bed and the accompanying medical equipment. Soft colors and chintz curtains, antique furniture and the warm glow of a Tiffany lamp greeted them.

"This is nice," Blair said, setting his duffel bag on the bed.

"I'll give you some time to get settled," Fleming said. "Pajamas and robe are standard attire around here, unless you feel up to getting dressed. You can hang your things in the closet." He gestured toward a beautiful old armoire. "A nurse will be by in about fifteen minutes to get you set up, then I'll be back and we can discuss the particulars of what we need to do."

Jim nodded and closed the door behind the doctor as Blair rummaged in his duffel for the pajamas he had recently purchased. Stripping quickly, he pulled them on. Jim walked over and batted Blair's hands away from the top, taking over the job of buttoning. When he finished, he patted the mattress.

"Up you go. I'll put your things away."

"Jim... I'm not an invalid," Blair reminded him. "I'm still capable of doing things for myself."

"You're not supposed to be," Jim shot back. "You're dying, remember?"

Meekly, Blair scooted onto the bed and watched as Jim hung his clothes in the closet and deposited his personal items in the small bathroom. When he'd finished, he circled the bed to stand between Blair and the window. "We have no idea who our perp might be," he said softly. "It could be anyone from an employee at the hospice, to one of the visitors. As long as you're here, you have to stay in character." He noted the rapid increase in Blair's heartbeat and respiration, and reached out to gather the younger man into his arms. "It's going to be okay. You're going to do great," he assured his lover.

"I know." Blair's voice was muffled by Jim's chest. "I'm just a little freaked, now that I'm here."

"Understandable," Jim said, stroking Blair's back.

The anthropologist-cum-detective finally pulled away and looked at Jim. "Could you get me a scarf from my stuff? I think it would be more comfortable in bed than the cap."

"Sure, Chief." Jim rummaged through the assortment of scarves he had laid in the dresser drawer and pulled out a garish batik in oranges and red. "How's this?"

"Should do wonders for my complexion," Blair answered dryly, a slight smile curving the corners of his lips.

Jim returned and took off the cap, tying the scarf in place over what was left of Blair's hair. "There you go. You'd never know that you're not as bald as a bowling ball."

"Gee, thanks, Jim," Blair murmured, adjusting the scarf until he was satisfied.

Their exchange was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Come in," Blair called.

A nurse entered, her hands full of a sterile IV. She approached the bed and hung a bag of saline solution on the pole. "Good morning, Blair," she greeted her patient. "And you must be Jim," she said, extending a hand across the bed for Jim to shake. "My name is Michaela, but most of the patients around here call me Mike."

"Nice to meet you," Jim muttered, watching as Michaela swabbed the back of Blair's left hand.

"It's my job to get you settled," she said, picking up the needle and discarding the sterile cover. "This is going to prick just a little." She pulled the skin taut and slipped the needle into a vein in the back of Blair's hand. "There you go. It's especially important to keep cancer patients hydrated," she explained, looking up at Jim. "Often they can't keep much down because of the chemo, and this helps to keep them from becoming dehydrated. It's also an easy way to administer the prescribed medications."

"I know." Jim's voice was a low growl. "We've been through this before."

"Yes, of course you have," Michaela said with a slight smile. "I just want you both to know that we give our patients the very best of care here. If you need anything, just push the call button on the bed." She pointed to the switch on the inside of the rail. "Is there anything you need right now?"

Blair shook his head. "Dr. Fleming said he'd come back to talk to us soon. I'll be okay till then."

"Very good. Just holler if you need me," Michaela said with a grin before she turned to leave.

"Seems nice enough," Blair whispered after the door closed behind the nurse.

"They all seem nice enough," Jim grumbled. "Trouble is, the killer is probably just as nice. You can't let down your guard in here."

"Blair? Jim?" Matt Fleming poked his head into the room.

"Come on in, Doctor," Jim invited.

"So, how are you settling in?" Fleming asked as he approached his newest patient.

"As well as can be expected," Blair answered, lifting the hand with the IV needle.

The doctor smiled. "Well, you're certainly looking the part," he said seriously. "What have you been up to the past three days?"

"Puking his guts--" Jim began.

"Taking Syrup of Ipecac after meals," Blair interrupted. "I figured that was relatively harmless."

Fleming nodded. "It's easier to be sick than to act sick," he agreed. "I really don't like even suggesting this, but it might be a good idea if I keep a mild emetic in your IV drip as we discussed earlier this week. It would keep you just nauseated enough to not arouse anyone's suspicions."

"All right," Blair agreed softly. "I suppose we have to start somewhere."

"The support group meets daily at 3 p.m. in the solarium," Fleming informed them. "It's not unusual for new patients to wait a day or two to join the group, but you're welcome any time. It's a good way to meet the other patients."

"Any chance it's a patient doing this?" Jim asked, staring pointedly at the doctor.

"Anything's possible," Fleming admitted, "but I think it's unlikely. Most of these patients are too focused on their own misery to worry about putting someone else out of theirs. They're more likely to attempt suicide than murder."

Blair sighed. "This isn't going to be easy. I can already feel the beginnings of an anxiety attack, thanks to the stress."

"We've got BuSpar, which is very effective in controlling anxiety," the doctor said. "But I really don't care to prescribe anything the first day. Generally, we run a series of tests to see what the patient needs. In Blair's case, we won't need to do that, of course. However," Fleming concentrated on his patient, "if, over the course of your stay here, you need help with the anxiety or whatever else, I'm more than willing to work with you."

"What about me?" Jim asked. "I want to stay here with Blair as much as possible. We're partners on the job, too, and I want to be here to watch his back."

"This is a very progressive hospice, Jim," Fleming said with a smile. "You may have noticed that Blair's bed is a double. We encourage family members to stay with their loved ones as much as possible. If you want to spend the night, no one will fuss if you share the bed."

"Good, because I don't look forward to spending lonely nights at home while Blair is here in potential danger." Jim rubbed a hand possessively up and down Blair's arm as he spoke, causing his lover to smile indulgently.

"Nobody here finds that notion unusual," the doctor said. "Staff, patients and visitors are all used to family members being present 24/7. The only time we'll ask you to leave Blair alone is during the time the support group meets. Most patients don't care to air their worst fears to their loved ones, but they'll open up around other sufferers."

"I can live with that," Jim said, nodding and turning a smile on Blair. Both men knew that Jim could monitor Blair with ease, even from out in the hallway. Surrounded by a doctor they trusted and terminally ill patients, Jim felt comfortable with this one, small concession.

"Good enough," Fleming said with a nod of his own. "I'll go get the medication, then, and we can get this show on the road."

Jim perched on the side of the bed after the doctor had gone and held Blair's hand. "You feeling okay? You look a little pale."

"Worse than when we got here?" Blair asked with a small grin.

"Afraid so," Jim told him, bending down to press a kiss against the full lips. He brushed a hand across Blair's forehead and cupped his cheek. "If this gets to be too much, you let me know. We don't have to do this. You don't have to do this."

"It's okay, Jim. I want to," Blair assured him.

"Okay, here we go," Dr. Fleming said, breezing back into the room. He had a second bag of the saline solution, doctored with the emetic. He quickly switched the bags and regulated the flow. "If this is too much, be sure to let me know. I don't want you getting too sick. You're here to help us, after all."

"Thanks, Matt," Blair said, giving the doctor a brave smile. "As long as I have Jim here, I'll be all right."

"I'll leave you two alone, then, and give you some time to settle in." He turned to leave, and then turned back. "This might not be the best time to bring this up, but we have two options for meals here. You can come join us in the cafeteria, if you feel up to it, or you can order room service. The menu is in the top drawer of the nightstand."

"Something tells me I'm not going to feel much like eating," Blair said, trying hard to keep the smile on his face.

"You need to keep up your strength, so at least try to eat something," the doctor admonished. "Jim, see to it that he eats, all right?"

"He'll eat if I have to force feed him," Jim promised.

"I'll check in on you again this evening," Fleming said. "Feel free to move around the facility and get familiar with the place."

After the doctor had left, Jim rummaged in the nightstand drawer. "Ah, here we go," he said, extracting the menu. "I'm hungry. How about you?"

"Not particularly," Blair said glumly. Already he could feel the effects of the medication in his system dragging him down, churning in his gut.

"They've got sandwiches, soups, salads, pasta... and that's just on the lunch menu," Jim said, reading from the paper in his hand. "How about a chicken Caesar salad? You could handle that." He looked up from the menu to gauge his partner's reaction.

"Whatever." Blair waved his hand, dismissing his responsibility in the decision making.

"What's the matter, Sweetheart? Is that crap starting to bother you so soon?"

Blair nodded, the smile he'd held for the doctor faded, being replaced by fine lines of stress across his forehead. "I don't really feel much like eating."

"Maybe a bowl of cereal?" Jim suggested. "They've got Fruit Loops."

"Jim, man... you like the Fruit Loops, remember?" The smile briefly returned to the pained face.

"Well, then, how about some whole wheat toast? Maybe toss in a little strawberry jam." Jim laid the menu aside and grasped both of Blair's hands. "Honey, you have to eat something," he insisted.

"Okay. Toast sounds fine," Blair agreed. "And maybe some orange juice?"

"That's the spirit!" Jim patted Blair's knee before turning to the phone and calling room service. A half an hour later, an orderly brought in the toast and juice, along with a roast beef sandwich and chips for Jim.

Blair nibbled at the toast, hoping that Jim wouldn't notice that he wasn't really eating. After living for so many years with a sentinel, he wasn't altogether surprised to find his ploy wasn't working.

"You need to eat," Jim told him, wiping his mouth on a napkin. "I just finished a whole sandwich and a bag of chips, and you're not halfway through your first slice of toast. Here, let me." He took a fresh triangle of toast and spread it thickly with the strawberry jam before holding it up in front of Blair. "Open wide." He made puttering airplane noises as he circled the toast in the air near Blair's mouth.

"Jim, I'm not a littl..." Blair reached out to smack the offending hand that held the toast. "Mffpt--" His words were silenced as Jim shoved the toast into his mouth, forcing him to take a bite.

"Now chew," Jim instructed, leaning in close to keep an eye on his recalcitrant partner. As he did, he rubbed at the bright red spot where Blair had slapped him. "You didn't have to do that, you know. I was just trying to help," he said, mock injury in his voice. Blair pursed his lips, but kept his mouth shut, chewing with determination. "Now swallow...." Blair struggled to comply, washing the toast down with a gulp of orange juice. "There now, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

In response, Blair's complexion turned gray, and with a suddenness that surprised both men, vomited into Jim's lap. The sudden onslaught of the repugnant smell caused Jim to automatically recoil. "I guess that answers my question," he said, a rueful smile curving his lips.

"Sorry, Jim." Blair spit the last of the foul chunks of regurgitated toast from his mouth.

"That's okay, Sweetheart. Let me get something to clean us up." Jim got up and went into the bathroom, returning with towels and a washcloth to take care of the mess. "Good thing we brought extra pajamas," he said, lifting a clean pair from the dresser after removing the worst of the vomit from their clothes.

"Did you remember to pack extra clothes for yourself?" Blair asked, beginning to unbutton the soiled pajama top he was wearing.

Jim sighed. "No, but I was planning to go home and pack a few things once we got you settled. I'll be okay until then." He helped Blair peel off the pajama top and put on the clean one. "Steady there..." he offered, helping Blair to stand. The anthropologist was shaky on his feet, but managed to pull down the bottoms and step out of them. Jim held out the clean pajamas, and Blair was quickly dressed and back in bed.

"You look miserable," Blair commented, looking at the large wet spot that covered the front of Jim's pants. "Maybe you should go now and do your packing. I can rest until you get back."

"I don't like leaving you alone here," Jim told him. "There's a killer on the loose, and until we know what we're dealing with, I don't like for you to be vulnerable."

"Jim, I'll be fine," Blair assured him. "Why don't you take me down to the solarium? I can read a bit, and maybe take part in the support group, if you're gone long enough."

"I thought you didn't want to do that the first day."

Blair smiled. "Matt said I didn't have to, he didn't say I couldn't. Might as well get started. The sooner we get going, the sooner we'll be basking in the sun on a tropical beach." He slipped off the bed and walked unsteadily over to the dresser to retrieve the book he had packed.

