EVERYTHING HAS A PRICE

Punching at the 'up' button on the elevator, Blair impatiently bounced on his toes, staring at the floor indicator above the doors as if to will the car to hurry. Behind him Megan muttered something that he didn't pay attention to, his thoughts were so inwardly focused. He had a possible answer to the Anderson case right on the edge of his awareness and if he let anything distract him, he might lose it before he could capture it. The necessary piece to nail it down for him was in his case notes, he was certain of it, and where the hell was that elevator?

Unwilling to wait, he ran for the stairs, vaguely surprised to hear Megan's steps echoing his. At the landing just below the floor for Major Crimes, she caught up with him, then was past him, pivoting on one heel and blocking his steps. "Look, Sandy, we're going to be late for that disposition at the A.D.A's office if we don't head back down to the car, right now, and move it. Or do you want another earbashing over being late again?"

Pulling up short, surprise definitely at the forefront, Blair said with a trace of confusion, "We've got two hours before that meeting, and yes, I'm sure, since that's obviously your next objection. Even if it wasn't, it won't take me a minute to find what I need; I can read in the car if you're that worried about the delay."

"I tell you what, I'll go get it for you, and you can pick up a bite for both of us. You know that once you open that file, you'll get pulled right in and lose all track of time."

Catching something in her tone or her body language, Blair reluctantly let go of his flash of insight, and studied Megan. A crow of raucous laughter came from above them, and she flinched, guilt coloring her expression for a split second. Suddenly sure that she wanted to keep him from going back to his desk, Blair went back down a step, trying to decide what to do next.

Obviously the Major Crimes gang was cooking up something that they wanted to spring on him, and much as he wanted to believe it was a good thing, that hint of guilt in Megan argued otherwise. Realizing that he was onto her, it flashed again, this time accompanied by fear, and Blair's stomach cramped up into a single knot of apprehension. He wasn't the target. Jim was, or she wouldn't be afraid of his reaction. Megan had been assigned to keep him out of the way until it was too late for him to interfere with whatever the others had planned.

Not sure whether to be angry or worried, Blair pushed past her, frowning her down when she put out a hand to stop him. Not allowing himself to hurry, he finished the short trip to the bullpen, grinding to a halt when he saw the decore' that had been added to it. Busy with hanging more black crepe around Jim's desk or artfully rearranging 'over-the-hill' paraphernalia, the other members of Major Crimes didn't notice him, giving him the opportunity to take in their efforts in detail. The variety and plentitude of pointedly black and mildly insulting decorations was astonishing, and Blair had no doubt that the untidy stack of