"Can't argue with that logic," Jim said, returning the grin. He walked to the closet and retrieved Blair's robe, wrapping it around his shoulders before helping him into the wheelchair. "Think we should call a nurse and get you disconnected from that IV for while?"

"Nah. I'm supposed to be sick. It'll look more realistic if I take it with me. You drive and I'll hold the pole," he said, grabbing hold of the wheeled IV stand.

Jim pushed the chair out the door and turned right, down the hallway to where Dr. Fleming had indicated the solarium was located.

"Taking a walk?" Michaela asked, smiling at her newest patient.

"Jim's taking me to the solarium to read while he goes home and changes clothes," Blair explained.

"Oh dear... an accident already?" she asked, looking pointedly at the wet spot on Jim's crotch. Her lips turned down into a slight frown. "You should have called a nurse. We could have taken care of that for you."

"It wasn't that bad," Blair told her. "Just couldn't keep my lunch down. Nothing new about that."

"We handled it," Jim added a little coldly. Until they'd had a chance to check people out a little more thoroughly, he wasn't inclined to trust anyone, except Dr. Fleming. Maybe not even him.

"Just remember that we're here to make your stay as comfortable as possible," Michaela said, patting Blair on the shoulder. "Enjoy the solarium. It should be quiet there for now. Things will pick up around three o'clock, when the patients start coming for the support group." She turned to Jim. "Did Dr. Fleming tell you that relatives are invited to the first meeting with their loved ones?" she asked.

"No," Jim said, shaking his head. "He only told us that was the one place where I wouldn't be welcome."

"Not on a regular basis, no," Michaela explained. "But it's sometimes easier for new patients to feel comfortable their first time in the group if they have someone familiar with them."

"I'd like that, Jim," Blair said, turning his head to look up at Jim and covering his partner's left hand with his own. "Think you could be back in time?"

Jim glanced at his watch and calculated the distance he'd have to drive. "It'd be close, but yeah, I think I can make it in time," he said.

Michaela smiled and nodded at the couple. "See you at group, then."

Jim began pushing the wheelchair again, as Blair waved good-bye to the nurse. "She's nice. I like her," Blair said.

"Just don't get too comfortable with anyone," Jim warned him. "It's always the one you least expect."

They reached the solarium -- a large, bright room, filled with plants and sunshine.

"How's this?" Jim asked, wheeling Blair over next to a small fountain near one of the windows.

"Great," Blair said, looking up at Jim with a smile. "Thanks, man. I really appreciate you being here for me. This all creeps me out just a little, you know?"

"I know, Chief," Jim said, nodding. "You going to be okay for a couple hours while I drive back to change and pack?"

"Sure. Just don't make too many side trips on the way."

Jim leaned down to press a chaste kiss against the upturned lips. "Stay alert," he whispered before turning to leave.

Blair picked up his book and began to read.

The time passed quickly. Blair was surprised when he looked up to see a sudden influx of people into the solarium. The clock situated on the wall just over the door read three o'clock. He looked around at the gathering, but couldn't spot Jim in the crowd.

Dr. Fleming walked up to him. "Hi, Blair. I wasn't sure we'd see you here today. Are you settling in?"

Blair nodded. "I threw up my lunch on Jim, though," he confessed. "He had to go home to change clothes."

"Here I am," Jim announced. "Sorry I'm a little late. Did I miss anything?"

"Not at all," Dr. Fleming said. "We were just getting started."

The group formed a semi-circle facing the doctor. Matt Fleming looked out over the motley assemblage and smiled. "We have a new member of our group today," he began. "Blair, would you like to introduce yourself and your partner, and tell us all a little bit about your illness?"

"Well, ah...." Blair stammered, surprised to be put on the spot. "My name's Blair Sandburg, and this is my life partner, Jim Ellison," he began. "I was diagnosed with cancer of the larynx a little over six years ago. I did the radiation and chemotherapy thing and went into remission for a while, but the cancer came back and I had to have my full larynx removed. I can speak thanks to an indwelling valve that acts like my vocal cords." He paused to look around the room at the patients gathered together. "I went through more chemotherapy after that. It got so bad that I almost gave up. But thanks to Jim," he tipped his head to look up at his lover, "I pulled through and went into remission again." The memories of his illness flooded back as he told his story, and tears formed, unbidden, to roll silently down his cheeks. He sighed and dropped his gaze to the folded hands in his lap. He hated lying, but his cover called for it. "After nearly five years of remission, the cancer returned in a particularly aggressive form." His throat had become tight as his mind taunted him with the thought that someday this fabrication could be truth. "I-I'm still on chemo, but my doctor, Ken Stuart, doesn't think I have more than three months at best." His voice faded and he fell silent. Even Jim had been moved by the memories, and had to wipe a tear that threatened to fall.

A small hand appeared in Blair's field of vision and lightly covered his. "It was hard for all of us to hear that diagnosis," a soft, female voice said. "My name's Gerri. Blair, we're here to help. None of us has a lot of time left, but it's something you can come to terms with." Blair lifted his head to make eye contact with the slender, middle-aged woman. "My disease is breast cancer. I had a double mastectomy, but the cancer had already spread."

"I'm sorry..." Blair muttered, not really knowing what to say. He felt guilty, knowing how deathly ill these people were, and that he had needed to lie to them in order to help them. The thought flushed his cheeks with shame.

"Don't be," Gerri told him. "I've accepted the fact and made my peace. We're all," she waved a hand around to indicate the assembled patients, "in various stages of learning to cope. That's why we're here."

"Jim, do you have anything to add?" Dr. Fleming asked, looking up at the taciturn man.

"We've been through hell, and I'm not wasting a single day I have left with Blair," Jim replied honestly. Whether it was the three months of their cover story or the next fifty years of their lives, he meant to treasure each day he had with his lover.

Blair moaned quietly, wrapping his arms around his stomach.

"What's the matter, Sweetheart? Not feeling well?" Jim leaned down to speak softly into Blair's ear.

"Sick," Blair said, swallowing down the bile that threatened to rise.

"I'm taking you back to your room," Jim decided. Turning to the doctor and assembled patients he apologized. "Sorry, but Blair's not up to this right now." He turned the wheelchair and pushed Blair through the door and down the hall.

When they reached Blair's room, the younger man stood on wobbly legs, grasping tightly to the IV pole for support. "Help me to the bathroom?" His voice was weak and shaking.

Jim wrapped an arm around his waist and guided his partner into the cramped bathroom. Blair lifted the lid of the toilet and dropped to his knees, retching over the bowl. There was nothing in his stomach to vomit up, but bile and saliva dripped from his lips and he spit into the water. Wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his robe, Blair sat back on his heels.

Jim got up to get him a glass of water to clean his mouth. He squatted next to Blair, wrapping an arm around the trembling shoulders in support. "You shouldn't have to be going through this kind of misery for a case," he said softly.

"It's all right," Blair said, taking a sip of the cool liquid. "I agreed to. It's too late to back out now."

"No, it's not," Jim insisted, helping Blair to his feet. "We just tell Dr. Fleming we're sorry, that this is too hard on you."

Blair shuffled along beside Jim to the bed and climbed in, sighing as he rested his head on the pillows. "It's just a little nausea, not all that bad." He reached out and grasped Jim's hand. "This is important. I want to finish what I've started here. Now, how about you go find something to entertain yourself, and let me have a nap?"

"How about I nap with you?" Jim asked, coming around the back side of the bed to climb in and spoon up against the smaller body.

"Don't get any ideas," Blair reprimanded as Jim's hand rubbed lightly over his nipples through the soft fabric of his pajamas. "This is a hospital, and I'm supposed to be sick."

"Just trying to make you feel better." Jim nuzzled the exposed neck, peppering little kisses just below the hem of the scarf covering Blair's head.

"Sleep, Jim," Blair commanded, trying to ignore the insistent attention of his lover.

Jim finally settled down, wrapping an arm around Blair's waist and pulling him back against his body. Cradled and protected, the young detective went to sleep.

~oO0Oo~

Later that evening, Jim attempted to feed his reluctant partner his supper. "How about just one more bite of mashed potatoes?" he urged.

Blair shook his head. "I've had enough," he said, pushing the tray away.

Jim settled in the chair next to the bed and gave Blair a contemplative look. "So tell me again about these placebos you'll be getting," he asked.

"Well," Blair said, taking a deep breath to ease the queasiness in his stomach. "As part of the cover to help make it look as though I'm really sick, I'll be receiving medications twice daily, just like all the other patients. Dr. Fleming is going to fill my prescriptions himself -- with sugar pills, instead of the chemo treatment," he explained.

"And how is it that the nurses won't get suspicious?" Jim wondered. "Don't they usually give out the pills based on a prescription by the doctor?"

"Usually," Blair agreed. "But Dr. Fleming said it's not all that unusual that he'll fill the prescriptions himself, if he wants to monitor a particularly ill patient more closely. It's a rare occurrence, but not unheard of."

A knock at the door interrupted their conversation. "Come in," Jim called.

A male nurse in his mid-thirties walked in carrying a tray crowded with small paper cups containing the medications for the patients in that wing of the hospice. He walked over to the bed and stood next to where Jim perched on the mattress, trying to get Blair to eat.

"Hi there. My name's Jim Pierce. I'm your nightshift nurse," he introduced himself.

Blair lifted a hand in greeting. "I'm Blair. This is my partner, Jim Ellison."

"Nice to meet you both," the nurse responded, smiling. "I've got your medications here," he said, holding out a cup that he'd selected off the tray. "One is your chemo dose, the other a vitamin to help you keep up your strength."

Blair took the cup and tossed back the pills, swallowing them with a gulp of water.

"If you need anything," Pierce said, "just ring the nurses' station." With a smile and a nod, he left.

"I wish you would have let me check those things before you swallowed them," Jim scolded, eyeing the empty cup.

"Jim, man... they're placebos, fakes," Blair assured him. "What's to check?"

"Until we're sure who we can trust... everyone and everything." Not completely relaxing his guard, Jim picked up the fork again. "Seeing as how you seem to be fine, there's no reason you can't eat a little more of your dinner."

Reluctantly, Blair opened his mouth and allowed Jim to feed him. His stomach was still slightly upset, but he was getting used to the sensation, not unlike back in the days when he was actually on chemotherapy. He managed to finish most of his meal before pushing the tray away. "Enough. Thanks, Jim."

Jim took the tray and set it aside. Propping some pillows behind his back, he lay on the bed next to Blair and picked up the television remote. "Let's see what kind of reception they have here," he said, flipping through the channels. "Wow... a full cable lineup, including some premium movie channels. This is quite a setup," he exclaimed. "Want to watch a movie?"

"Sure, why not?" Blair agreed, fluffing his pillows and settling in next to Jim.

They had been watching for nearly a half an hour when Blair suddenly bolted upright, a look of pure horror on his face. He struggled to get off the bed and stand. Grabbing the IV needle, he ripped it from his hand. Blood spurted from the needle site, leaving a spray of red droplets on the floor.

Alarmed, Jim bolted out of bed and around to where Blair stood. Grabbing the bleeding hand, he put pressure on the area to stop the flow. "What's the matter? Blair, what's wrong?"

Stumbling across the floor, Blair doubled over about halfway to the bathroom and began to vomit. Jim wrapped an arm around his waist and practically dragged the retching man the rest of the way to the toilet. Flipping up the lid, he directed Blair toward the bowl.

Blair continued to vomit until his dinner was completely expelled. Leaning over the toilet bowl, he grasped the edges and heaved in deeps gulps of air.

"It's over, Sweetheart. It's over," Jim assured him, supporting the trembling man and massaging his shoulders.

Blair shook his head. "Not over." The words were barely whispered, discernable only to Sentinel ears. Moments later, he was heaving again, knuckles white against the porcelain bowl. When he was done, he collapsed back onto his heels, still keeping a death grip on the toilet.

Jim tried to pry the clenched hands away from the bowl, but Blair wouldn't let him. The terror that gripped his partner was reminiscent of the darkest days of their fight with the cancer.

"I'm going to call the nurse," Jim said, reluctantly leaving Blair alone for the few moments it took to dash back to the bed and press the call button.

Almost immediately, the door swung open and Jim Pierce entered the room. "What's the problem?"

"He can't stop vomiting," Jim said, his voice tense with worry as he pointed to the bathroom. "What the hell's wrong?"

Pierce shook his head, frowning. "The chemo treatment he's been prescribed is particularly powerful," he said, consulting the chart at the foot of the bed. "I'll go get him an anti-nausea injection. Be right back."

"Page Dr. Fleming while you're at it!" Jim called after him. He stood for a few seconds, facing the door the nurse had just exited. His arms were hanging stiffly at his sides, his fists balled and ready to hit something. It took every ounce of his energy to keep from yelling after the nurse that Blair wasn't really on the chemo and he shouldn't be getting so sick on the mild emetic Fleming had given him. Taking a deep breath, he tried to relax. Getting upset wasn't going to help his partner.

He hurried back into the bathroom and knelt next to Blair, who was spitting bile into the toilet. "It's okay, Sweetheart," he crooned. "You're going to be feeling better soon. I promise you, we're going to get to the bottom of this. Something's not right."

Blair turned his head to look up at his lover with bleak eyes. Before he could say anything, he was over the toilet again with dry heaves. When he finally sank back to the tiles, his hand went to his throat. After a few garbled attempts to speak, he reverted to the standby of sign language. The vomiting dislodged my prosthesis.

Jim frowned with concern. "Can you get it out?"

Blair shook his head. Need Dr. Fleming to help.

"Does it hurt? Can you breathe all right?" Jim's hands hovered uselessly near Blair's throat. He hated feeling helpless like this. It reminded him far too much of the hellish days of chemo.

Doesn't hurt; I'll be okay, Blair informed him, leaning wearily against his lover.

While they waited for Pierce to come back with the anti-nausea injection, Jim took a damp cloth and wiped Blair's chin and neck, mindful of the stoma that was covered with a splattered patch of gauze.

It seemed an eternity to Jim before Pierce returned. Once the injection had been administered, each man took an elbow and lifted Blair to his feet, half walking, half carrying him back to the bed.

When Blair was settled, Jim handed him a glass of water and insisted he drink. "You need to get some fluids back into your system," he told his lover.

Can't swallow, Blair informed him. After the prosthesis is reset. He handed the water back to Jim, giving him an apologetic look.

Jim rounded on the nurse. "Did you call Dr. Fleming? I want to see him now!"

Pierce nodded. "He's been paged. It could be a while, though. He's very busy."

"Like hell!" Jim spat, his face twisted with anger. "Call him again! This is an emergency!"

"I assure you, Blair will be fine," the nurse said calmly. "Violent bouts of nausea are quite common with patients undergoing chemotherapy."

"But Blair's not sick!" Jim wanted to shout. "I want the doctor to check him," he said, trying to keep his voice reasonable.

"And he will." Pierce's voice remained calm, but his heart rate increased noticeably. He picked up the discarded IV needle and unhooked it from the line. "Let me see your hand," he requested, taking a good look at the injury. "We'll have to use a different site," he said, clucking his tongue. "You shouldn't be taking out the IV yourself." He turned to leave. "I'll have to get a fresh needle... be right back."

"Don't bother," Jim said, grabbing hold of the man's forearm. "We'll wait until we've had a chance to talk with Dr. Fleming."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Ellison," Pierce apologized, "but it's procedure. Patients who are vomiting as much as Blair, need the IV fluids to stay hydrated."

"Get the doctor here, and then we'll consider it," the detective insisted, putting the full weight of his authority into his voice.

"I'll have to talk to the shift supervisor," Pierce said, turning to walk out the door.

"Call the doctor!" Jim shouted at the nurse's back. Once Pierce was out of earshot, Jim turned to Blair. "I want you off that crap that's making you sick!" he hissed. He sat on the bed and gathered his lover into his arms, cradling Blair's head against his chest.

Blair nodded his head, too weary to argue. This bout of nausea was the worst he'd had since his actual chemotherapy, and he wasn't pleased to think about going through that again. The muscles in his abdomen ached from the violence of the spasms he'd endured. Moaning softly, he closed his eyes, only meaning to rest for a minute.

Jim lowered him gently to the pillows, pressing a kiss against a sweat-dampened temple.

~*~*~*~

"No, no more, please." Blair pushed at the nurse who wanted to put yet another needle into his arm.

"Blair, Sweetie," she crooned. "Just calm down. This is for your own good."

"Enough. I've had enough. Please..." Blair knew he sounded pathetic, weak... but he was tired, so tired. He just wanted the ordeal to be over, even if it meant disappointing Jim. "Jim, forgive me..."

"Jim isn't here," the nurse scoffed. "He told us to do what we had to do and to call him when you're feeling better." With that, she motioned for two strong orderlies to hold Blair down while she inserted the IV needle into his vein and adjusted the flow of the toxin that would treat the cancer that had spread throughout his system.

"Jiiiimmm...!" Blair cried out as the orderlies strapped him down so that he couldn't struggle, couldn't remove the needle that was making him sicker than the disease. "Help me! Help me!"

~*~*~*~

Jim stood outside the door to Blair's room, waiting for the doctor to arrive. When Fleming finally appeared, Jim jumped on him. "Something's going on here!" he said through clenched teeth. "Blair just had a bout of vomiting as serious as he used to have when he was on chemotherapy. I didn't think that stuff you were giving him was supposed to make him that sick!"

Fleming shook his head. "It's not," he said. "Christine told me it was bad enough to dislodge the voice prosthesis."

"And it takes quite a bit to do that," Jim informed him.

"Was he able to get it out?" the doctor asked.

Jim shook his head. "He said he'd need your help. He was so exhausted after all the vomiting, that he went to sleep."

"I'll take care of it," Fleming assured him.

Undeterred, Jim grabbed the doctor's upper arm and shook him lightly. "I want Blair tested. Something is making him sick."

"I make up his medication cups myself," Fleming insisted. "There's nothing dangerous about the sugar pills he's getting."

"I don't give a damn!" Jim growled. "I want him tested, and I want him off that stuff you're giving him! He's suffered enough!" A soft cry from inside the room distracted him. He released the doctor and hurried into the room, crossing quickly to the bed.

"Blair? Blair!" Jim gently shook his lover's shoulder. "Wake up, Baby. You're having another nightmare."

"Does this happen often?" Dr. Fleming asked, looking with concern at the young detective who had agreed to take on this task for him.

"A couple times, now," Jim answered, distracted by caring for the groggy man. "Chemo was a hard time for both of us. I think this is bringing back bad memories."

Jim? Blair blinked his eyes and focused on the man sitting on the edge of his bed. You're here?

"Of course I am. What? Did you think I'd leave?" He stroked a hand over the colorful batik scarf on Blair's head, wishing it were silken soft hair instead.

In my dreams, you're always gone.

"Well, that settles it then," Jim said, smiling at his shaken partner. "Your dreams aren't memories; they're reflections of your fears. Are you afraid I'll leave?"

Blair shook his head. Not anymore. But when I was really sick... I didn't know how you could stand to stay around. A weaker man would have shrugged me off and left.

"And that's what you see in your dreams?" Jim's voice was hurt.

Sorry, Jim. I know it's not real, that it didn't happen, but I'm just so scared of losing you.

"Not going to happen, Chief," Jim assured him, leaning down to kiss a sweat dampened forehead. "You'll have to tell me to go, and even then I'm not certain you could get me to leave." He glanced up briefly at the doctor who was waiting patiently for them to finish. "Blair, Dr. Fleming is here."

Blue eyes tracked from Jim's face over to where the doctor stood. Hi, Matt, he signed, with Jim interpreting for him.

"I hear you had a violent episode of nausea this evening," the doctor said, getting right to the point. "The emetic I'm giving you in the IV shouldn't have caused a reaction like that. At Jim's request, I'm switching you back to plain saline solution, no drugs. You should start feeling better almost immediately." He reached up to remove the tainted bag of saline and replaced it with a full, sterile unit. "I'll let the nurse set the needle after we're through here. Meanwhile, let's get that implant reset, shall we?" Blair nodded, anxious to have his voice back.

When Fleming had been summoned to Blair's room over the vomiting incident, he'd been told of the dislodged prosthesis and had come prepared with the proper tools. "Open wide," he said, spraying the lidocaine to numb Blair's throat. With a finger inserted through the opening in Blair's neck, and a pair of flexible forceps through his mouth and down his throat, the doctor was able to remove the device with little fanfare. He grimaced at the sight that greeted him after he'd pulled it free. "You'd better let me clean this," he said, going into the bathroom to rinse the remnants of vomit from the plastic valve.

"All right, here we go," Fleming said, returning to the bedside a few minutes later. Blair endured the reinserting of the device with stoic silence.

"Sorry to be so much trouble. I haven't had a chance to get a feel for the place yet," Blair apologized when he could speak again.

"Don't rush if you're not feeling up to it," Fleming said. "I'm just grateful you agreed to look into these deaths for me. Now, I think it's about time we get you hooked back up to that IV. You really do need your fluids with all the vomiting you've been doing." He went to the door and summoned the nurse. "We need to set a new IV and draw some blood," he told Pierce.

The nurse nodded and went to get the supplies. He returned a few minutes later and crossed quickly over to the bed. "This will just take a minute. Hi, Blair," he greeted his patient. "Ready to be hooked up again?"

"I suppose," Blair said, beginning to regret agreeing to take this case.

Pierce eyed the damage done to the hand that had held the IV before. The needle site was swollen and bruised, tender to the touch. "I think maybe we'd better use the other hand," he suggested, making his way to the other side of the bed. He prepped the new site with antiseptics before sliding the needle home in the vein.

Blair winced as the needle penetrated the delicate skin on the back of his hand. Pierce taped the needle in place and checked the drip in the IV line.

"There you go. All set up. Now we just need to get that blood sample," Pierce said, testing Blair's arm for a good vein. It only took a minute to draw the requested vials of blood and drop them in the pocket of his scrubs. "Now we're done." He smiled at Blair. "Holler if you need anything." Pierce waved as he left the room, leaving Jim and Blair alone with the doctor once more.

"I don't trust that guy," Jim said, his skin still crawling from the nearness of the man. "What can you tell me about him?"

Fleming frowned. "He's one of our newer hires -- started working for us just under a month ago. Came out of a cancer ward in New Orleans. His former employers gave him high marks."

"Why did he want to move so far away?" Jim asked. "Seems unusual for someone to move across country like that, unless they had some compelling reason."

"He has family out here, I think," Fleming said. "He's been a good employee -- always on time, never misses a shift."

"Has he always worked the night shift?" Jim continued to grill the doctor, hoping to find something concrete on which he could base his feelings about the man.

"I believe so, yes," the doctor answered.

Jim sighed. "Well, if you think of anything else, or if you have any suspicions of your own you'd like to share, let us know."

"I will, of course." Dr. Fleming did a quick check of Blair's vitals before turning to leave. "Let me know if you're not feeling better by morning. Good night, Blair... Jim."

"Good night, Matt," Blair called after the retreating doctor.

"I think maybe it's time to call it a night," Jim said, pulling the blankets up to Blair's chest. "We can do some more reconnaissance in the morning when you're feeling better."

"Jim?" Blair took his partner's hand and squeezed. "Thanks for being here. I couldn't do this without you."

"You won't ever have to," Jim said, settling down next to Blair and wrapping his arms protectively around him.

~oO0Oo~

"You're looking good this morning," Michaela remarked as she breezed in to check on her patient.

Blair was enthusiastically shoveling in the eggs and toast Jim had ordered for him for breakfast. "Yeah, I feel like I haven't eaten for a week!" he said between bites.

"You haven't," Jim complained. "Now finish up. We've got work to do."

"Work?" Michaela looked at him quizzically.

"We didn't get a chance to take the grand tour yesterday," Blair explained, wiping his mouth on a napkin. "We thought we'd tool around the corridors and check things out."

"I think you'll like what you see," Michaela said with a smile. "There's a big rec room in the basement. It's got a pool table, darts, chessboards and cards -- almost anything you can think that you might like to do. Then there's the solarium--"

"We saw that yesterday," Blair said, nodding.

"It's a popular place to just go and relax," Michaela added. "And the daily group meeting is there. We have a library," she continued. "That's on the second floor. And don't forget to check out the cafeteria. You might enjoy going there for your meals occasionally."

"Thanks, Mike." Blair smiled at the pretty nurse, who blushed.

"I think you'd better take your morning meds," she said, producing the small paper cup of pills.

Blair looked at it warily, but tossed back the pills and swallowed them with a full glass of water, as instructed.

"I'll come back to check on you around noon," Michaela said. "If you need me before that, you know what to do." She turned and walked out, leaving the men alone again.

Blair watched the door close, then leaned in toward Jim. "I still don't think she's got anything to do with why we're here," he said softly.

Jim nodded. "You could be right," he agreed. "But I'm not going to be comfortable until I can get back to the office and run some checks on some of these people."

"Let's check out the building," Blair said, changing the subject. He eased out of bed and grabbed his robe, pulling it on before settling in the wheelchair and grabbing the IV pole.

The two men toured the facility; impressed with the luxuries it granted to its terminally ill patients. The library even had computers with a broadband Internet connection.

"I could log on to the department's computers from here," Jim mused. "Maybe I'll try that later."

"Let's do lunch in the cafeteria," Blair suggested. Their exploring had taken the better part of the morning, and already people were filing through the halls headed for their noon meal.

Jim popped a wheelie with the chair, causing Blair to grasp the arms in surprise and burst out laughing. "It's good to hear you laugh, Chief," Jim said, leaning down to capture a brief kiss before heading to the cafeteria.

"You'll be the death of me yet," Blair said, still chuckling.

"I can think of better ways," Jim leaned down to whisper in Blair's ear. "But I'm saving them for Hawaii."

~oO0Oo~

"Why don't you drop me off at the solarium," Blair suggested. "I'll join with the group today; see if I can get a better feel for the patients who are here."

"I don't like leaving you alone," Jim complained as he pushed the wheelchair down the hallway.

"It'll just be for a little while," Blair reminded him. "Once the support group arrives, I'll have plenty of company. Maybe you could use the library's computers to do some of your research."

"Good idea," Jim agreed. He punched the button for the automatic doors to the solarium and waited for them to swing open. "Where do you want to sit?"

"Over by the fountain again," Blair answered. "That was really nice yesterday."

Jim parked the chair and leaned down for another kiss. "You be careful while I'm gone."

"I can take pretty good care of myself," Blair reminded him. Besides working out at the gym, Blair had also taken the Academy's self-defense course a second time, honing his skills. He could even occasionally get the drop on his partner, if he caught the older man off guard.

"I know you can, Sweetheart," Jim said. "But I still worry."

"You need to be careful too," Blair pointed out. "We still have no idea who might be behind the murders, if indeed there even are any actually killings. Watch your back."

"I will." Jim patted Blair's shoulders, then reluctantly left to go up to the library and log onto the computer network.

Blair stared out the window at the fall colors in the garden outside.

"Hi there."

Startled, Blair turned around. "Oh, hi."

"Remember me? I'm Gerri," the small woman reintroduced herself.

"Of course!" Blair said, grinning. "Pull up a chair and join me."

Gerri motored her chair alongside Blair's and set the brake. "The weather has been so lovely here of late," she sighed. "Too bad I won't be here to see the spring."

"Don't say that," Blair admonished. "We never know what the future can bring."

"Oh, I know," Gerri said with a slight smile and a nod. "I'm doing better right now, thanks to the medications Dr. Fleming has me on, but it's only a matter of time. It's all right, though," she hastened to add. "I lost my only daughter to breast cancer two years ago."

"I'm so sorry to hear that," Blair said sincerely. He couldn't begin to imagine how painful it must be for a mother to watch her child die.

Gerri reached over and patted his hand, grasping it and giving it a light squeeze. "Don't be," she said. "It was hard, very hard," she acknowledged, "but now I'm going to see her again, and I'm looking forward to it."

Blair had taken an immediate liking to the older woman, and felt a familiar bond. "I'd feel the same way if Jim had gone first," he said softly. "But..."

"You're not ready to leave him alone, and you're worried about how he'll cope," Gerri supplied.

"How'd you know?" Blair asked, eyes wide with wonder.

"It's how I would have felt if I were the one to go first." She squeezed his hand again. "You have to let go," she told him. "Trust that Jim will manage without you."

"It's hard," Blair sighed. The feelings that were being dredged up really were hard, and Blair prayed again that he wouldn't have to deal with the consequences for many years to come.

"That's what our group is here to do -- help us all cope with these feelings, to help us come to terms with the future."

"I'm still a little nervous," Blair lied. "Can you tell me anything about some of the other members of the support group?"

"Well... Bill has lung cancer -- smoked for forty years, and it's finally caught up with him. His wife is such a sweet thing, always somewhere nearby. Casey is another smoker, but with him, it's his liver." She paused for a moment before continuing. "Mark has prostate cancer. His wife preceded him... an automobile accident three years ago. Mark says his cancer is caused from lack of sex. He was diagnosed two years after Abby's death." She chuckled. "Mark's the clown of the group; helps us all keep up our spirits."

"They all sound like decent people," Blair commented, studying Gerri's face.

"Oh, they are!" the woman exclaimed. "Salt of the earth. Lizzy is another lung cancer patient," Gerri continued. "Her husband tried for years to get her to stop smoking. Now he has emphysema from the second-hand smoke."

Blair shook his head. "I never could understand the allure of smoking. Simon, Jim's boss, is addicted to cigars." He wrinkled his nose. "Fortunately, he doesn't smoke them much in the office."

"What does your Jim do for a living?" Gerri asked, showing genuine interest in her new friend.

The question brought a smile to Blair's face. "He's a detective with the PD's Major Crime division. You should have seen the look on my mom's face the first time she heard that. Naomi's one of the original hippies, and she was appalled that I'd 'shacked up' with a 'pig'. Jim may seem a little gruff, but he's just overly protective of me. I've never known anyone more gentle or attentive."

"You're very lucky." Spotting movement from the corner of her eye, Gerri turned to see several people entering the solarium. "Looks like the rest of the group finally arrived."

~oO0Oo~

"Did you find out anything?" Blair asked over dinner in his room that evening.

Jim swallowed the bite of meatloaf he'd been chewing and shook his head. "Not a lot. I got a list of employees for the hospice, including the hire dates and any complaints filed against any of them. So far, nothing stands out. Couldn't get much on the patients. You?"

"I had a nice talk with Gerri before the group meeting started," Blair told him. "She gave me a rundown on the patients in the group; their illnesses, and in some cases a little family background. I don't see anything suspicious there." He took another bite of steamed halibut, chewing thoughtfully. "These are all good people who have fallen on hard times. Frankly, I'm amazed at the level of acceptance most of them have. It makes me feel privileged to have had a chance to know them."

"Don't get too attached, Sweetheart," Jim chided, knowing Blair's big heart would have him adopting each and every patient in his group as a part of his extended family. And when they died... a little piece of Blair would go with them.

"I'm not," Blair said, shaking his head. "At least, I'm trying not to. It's hard, Jim." He looked up at his lover. "These are good people. I don't like the thought that someone is out to shorten what little time they have left."

"Knock, knock!" Jim Pierce, the night nurse, appeared at the door.

Blair glanced up at the clock on the nightstand. "Right on time," he quipped, taking the small cup of medication. When he'd finished taking the pills, he handed the cup back to the nurse. "Thanks."

Pierce nodded. "I'll check back later to see how you're doing."

The door closed quietly behind the nurse, and Jim shook his head. "That guy gives me the creeps."

Blair looked quizzically at the Sentinel. "How so? I haven't got a clue about him one way or the other."

"Just something about him," Jim said. "He's the one that was last in here before you got sick, and I've noted his heart rate increase when he's questioned," he continued, trying to catalog what was off about the man. "His recent move from New Orleans seems suspicious, too, but I'd have to do more checking."

"Dr. Fleming said he might have family out here," Blair reminded him. "That would be sufficient reason for a move." He paused, studying his partner. "I'm the last person to doubt your hunches, but he seems to be an adequate nurse."

Jim shook his head. "Let's forget it for now," he said, waving the conversation off. "You're feeling better, and I'm feeling great." He crawled up onto the bed, spooning himself behind Blair and letting his lover feel the boner he was sporting press up against his backside. "It's been nearly five days since either of us has felt this good."

"Aw, Jim... I don't know...." Blair protested weakly.

Jim scooted away and rolled Blair onto his back, baring the stoma that had become an erogenous zone over the past five years. He leaned down, pausing to enjoy the moist, warm breath being expelled from the hole before reaching out with his tongue and tracing the soft edges.

"Ooooh, God, Jim...." Blair's voice was a rumble in his throat, barely recognizable as words to anyone except his Sentinel lover.

Jim teased the hole, dipping his tongue inside to literally steal Blair's breath for a fraction of a second. His lover's gasp when he withdrew brought a smile to his lips. Reaching a free hand down beneath the blankets, he felt the mound of Blair's arousal through the fabric of his pajamas. Slipping his hand in through the fly, he massaged the heated organ, dragging another groan from his partner.

Blair was quickly losing all trace of rational thought. As he humped into the hand stroking him, he dimly considered that the sounds they made could possibly bring the nurse back to check on him. But when Jim's lips unexpectedly engulfed the head of his cock, Blair decided he no longer cared. He picked up the speed of his thrusts, encouraging Jim to take him deeper.

Jim suckled the cock, settling into a counter-rhythm with Blair. He could feel the urgency of his lover, long denied sexual fulfillment by the artificial illness he'd induced for this case. Suddenly, the thrusting stopped and the cock in his mouth began to soften without the release of orgasm. The moans from the head of the bed sounded more distressed than lustful.

Pulling his head out from under the blankets, Jim looked at his lover. Blair's face was contorted with pain, his color draining rapidly.

"Blair? Sweetheart, what's the matter?" Jim was immediately concerned.

Blair clamped his mouth shut and signed quickly. Sick. Help. He struggled to sit up. Jim placed a hand against the small of his back and assisted him, helping Blair to his feet. The younger man collapsed after a few steps. Bracing himself with his arms, he vomited onto the floor.

Wave after wave of nausea gripped him, causing Blair's abdominal muscles to cramp. Dinner, and some of lunch, spilled onto the linoleum flooring, splattering back to dirty Blair's pajamas. He began to choke as some of the splatter was aspirated through the stoma. A hand quickly moved to his throat as a look of panic clouded the blue of his eyes.

Jim bounded to the nightstand, jerking open the top drawer to find the suction bulb they'd stored there the day before. Kneeling next to Blair, he pried away the clawing hands and suctioned the vomit from the small opening. Blair sucked in a deep breath as the color began to return to his face.

"What the hell happened?" Jim asked softly, wrapping an arm around the shaking shoulders. Blair just shook his head. "Let's get you back to the bed. I'll get you cleaned up."

"Bathroom," Blair croaked.

Switching directions, Jim guided the sick man to the small lavatory. Blair dropped to his knees in front of the toilet with barely enough time before he began to retch again. Remnants of stomach contents and a smattering of bile came up before the vomiting turned to dry heaves.

Jim ducked out of the bathroom long enough to ring for a nurse, then hurried back to support Blair as he huddled on the cool tiles, waiting for the next round of nausea to hit.

Christine Larkin, the head nurse, and Pierce ran into the room together.

"Oh my God," Christine gasped, seeing the extent of Blair's illness. "I'll get a syringe of Lorazepam," she said, turning quickly to exit the room.

"And get Dr. Fleming!" Jim called after her. "I think Blair dislodged his prosthesis again," he said, turning to Pierce.

"Don't worry," the nurse assured Jim. "We'll make sure that Blair is taken care of."

Pierce stayed with his patient until the head nurse returned a few minutes later with the anti-nausea drug. Christine administered the shot, and Blair almost immediately went limp. Jim and Pierce hauled the barely conscious man to his feet and dragged him back to the bed.

Pierce began to strip the soiled clothing, but Jim nudged him out of the way. "Get away. I don't want you anywhere near Blair," he said, taking over the task. Pierce gave him a curious look, but backed off toward the door, giving his supervisor a questioning glance.

"Jim?" Christine looked at him curiously.

"I want another nurse for Blair," Jim ground out after Pierce had left the room. "I don't trust him any farther than I can throw him."

"He's new, but he's always been a conscientious employee," Christine argued. "However, if you insist, I can assign Blair another nurse."

"I insist," Jim emphatically told her.

"Consider it done." The head nurse nodded and took her leave.

Once they were alone, Jim returned to the task of cleaning Blair -- stripping the soaked pajamas and wiping him down with a warm, damp cloth before dressing him in clean clothes and dumping the dirtied pajamas in the hamper. He was tucking the blanket beneath the sleeping man's chin when an orderly came in to mop up the mess on the floor.

"Thanks," Jim said fervently once the floor was clean. The pungent smell of the vomit had brought him near the edge of throwing up himself. He settled into a chair next to the bed to wait for the doctor to arrive.

~oO0Oo~

"Jim?" Fleming's soft voice woke him from a light doze.

"Matt! Thank God you're here." Jim stood up to greet the doctor and guide him over to where Blair slept. "I don't know what's going on here, but Blair was sick again tonight." Fleming began examining Blair, listening to his heart with his stethoscope. "It's as bad as the days when he was actually on chemotherapy." Jim watched as the doctor methodically checked out his patient. "I think he dislodged the voice prosthesis again, too," he added.

"Very possible," Fleming said, nodding. "He's sleeping very soundly now," he commented, straightening to his full height. "So long as his breathing isn't impaired, I'll wait until morning to reseat the prosthesis. No need to disturb him."

"He collapsed right after he got the anti-nausea injection," Jim told him. "I just assumed he was exhausted."

"Mmmm..." the doctor muttered. "That shouldn't have happened. Lorazepam can cause sleepiness, but Blair shouldn't have just collapsed like that. I'll call down to the lab and put an expedite on the blood tests."

"How long until you know something?" Jim asked.

"With an expedite flag on the samples, we should have the results by tomorrow afternoon at the latest," Fleming said. "I want to apologize. I never expected anything like this to happen."

"Neither did we," Jim said, his fury barely contained. "Blair volunteered to do this as a favor, and because he has a big heart. I suspect you knew he wouldn't be able to turn down this assignment. He was supposed to be safe."

"And he is, Detective," Fleming said, resorting to a more formal pose. "I don't know what's going on here, but we're going to find out."

"You're damned right you are!" Jim hissed. "I'm calling the PD. I want a twenty-four-hour guard on his room."

"Anything you want," Fleming agreed. "I don't see how this facility could be at fault, but if it will make you feel better--"

"Blair was perfectly healthy until he came here," Jim growled, poking a finger into Fleming's chest. "And now he's sick again. Something is going on here, and I intend to find out what!"

"And I want to know as badly as you do," the doctor agreed. "I'll check the results of the blood tests tomorrow, and we can go from there."

~oO0Oo~

"What do you mean, they're gone?" Jim had turned livid with rage.

Dr. Fleming cringed slightly under the onslaught of the detective's anger. "I checked with the lab for the results of the blood tests, and they say they never received the samples."

"And how the hell could that happen?" Jim shouted. "What did they say when you called down to expedite the tests? Didn't they know then?"

"I don't know what happened," Fleming confessed. "You can be assured that I'll be looking into it. We've never had anything like this occur before."

"You'd damn well better figure this out, and soon! Otherwise I'm pulling Blair out of here," Jim threatened.

A muffled sound from behind made the angry man spin around. "Blair, Sweetheart...." He moved over to the bed. "How are you feeling?" He stroked a hand across a pale cheek, pausing to brush his thumb across the full, pink lips.

Not so hot, Blair admitted, forced to sign by the dislodged voice implant. Pursing his lips, he kissed Jim's thumb as it brushed past. What happened?

"That's what we're trying to find out. You passed out last night, and have been sleeping pretty much ever since," Jim explained. "The doctor had some blood drawn for tests, but somehow the samples never got to the lab."

Someone must have intercepted them, Blair conjectured. But who, and why?

"Maybe our killer," Jim suggested.

"Do you have any leads?" Fleming asked.

Jim shook his head. "Nothing concrete, but I've got a hunch. Jim Pierce gave Blair his evening meds just before each vomiting incident." He paused and looked over at Blair. "I'd like to go down to the station where I can make some calls and do some research," he said.

"You can use our facilities here," Fleming suggested.

"I'm going to be running up some phone bills, as well as needing an Internet connection," Jim explained.

Matt waved a hand, interrupting him. "Don't worry about a thing. Make any calls you need from here. You can work out of my private office, if you like."

"Thanks," Jim said, genuinely relieved. "I didn't like the idea of leaving Blair alone."

"You've got the plain-clothes guard now," Fleming pointed out. "And the nurses will keep a close eye on him. I'd like to take another set of blood samples. I'll hand deliver them to the lab myself. Mike..." He snagged at the nurse's arm as she walked passed. "I need three vials of blood from Blair right away. We've got to find out what's going on here."

"Yes, doctor." The nurse nodded and went to get the supplies she'd need.

While they waited for Michaela to return, Dr. Fleming retrieved the forceps and lidocaine from a locked drawer of the dresser and quickly reseated Blair's voice implant.

"Thanks, Matt," Blair said, clearing his throat as he adjusted to his voice once more. "I came here to help, and I end up being more trouble than anything else," he apologized.

"We'll get to the bottom of this," Fleming assured him. "Meanwhile, it's my job to see to it that anything you need is taken care of. You're no trouble." He rested a reassuring hand on Blair's shoulder.

When Michaela returned, Jim hovered protectively over Blair as she drew the blood. His lover barely winced as the needle was inserted into his arm, but he wouldn't watch as the vials filled. When the nurse was done, she bandaged the needle prick and patted Blair's arm. "All done, you can relax now."

"Did it show that much?" Blair asked with a small smile, letting the tension drain from his body.

"That you're afraid of needles?" Michaela returned the grin. "It's not at all uncommon. You shouldn't be embarrassed. You did fine."

"It's just that while I was sick--"

"You began to feel like a pin cushion," Michaela completed his thought. Her smile was warm and genuine. "You're not alone. Ask any of our patients. But..." she patted his arm again, "this should be the last of it."

Fleming took the vials from the nurse and thanked her, heading down the hallway to the elevator that would take him to the basement labs.

"I guess I'll take my leave as well," Michaela said with a wave. "I think you two boys might like to be alone." She winked as she pulled the door shut.

"Earlier last night I would have agreed with her," Blair said, remembering the fantastic blowjob Jim had been giving him just before he got sick. "But right now, I just want to sleep some more."

"Would you mind if I slipped down to Fleming's office and did some research?" Jim asked.

Blair shook his head. "Are you going to check out Pierce?"

"He's my Number One at the moment, yeah," Jim said. "I have a bad feeling about the guy."

"He comes on shift in just over an hour," Blair reminded him.

"Don't worry," Jim said, leaning down to press a kiss against the soft lips. "There's a plain-clothes officer patrolling the hallway on this floor and one at the front of the building. You'll be okay."

"I'm not worried," Blair said, pulling Jim down for one more kiss. "Don't be gone too long."

"No longer than I absolutely have to be," Jim promised.

~oO0Oo~

Jim logged onto the Cascade PD network and began his research. Something about Jim Pierce hadn't set well with the detective since the day they had arrived. Unfortunately, a thorough search of the database yielded no rap sheet on the man.

He picked up the phone and dialed directory assistance. "Hello? I need the number for the New Orleans police department." He paused, scribbling down a number. "Yes, thank you," he responded to the operator's offer to put him through to his party.

The Louisiana police were no more help than his own department had been. Jim Pierce had no police records in either state.

When he hung up the phone, Jim glanced at the clock. Where had the time gone? Pierce had been on duty for nearly an hour....

~oO0Oo~

Blair tossed restlessly in bed, gripped by another nightmare.

~*~*~*~

The water sluiced down the drain as Blair finished washing his hair. A startled shriek erupted from his throat as his hands came away with fistfuls of tangled strands. Looking down between his feet, he saw that the drain was clogged with hair and the bathtub was slowly filling with water.

Dripping wet, he stepped out of the shower. Mindless of his nudity, he walked into the kitchen, arms extended, the strands of hair dangling from his fingers.

"Jim?" he called, looking around for his lover. "Jim?"

A slight draft from the open front door hit his bare skin, causing him to shiver. He dropped his arms, trailing wisps of hair as he made his way over to the entrance of their home and looked out into the hall. Neighbors lined the corridor, all pointing and sneering at the naked man. "Jiiiiimmmm!" The cry echoed down the hall, unheeded.

~*~*~*~

"Jiiiiimmmm!" A strong hand held over his mouth muffled Blair's cry.

"Jim's not here," a familiar voice whispered to him. "Just quiet down. I'm going to give you something to help you sleep." Christine pulled a syringe from her pocket and emptied it into Blair's IV line. "Now just relax. It'll all be over soon."

Blair fought his attacker, struggling against the grip that held him down and kept him quiet. With a clarity that often precedes death, he knew who his killer was, and that he was about to become her next victim.

Oh God, Jim, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for it to end like this! his mind cried as the drug made its way through his system. Blair's struggles lessened quickly and his breathing became shallow. The nurse smiled and tucked the syringe back into her lab coat before making a casual retreat from the room. Her back was turned as Ellison rounded the corner. She checked in at the nurses' station and walked briskly toward the front doors of the building.

~oO0Oo~

Jim ran down the hallway at breakneck speed, barely sparing a glance at the head nurse before slamming into Blair's room moments after Christine had exited. Sentinel senses boosted to their limit, he scanned his lover's vitals, terrified when he heard the last stuttering beats of the precious heart before the room went silent.

Lunging toward the bed, he pressed the call button and climbed onto the mattress to begin CPR. Tilting Blair's head back, he covered the stoma with his lips and breathed twice into the still lungs. Keeping his hearing dialed up to listen for breath or heart sounds, he began the chest compressions; one, two, three, four, five -- up to fifteen before breathing for his lover again. He was on his second set of compressions when Jim Pierce walked in, followed by a perplexed plain-clothes officer.

Jim didn't give the nurse time to ask anything. "Get a crash cart in here, NOW!" he yelled at the man, ignoring the officer in favor of keeping Blair alive.

Pierce scrambled out of the room and returned a few minutes later with a complete crash cart and team, including Dr. Fleming.

Jim reluctantly moved out of the way while the doctor made a quick assessment of Blair's condition. Fleming ripped open Blair's pajama top and grabbed the electro-shock paddles. "Charge to two hundred," he ordered, coating the paddles with a conducting gel. "Everyone clear!" He pressed the paddles to Blair's chest.

Blair's body arched off the bed as the shock ran through him. Jim heard the first stuttering beats of the precious heart and sighed with relief.

Fleming stopped to listen with his stethoscope once more. At the faint sound of a heartbeat, he turned to his crew. "Get a heart monitor on this man, stat," he ordered. He turned to Jim. "I got the result of the blood work on the second sample," he began. "Blair showed significant amounts of chemical toxin in his system. Somehow he was getting real chemo pills."

Jim suddenly remembered seeing the head nurse leaving Blair's room. He was out of the room in a flash, running down the hall toward the entrance to the building. As he got within eyesight of the front doors, he saw Christine talking to the policewoman set to watch the entrance. "Hold that woman!" he shouted.

The officer grabbed at the head nurse, but she struck out, twisting away and bolting through the doors. Jim followed her for about a block down the street before tackling her and cuffing her hands behind her back. Here was the monster that had tried to kill his lover -- the murderer who had already taken three lives. It took all of his self-restraint to keep from grinding her face into the cold cement. "You have the right to remain silent," he growled. "If you give up that right, anything you say may be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney...."

~oO0Oo~

Jim stood by Blair's bed, stroking a still hand and waiting for his lover to wake up. Simon and Dr. Fleming were also in the room.

"We found this vial in Christine's pocket," Simon said, holding up a small drug bottle.

"Succinylcholine," Fleming said, nodding his head.

"Is that significant?" Simon asked.

"Could be," the doctor said. "Succinylcholine is a powerful muscle relaxant. We use it in small doses for patients who suffer from painful cramping, and occasionally for seizures. In large enough doses, it can cause respiratory failure." He shook his head and frowned. "I've heard that some prisons use it as part of the lethal injection cocktail. It's that potent."

"Can you tell if that's what Christine injected into Blair's IV?" Jim asked.

"It would be very difficult to confirm," Fleming said. "Unfortunately, succinylcholine breaks down quickly into two chemicals that are found naturally in the human body: succinic acid and choline. That makes it very hard to trace."

"But it can be done?" Simon asked.

"I sent a new sample of Blair's blood to the lab," the doctor said. "I'll make sure they run it through the Mass Spectrometer Gas Chromatograph. It's the only definitive way to find the trace elements."

"Let me see that," Jim said, snatching the bottle of the drug from Simon's hand. "There are two needle holes in the stopper." He turned the bottle around, examining it more closely. He pulled a pocketknife from his jeans and began to pry out the rubber stopper.

"Jim, stop!" Simon cried out, aghast. "That's evidence!"

Popping the cork, Jim sniffed the contents. "This is mostly water," he concluded, handing the vial back to Simon.

"How did he...?" Fleming turned to Simon, confused. "How did you...?" he asked, turning his gaze on Jim. When both men chose to ignore the questions, he sighed and continued. "We'll have to test the contents of the bottle."

"We most definitely will," the police captain agreed. "But how do you explain the fact the bottle was full of water?" Simon asked, looking between his detective and the doctor. "Answers, gentlemen?"

"She could have used the drug to kill Blair, then used a syringe to refill it with the water," Jim speculated. "That would account for the two holes in the stopper."

Fleming nodded, laying aside the mystery of Jim's abilities in favor of the riddle posed by the evidence they had in their possession. "Very possible. My lab can check the contents of the bottle for you," he offered.

"Thanks," Simon said, replacing the rubber stopper. "But I think it might be better if our labs did the testing."

"Understood," Fleming said with another nod.

"But how could she have known?" Jim asked, rubbing his forehead to help relieve a growing headache.

"That would be my fault," Fleming said softly. "Christine has been head nurse and a trusted employee for over seven years. She knew I was investigating the sudden rash of deaths."

"You told her who we were, why we were here?" Jim asked, astonished.

Fleming studied his shoes. "I thought she could be trusted," he sighed. Looking up, he met Jim's steely gaze. "She was the only one I confided in," he said. "I'm so sorry."

"Sorry? You could have gotten Blair killed!" Jim shouted. "She knew why we were here, so she must have switched Blair's placebos for the real medications."

"But only in the evening," Simon mused. "To make you suspect Pierce, perhaps?"

"Could be," Jim agreed. "He's the newest employee, and he came in from out of town. The perfect patsy for a murderer to set up."

Soft sounds from behind the men caught Jim's attention. "Blair? Sweetheart?" He turned to see the wide blue eyes watching him. "How're you feeling?"

"Like I've been run over by a Mack truck," Blair answered, his voice coarse and gravelly. He smiled weakly, trying to reassure his concerned partner.

Jim cradled Blair's hand, lifting it to his lips to kiss. "You're going to be all right," he promised.

Dr. Fleming came to stand by the bedside. "You're going to need a few days of rest while the drugs work their way out of your system," he told Blair. "But there shouldn't be any permanent damage done by any of the medications you were given." He took a deep breath and expelled it slowly, never losing eye contact with his patient. "This never should have happened, and there's no way I can adequately apologize for your suffering. I hope you know how very grateful I am for your help in catching Ms. Larkin."

"We did it the hard way," Blair said with a little grin.

"You can say that again!" Jim agreed. "And I'm going to make damn sure that bitch's ass is fried. You can count on it."

"Do you think she'll get the death penalty?" Fleming asked.

"Considering the circumstances, I don't doubt it," Simon said. "We've got some more evidence to gather, but the case is pretty tight."

"Wouldn't it be poetic if she was killed with the same drug she gave to me?" Blair asked softly. He was frowning.

"What's the matter, Sweetheart?" Jim asked, knowing the subject matter had to be disturbing to his lover.

"I-I don't really support the death penalty," Blair said, rather unnecessarily, as Jim was quite well aware of his partner's stance on the subject. "But in this case... I want to see her dead for what she did to me, and to the other patients here. Does that make me a bad person?"

"Oh, God, Honey, not at all!" Jim exclaimed, gathering Blair into his arms. "It makes you human. You're a damn sight more compassionate than I am," he reassured Blair. "I'd tear the bitch limb from limb if they'd give me a chance."

"No, you wouldn't," Blair concluded, smiling now. "We have a trip to Hawaii to plan, and you couldn't very well go if you were behind bars."

"Point taken," Jim agreed, returning the smile. He turned to Fleming. "Would it be possible to take Blair home to rest?" he asked.

"He really should stay here for a few days," the doctor insisted. "His heart stopped, and he should be kept on a monitor so that we can keep careful track of his condition. Once the drugs are entirely out of his system, he can go home, but he should take it easy for a while."

"Would it be okay for him to travel? We had a vacation in Hawaii planned; really laid back, relaxing."

"Flying shouldn't be a problem, if that's what you're asking," Fleming confirmed. "I think a nice, restful vacation sounds like just what the doctor ordered."

"So, how long do I have to stay here?" Blair asked, hopeful of getting out as soon as reasonably possible.

"I'd like for you to stay at least two days, maybe three," Fleming answered. "We'll do daily blood work on you and monitor your condition closely. If all looks normal, you could be out of here by Wednesday. How does that sound?"

Blair sighed. "I suppose, if I have to."

Jim took off the scarf Blair had been wearing and ran his fingers through the soft, short curls. "I'll make the arrangements for the trip so that we can leave on Friday. That okay with you?"

"Sounds great!" Blair smiled and relaxed, closing his eyes. "Mmmm, feels good," he said, enjoying the sensation of Jim's hand in his hair.

"I think I'll go; leave you two alone," Simon said, grinning. "The crisis is past, and now we'll have to get down to the dirty work. Jim, I'll expect you to finish the paperwork before you leave. It's going to take a while to gather all the evidence and make our case, so you have plenty of time for your vacation before the trial."

"Thanks, Simon," Jim said, smiling. "I'll make sure to come in and do the forms before we leave."

"Just see that you do," Simon admonished, turning to leave. "Take care, Blair."

"Thanks, Simon. Good-bye," Blair called out from the bed.

"I'll be leaving you for now, too," Fleming said. "I think the two of you need some time alone together. Just remember that Blair needs his rest." The doctor left the room, hanging a "do not disturb" sign on the outer doorknob.

"Alone at last!" The relieved sigh came from the weary anthropologist. "I didn't think they'd ever leave."

"A little tired?" Jim asked, climbing onto the bed.

"A little like death warmed over," Blair said, turning to face Jim. "Hold me?"

Jim wrapped his arms around the slender body and pulled Blair in close. He ran his fingers through the short curls and placed soft kisses on both eyelids. "Rest, Sweetheart. We have the rest of our lives ahead of us."

~oO0Oo~

"It's beautiful!" Blair stood on the lanai of their room at the Kaanapali Beach Hotel. Jim had gotten them a first floor room in the Molokai Wing, with a full view of the luscious white sand beach.

Jim walked up behind him, wrapping his arms around Blair's waist and stooping to rest his chin on Blair's shoulder. "It is, isn't it? Care to go out by the pool?"

"That sounds wonderful," Blair agreed. He turned to go inside, digging through their suitcases for his swimsuit. "Damn!"

"What's the matter, Sweetheart?" Jim asked, strolling in off the lanai to see what had upset Blair.

"Can't find my swimsuit." He kept digging through the clothes, pulling everything out in an effort to find the missing garment. "Here's yours," he said, pulling out a Lycra spandex suit, about the length of bicycle shorts, in a striking shade of blue that complimented Jim's eyes. "Damn, I can't believe it's not here."

Jim opened the top drawer of the dresser and pulled out a box about six inches square and an inch deep, covered in silver foil paper and a white bow. "Consider it a honeymoon gift," he said handing the box to Blair.

"What is this?" Blair asked, accepting the gift.

"Why don't you open it and find out?" Jim suggested with a grin.

"But I don't have anything for you," Blair complained, picking at the ribbon tying the box shut.

Jim continued to smile. "It was a last minute thought. Don't worry about it."

Blair took the lid off the box and stared at the slip of fabric within. The electric blue color and accompanying shimmer made the item look like a small gem nestled in the white tissue paper. He lifted it out, to find a triangle of material and a tangle of thin straps. "I repeat," he said, eyeing the item, "what is this?"

Jim was rocking on the balls of his feet now, barely containing his mirth. "It's your swimsuit," he said, steeling his voice so that he sounded serious.

"No way," Blair said, picking at the garment with both hands.

"Yes, way," Jim said, playfully mocking his lover.

"Nooooo...." Blair shook his head. "This wouldn't begin to cover my big toe. Don't they have laws about nudity on the beaches here?" he asked.

"It's spandex, and it'll fit you just fine," Jim said, approaching and beginning to undress his partner. "And you won't be nude. The essential parts will be covered."

"I think I might feel a draft from behind," Blair said cautiously.

"This is Hawaii," Jim explained reasonably. "It's warm. This way you'll get that almost-all-over tan."

"Your suit has considerably more material," Blair accused, eyeing the trunks on the bed.

Jim smiled and shook his head. "But I plan on doing some surfing. You're just going to sunbathe."

"I don't know...." Blair obligingly stepped out of his jeans and underwear, and stood naked before his lover. Jim untangled the skimpy suit and held it out for Blair to step into. He pulled the garment up, carefully tucking Blair's privates into the small triangle of fabric.

Blair tugged uncomfortably at the thin straps that slipped beneath the globes of his ass to disappear into the crack, coming out again to circle his waist with a quarter-inch-wide strap. "I feel naked," he complained.

Jim admired his purchase as his lover stood self-conscious under the scrutiny. "Nice," he murmured. "Mm-hm. You're bound to turn some heads in that."

"I'm likely to get arrested!" Blair complained, reaching down to make some minor adjustments in the fit.

"I rather like it," Jim said, guiding Blair around to the side of the bed that wasn't covered by their suitcase. He pushed Blair down, climbing on top of him. Straddling Blair's legs, Jim kneaded the jewel-colored fabric, wringing a groan from Blair's throat.

The younger man writhed on the bed, pushing up into Jim's hand. His cock swelled, the head escaping the entrapment of the fabric to lay exposed against his belly.

Jim abandoned the needy organ, crawling further up the bed to hover over his lover on hands and knees. Blair was still pushing up with his hips, trying for more of the delicious friction on his cock. Jim denied him the pleasure, leaning down to run his tongue hungrily around the edge of the stoma.

Tormented and frustrated, Blair cradled Jim's face with his palms and pulled him up to where their lips could meet. Hungrily, he devoured the mouth presented to him, while at the same time struggling to force more body contact.

Jim relented, brushing his thumbs across the tight nubs of Blair's nipples, making his young lover groan with need as his cock leaked pre-come to stain the sapphire fabric.

Blair's hands scrabbled at Jim's belt, undoing the buckle and pulling down the zipper. Tugging on the waistband, he managed to get the stubborn jeans down to Jim's knees, exposing the fact that his lover had chosen to forego underwear when dressing that morning.

With a feral grin, Jim kicked free of the confining denim and rocked his hips so that their cocks rubbed together, sending Blair into a frenzy. The younger man humped against his larger partner, trying to free his aching cock from the scrap of material.

Jim reached across to the nightstand, where he had conveniently left the tube of Astroglide. Coating his fingers, he reached between their heaving bodies to breach the tight opening to Blair's center.

"Oh God, Jim!" Blair bucked and cried out at the intrusion, impaling himself on the invading fingers.

Jim smothered the cries with a kiss, while continuing to deftly prepare his partner for intercourse. Blair squirmed, anxious and needy for Jim's cock to be inside him. Finally, Jim deemed him ready and coated himself with the lube. Despite the scrap of swimsuit still covering half of Blair's cock, his hole was exposed and vulnerable. Jim pushed the thong straps aside and positioned himself, helping Blair lift his legs onto Jim's shoulders, and slid slowly inside.

Blair groaned and relaxed, allowing Jim to slide in fully.

"You okay, Sweetheart?" Jim asked, buried to his balls in the tight heat of his lover.

Blair blinked and smiled. "Very okay. Get on with it, will you?" He bucked his hips, setting up the rhythm that brought Jim quickly to orgasm.

Jim collapsed on top of the smaller body, and then rolled off so that he wouldn't crush his lover. Gathering Blair into his arms, he smothered the swollen lips with more kisses. Blair's groan held a hint of discomfort that the Sentinel recognized quickly.

"What's the matter?" He pulled away to look into pained blue eyes. "Did I hurt you?"

Blair's hand reached down to his groin where his swollen penis still pulsed with life. The spandex swimsuit had rolled itself down to the base of his organ, acting like a cockring to keep him erect.

"Oh, Baby... I'm so sorry." Jim peeled the suit down and stroked the purple cock a few times with his hand. The organ jumped at his touch, almost as though possessing a life of its own. Blair's needy mewling turned to a moan as Jim's mouth engulfed his penis, sucking his orgasm from somewhere deep within his center.

"Oh, Jim! Oh, God, Jiiimmm!" Blair cried out as he was finally awarded release. He collapsed on the bed, panting and looking thoroughly debauched. "Oh, man, Jim! If that's what parading around in this postage stamp swimsuit does to you, I'll wear it the rest of our stay in Hawaii!"

"You've got a deal," Jim said, smiling. "Ready to go wade in the water now?"

"You've got to be kidding," Blair said with a drowsy grin. "First, I need to sleep off this orgasm." Pulling Jim close, he cuddled into the strong arms and closed his eyes.

~oO0Oo~

"No, Blair. I'm not going to do it."

The anthropologist grinned at his stubborn partner. "Just finish your Mai Tai, it'll loosen you up."

"I don't want to loosen up. I want to surf." Jim pouted. He finished off the light lunch they had ordered to their room and sipped at the sweet cocktail.

"You need to get into the Hawaiian spirit, man. This is a great way to experience the culture," Blair argued. "It's painless, I promise. Besides, the concierge told us that if you want to surf Ho'okipa Beach, you need to do it in the morning. Do this with me now, and I'll spend all of tomorrow lying on the beach in that postage stamp you call a swimsuit and watching you surf."

"You do that, and I'm going to be more interested in nailing you than in nailing the waves." Jim chuckled, his resolve weakening.

"In the sand? On the beach?" Blair grimaced. "Ouch."

The comment made Jim erupt with laughter. "You're not worried about having sex in public, just about getting sand up your ass?"

"You try it sometime," Blair shot back, holding back his own laughter as he fought to stay serious.

"Okay, okay... you win, Chief. We'll find a secluded beach and use a blanket."

Blair glanced at the clock on the nightstand. "We'd better get moving. The lesson starts in five minutes." He got up and pulled Jim to his feet. Both men were comfortably dressed in shorts, loud floral shirts and sandals. "It'll be fun."

"Famous last words," Jim commented dryly as he let himself be led out to the pool area.

When they arrived, a group had already formed.

"Blair, these are all women," he pointed out. "Forget it. I'm outta here."

His partner grabbed his arm and pulled him back. "You promised. Come on! It'll be fun."

"You keep saying that," Jim grumped.

"Because it's true," Blair argued. "Now get over here." He tugged Jim into line next to him.

Several of the women turned to smile at the newcomers; their eyes lingering on the flesh-colored patch that covered Blair's stoma. Whispered words and looks of pity were aimed in his direction. Blair grinned widely and winked at the women, flirting shamelessly.

A pretty Hawaiian girl, dressed in a bikini covered by a grass skirt and flower lei, greeted them. "Aloha. My name is Lani, and I'm going to teach you the traditional Hawaiian hula."

Jim groaned.

"Men do this, too," Blair whispered in an aside to his lover.

"Then why are we the only ones here?" Jim asked, looking around at the decidedly feminine group.

Lani began by passing out flower leis. She counted out the number of people in the row and then handed out that many leis to the first person, who then passed the flowers on to the next in line. When the traditional garlands reached Jim and Blair, Jim refused.

"Don't make such a fuss, Jim!" Blair hissed softly, taking two leis before passing them down. He looped one over his head and then reached up to place the other around his partner's neck.

Jim fingered the delicate flowers. "This isn't exactly the kind of 'lay' I had in mind, Chief," he said, shaking his head.

Blair made a face of mock disgust. "Shhh!" he scolded, pointing to Lani, who was demonstrating the basic steps. "Listen!"

Their conversation turned a few heads, but most of the women looked merely puzzled or curious.

A few moments later, the strains of "I Want to Go Back to My Little Grass Shack" sounded from the portable CD player sitting on a chair next to their instructor. The group began to shuffle side to side, mimicking the arm movements of the graceful dancer.

"Ow!"

"Sorry," Jim apologized.

Blair glared at him. "You did that on purpose."

"I tried to tell you I have two left feet," Jim defended himself.

"You're a terrific dancer," Blair shot back.

Mercifully, the lesson ended after about twenty minutes, and the two men were able to be on their way. They walked out to the beach and down to the water, strolling down the length of the beautiful white sand, letting the waves lap at their ankles.

"You owe me for that one," Jim said, sliding an arm around Blair's waist.

Blair toed a small, white shell as he walked along. "You did great," he said, looking up and smiling at his lover. "You certainly drew the attention of several of the women there. Good thing I made it clear that you're taken."

"Jealous, Sweetheart?" Jim asked, leaning over to press a kiss against Blair's temple.

"Nah, just possessive," Blair answered with a grin.

Jim chuckled. "I can live with that."

~oO0Oo~

Their vacation time was flying; only a few days remained. Jim packed his surfboard in the back of the rental car and waited for Blair to come out from their room. "There you are!" He waved at his tardy partner.

Blair stopped at the passenger side door. He was wearing a pair of shorts and a floppy straw hat; a beach blanket and towels draped over his right arm. He grasped a small case containing his sunglasses, sun block and lube. "Sorry. Had to make sure I'd picked up the essentials," he said, holding up the zippered case.

"Why are you wearing shorts?" Jim asked, eyeing the wild Hawaiian print. "I thought we had a deal."

"I don't need my bare ass sticking to the vinyl of the car seat," Blair explained reasonably. "I'll pull them off once we get to the beach."

Jim nodded. "All right. Get in." He climbed behind the wheel and gunned the engine. They were driving to the northern part of Maui, where Ho'okipa Beach promised some excellent surfing.

They parked in the upper lot and walked down to the nearly deserted beach.

"I thought this was a popular place," Blair commented as they made their way down the sand. "It's all but deserted."

"Water's a little colder today," Jim explained. "And the surf conditions aren't the greatest."

"Sorry we didn't get here sooner," Blair said. "I know how much you were looking forward to this."

"Not a problem, Chief." Jim grinned, looking at the waves breaking onto the shore. "All the better that we have a little privacy."

Blair stopped a few yards from the waterline. "This looks like a good spot." He spread out the blanket and tugged off the shorts, revealing the blue thong suit Jim had bought for him. Settling on the blanket, he pulled out the sun lotion and began spreading it liberally on his skin.

Jim jammed the end of the surfboard into the sand and knelt on the blanket. "Here, let me help with that," he said, taking the bottle and pouring some of the coconut-scented lotion into his hand. He began by covering Blair's back, making sure to rub the lotion in thoroughly. He still had some on his hands as he reached around and rubbed the excess over Blair's nipples. "Mmmm, smells delicious," Jim purred, leaning down to nibble lightly at Blair's neck.

Blair tilted his head back and let Jim continue to kiss him. When he encountered the thin, flesh-colored sponge covering Blair's stoma, Jim stopped. "Why?" he asked, picking at the edges of the patch.

"Protection," Blair explained, giving his lover a lazy smile. "I'm not embarrassed about it anymore, but I need to keep it covered in case there's blowing sand."

Jim stopped teasing the edges of the covering. "Oh. Okay." He nodded, and then slapped the side of Blair's thigh. "Turn over." Blair flipped and stretched out, exposing his naked backside. Jim drizzled the lotion across the rounded butt cheeks and began massaging it in.

Blair had folded his arms and laid his head against them. A groan escaped his lips as Jim rubbed in the sun protection. When he was done, he gave Blair's ass a pat. "You can sit up now."

"No, I can't," Blair returned with a wicked grin. "Technically, exposing myself on the beach is illegal, and this postage stamp you call a swimsuit has just gotten to be a size too small."

"Need any help with that?" Jim asked, giving the inviting ass another slap.

Blair turned to glare at his licentious mate. "I think I can handle this myself," he said dryly.

"Well, then, I'm going surfing," Jim said, standing. "When you can fit back into your suit, you may want to watch. You never know, you might learn something."

"I already know everything I need to know," Blair told him. "Now, get going." Once Jim had left for the surf, Blair reached beneath himself and squeezed his aching cock. Burying his face in the blanket, he muffled his groans as he massaged himself to completion. Tucking himself back into the small swimsuit, he rolled over and wiped up the mess with a towel, coating his skin with a new film of sunscreen.

He looked up in time to see Jim watching him intently as he waited for his wave, sensing, even from the distance that separated them, the smell of arousal and completion. Jim pushed to a stand on his board as the wave he was riding began to crest. Blair smiled as he watched his lover ride the wave home, and then turn to paddle out again. After about an hour, Jim grabbed his board and walked up the sand to where his lover waited.

"How about a lesson?" he asked, standing his board next to the blanket and sitting down next to Blair.

"Jim!" Blair protested as the man in question wrapped a cold, wet arm around his waist. "You're soaked! Get away!"

"Afraid to get your suit wet?" Jim leered at the sapphire package, the contents clearly outlined against the tight fabric.

"I'm not so sure this suit was made to get wet," Blair commented. "I can't afford for it to shrink any more."

Jim let out a boisterous laugh. "Who cares? There's nobody around to see." He stood up, grabbing Blair's hand and pulling his reluctant lover up with him. "Come on, this'll be fun."

"Where have I heard that before?" Blair muttered, following Jim out to the water.

Slapping the board down in the shallow water, Jim gestured toward it. "Stretch out on your stomach."

"You're coming, right?" Blair asked, looking over his shoulder once he was prone on the board.

"You bet!" Jim stretched out on the board, covering Blair's butt and legs with his own body. "Start paddling, Duke."

They paddled out to just past where the waves were breaking. Floating on the lightly bobbing fiberglass board, Jim pushed up on his knees. "Time to get up." He tugged lightly on Blair who pulled his knees under him and knelt in front of Jim. "On the count of three: one... two... three!" Grasping Blair's waist, he helped his unsteady partner to his feet, balancing on the weaving board.

"Oh, man!" Blair yelped, flinging his arms out as counterbalance. "Hold on, Jim! Don't let go!"

"It's good; you're doing great," Jim assured him as they caught the gentle wave and rode it the short distance to the shore.

Jim hopped off the board to steady Blair, who had already stumbled onto the beach. "You did great, Sweetheart!"

"Whoa, what a rush!" Blair exclaimed, his face glowing. "Now I know why you enjoy this so much."

"Want to go out again?" Jim asked, smiling.

"Can I try it on my own?"

"Sure, why not?" Jim turned the board around and pushed it out into the shallow water.

Blair knelt on the board, and then stretched out, paddling into the surf. He got out a bit farther than Jim had taken him, and nearly panicked when a bigger wave lifted the board.

"You can do it!" Jim shouted from the shore. "Wait... wait... NOW!"

At Jim's shout, Blair pushed up to stand, wobbling slightly as the wave crested and began to carry him in. He had only begun his ride when he overbalanced and fell into the water. Jim immediately dove in and swam out to where Blair had disappeared into the ocean. A cold fist of fear gripped his heart as he looked around near the board, without seeing Blair.

The sound of splashing brought him around. About twenty feet away, Blair flailed in the water, his face a mask of panic. Confusion joined the fear in Jim's mind. He knew that Blair was a strong swimmer. What could possibly be wrong? A few swift strokes brought him alongside the drowning man. He wrapped an arm around his lover and pulled him to shore.

As the water got shallow enough to stand, Jim picked Blair up and carried him over to the blanket. The younger man was clawing at his throat, where the stoma was exposed after the soggy patch had been washed away.

"Dear God...." Jim moaned, realizing his mistake. When Blair had fallen into the ocean, water had flooded his stoma, choking him. They didn't have the suction bulb with them; neither man had considered that Blair might go into the water. What had come over him, anyway, thinking Blair should try to surf? And why had Blair gone along with the suggestion?

Setting his questions aside, he covered the stoma with his mouth, sealing the hole with his lips and tried to blow air into the starving lungs. When that didn't do enough, he laid Blair flat and tried chest compressions, worried that the sand did not provide a firm enough surface for the action to be effective.

Water gushed from Blair's lungs and he began to cough and sputter. "Jim?" His voice was weak and shaking.

"It's all right. It's going to be all right now," Jim crooned, pulling Blair into his arms.

~oO0Oo~

"I'd like to keep him overnight," Dr. Kalima said, watching the monitors. "He seems to be recovering well, but in cases of near drowning, it's a good idea to keep a close eye on the patient for at least twenty-four hours." She smiled at the nervous man pacing beside the bed.

Jim nodded. "Is it all right if I stay with him? He gets a little spooked when he wakes up in a hospital."

"I can imagine," the doctor said with a nod. "He's probably seen more than his share. Is he still in treatment, or is he in remission?"

"Remission. Five years," Jim said with pride. "This vacation was supposed to celebrate that fact."

"I'm sorry it had to turn out this way for you," Kalima said sympathetically. "Probably not what you had in mind."

"No...." Jim sank down in a chair next to the bed and grasped Blair's hand. "Not at all. This isn't the first time he's drowned...." His voice trailed off and he stared at their clasped hands.

The doctor rested a reassuring hand on Jim's shoulder. "He's going to be fine. Just let him rest, and then take it real easy for the remainder of your stay here. I'll come in and check on him again before my shift ends."

"Thanks, Doctor." Jim settled down to his vigil, waiting for Blair to wake.

Three hours later, Jim was brought out of a light doze by a squeeze on his hand. "Jim?" A soft voice cut through the fog of grogginess.

"Blair! Oh, Sweetheart... How do you feel?" Jim was immediately on his feet and leaning over the bed.

"Chest hurts." Blair laid his free hand on the area, while increasing the squeeze on Jim's hand.

"You almost drowned when you fell off the surfboard," Jim told him. Then, turning to his old self-incriminating way, he muttered, "Whatever got into me to want you out on the water? I should have known better."

"I should have known better," Blair croaked. "You only wanted to share something you love with someone you love. I should have said no."

"I shouldn't have asked," Jim countered.

Blair coughed to clear his lungs. "We could go around and around," he said, giving Jim a weak smile, "but it's over and done. I'm okay."

"Some vacation this turned out to be," Jim groused.

"I love you," Blair whispered. "Kiss me?"

The request brought Jim out of the funk he was settling into. Leaning over the bed, he pressed his lips against Blair's, pouring all his love into the simple contact.

~oO0Oo~

The next afternoon, Dr. Kalima stood signing the release papers. "Now, Blair, you'll need to cough periodically to keep your lungs clear. Sometimes it's going to hurt a bit."

Blair nodded. "I understand. And if I start coughing up phlegm--"

"Call the hospital right away," the doctor finished for him.

"Any other instructions?" Jim asked, holding out the shirt he'd brought in for Blair to wear back to the hotel.

Kalima shook her head. "No vigorous activities, and definitely no swimming," she said with a smile. "And it would be a good idea to check in with your family doctor when you get home," she added.

"What do you mean by 'vigorous' activities?" Blair asked the doctor, while arching an eyebrow at Jim.

The doctor eyed him speculatively. "Nothing that gets you breathing too deeply or too rapidly. You won't be up to any marathons for a while."

"But light exercise, like walking...?"

"Walking is fine. It would do you good to get out, breathe some fresh air," Kalima agreed. "Just take it easy."

"Everything in moderation, eh?" Blair winked at Jim.

"Don't go getting ideas, Darwin," Jim chided. He turned to the doctor. "I'll see to it that he behaves himself," he promised.

A short wheelchair ride out to the pick-up area soon had the men on their way back to the hotel. As they walked through the lobby, the concierge called out for Jim. "Mr. Ellison?" He waited for Jim to turn around. "There was a call for you while you were out, from a Captain Banks. He said it was important."

"Thanks," Jim said, waving at the man. "I'll call from our room."

"Wonder what that's about?" Blair asked as they made their way through the corridor to their room in the Molokai Wing.

Jim shrugged. "I suppose we'll find out soon enough."

When they got to the room, Jim insisted that Blair lie down. "But I just got up!" the anthropologist pointed out.

"You need to take it easy," Jim reprimanded. "Lie down. I'll bring the phone over to the bed."

Blair scooted over, propping himself on a pile of pillows while Jim dialed the number for Major Crime back home in Cascade.

"Captain Banks," Simon answered when the switchboard put the call through.

"Simon? This is Jim. I heard you called."

"Where the hell have you been?" the captain asked. "I've been trying since last night to get a hold of you."

"There was a little accident, sir. Blair had to spend the night in the hospital," Jim told his boss.

"My God, is he all right?" Simon asked, sounding immediately concerned for the youngest member of his team.

"He'll be fine, Simon. What's the important news?" Jim settled on the bed with the phone between him and Blair.

"Is Blair with you now?"

"Yes, sir," Jim answered.

"He's going to want to hear this, too," Simon insisted.

Jim scooted closer to Blair and held the receiver so both men could hear what their captain had to say. "We're listening, Simon," Jim said.

"I hope you're both sitting down," the captain began. "Christine Larkin pleaded guilty to three counts of murder, and one of attempted murder."

"What convinced her to do that?" Jim wondered.

"More than likely her attorneys told her she'd be facing the death penalty if she went to trial," Simon explained. "By pleading guilty on all counts, she gets life in prison without parole instead."

"Well, I'll be damned." Jim sighed. "I'd rather see her die and rot in hell, but at least she won't be able to hurt anyone else." Jim looked up from where he had been picking at some loose strings on the quilted bedspread to smile at his lover. "Thanks for the news, Simon."

"Thought you might like to hear it now, rather than have to wait," Simon said. "I'll let you go, but I want the full story of how Sandburg ended up in the hospital again once you get home."

"You've got it, sir. Good-bye." Jim hung up the phone and turned to Blair, who was smiling. "Looks like you're off the hook for having to testify."

"It was worth a dunk in the ocean to get news like that," Blair laughed.

"Bite your tongue!" Jim snapped, only partly in jest. "Nothing, nothing, is worth almost losing you." He put the phone back on the nightstand and gathered Blair into his arms. "Nothing could replace holding you, loving you. Remember that. Besides," he added, "getting dunked was not a condition for receiving that news."

"I know," Blair said, snuggling into the warm embrace. "Sorry I scared you like that. I just forget sometimes, if you can believe that after all this time," he said with a sigh. "You make me forget I'm disabled."

"That's because you're not," Jim said, emphasizing his words with a peppering of kisses to Blair's face and neck. "You are the most able person I know, and that's saying quite a lot."

"But there are limits," Blair responded, rubbing his growing erection against Jim's thigh.

"Only those you set for yourself," Jim replied, reaching down to squeeze the persistent bulge.

"Swimming," Blair said, beginning to breathe a little heavily. "I shouldn't...." His voice hitched slightly as Jim's hand slid inside the shorts he still wore.

"Shouldn't what?" Jim asked, unbuttoning Blair's shirt with his free hand to suckle the hard point of one dark nipple.

"Oh God, Jim!" Blair breathed. "Vigorous activity... shouldn't...."

Jim pulled back to get a good look at his lover who was already panting heavily from the stimulation. "You're right, we'd better stop. This can't be good for you."

"Like hell!" Blair said, grabbing the lapels of Jim's shirt and pulling him in for another kiss. "Stop now and I'll kill you myself. Fuck or die, Ellison!" Blair growled, stripping as quickly as his entanglement with his partner allowed.

"Pushy little devil, aren't you?" Jim said with a chuckle, shedding his own clothes. "Well, if we're going to do this, we're taking it slow and easy, understood?"

Blair nodded. "Just get on with it!" he begged, hands reaching for his lover.

Jim gathered Blair into his arms, one hand stroking through the short curls. The kiss was long and sensuous, tongues exploring, tasting, mapping, doing battle. When it ended, Blair lay back on the pillows with a sigh.

Jim continued down the willing body, taking one peaked nipple into his mouth, teasing the nub with his teeth until Blair arched beneath him, moaning with need. He could smell the pre-come leaking from his lover's rigid cock, but chose to ignore it for the time being.

Tracing lazy circles with his tongue on the furred abdomen, he dipped into the depression of Blair's navel and then out again to rim the sensitive area. Blair's hands grabbed at his head, trying to push him lower, toward the needy, straining cock.

Jim slipped lower between Blair's spread legs, kissing and licking at the sensitive skin of Blair's inner thighs. Lifting his head, he took a testicle into his mouth, sucking and rolling the ball over his tongue. Blair's groans were growing louder, as the young man fought to lie still against his burgeoning arousal. Ignoring the insistent sound, Jim moved to the other testicle, giving it equal time. He had to bat Blair's hands away from the aching erection that was dribbling pre-come on Blair's belly.

"Mine, Ku'uipo," Jim scolded his over-anxious partner. "Have patience, Love."

"Oh, God... Jim, please!" Blair's voice begged from near the head of the bed. Trying to comply with Jim's command, he curled his fists around the edge of the headboard, his knuckles white with the effort to restrain himself.

Jim's head dipped back between Blair's legs, his tongue darting out to rim the sensitive pucker. At the touch, Blair's hips lifted involuntarily off the bed, his moans becoming more intense. Jim's tongue pushed past the tight ring, breaching the opening, preparing his lover with slow, measured strokes.

Carefully monitoring Blair's heartbeat and respiration, Jim deemed it was time to end the sensuous torture. Reaching to the nightstand, he grabbed the tube of Astroglide and coated his fingers. He finished stretching the opening before rolling Blair onto his side and spooning up behind him.

Aligning his cock to Blair's center, Jim pushed in slowly. His left hand began a gentle stroking of Blair's shaft, while his right arm pillowed Blair's head. His thrusts were leisurely and unhurried, designed to satisfy and fulfill without excess stimulation.

Blair rocked against him, keeping time with the internal rhythm of Jim's thrusting. A soft hum of satisfaction sounded from his throat.

Jim kissed the back of Blair's neck, nuzzling into the short, soft hair at the nape. "Love you, Sweetheart," he whispered into Blair's ear before taking the earrings with his lips and tugging gently.

Blair turned to look over his shoulder at his lover, smiling sweetly, never losing the rhythm of their lovemaking. "Thank you."

"For loving you?" Jim asked, surprised. "I can't do anything about that. I'm smitten."

"For always being there for me," Blair explained, groaning as Jim increased the pressure against his aching cock. "For never leaving."

"For better or worse," Jim answered, kissing Blair's shoulder. "In sickness and in health." His thrusts became slightly more insistent as he climbed toward his completion. "Not even death could end my love for you."

"Oh, God, Jim!" Blair cried out as his balls pulled up hard and his orgasm washed over him. The clenching of his internal muscles wrung a matching cry from Jim, who climaxed a heartbeat later.

Gathering Blair closer against him, Jim luxuriated in the sensations washing over him as he spiraled down from his orgasmic high. His softening cock was still buried in the tight heat of his lover's ass, where it belonged. Blair snuggled back against him, sighing. "Thank you," he whispered again. "Thank you for the first five years of the rest of our lives."

"The rest of our lives," Jim echoed, content to love this man for however many years were granted to them, and beyond.

"Ku'uipo" is Hawaiian for "my sweetheart."

Duke Paoa Kahanamoku (1890-1968) -- the "Father of Modern Surfing." -- Jim refers to this legendary surfer when he calls Blair "Duke."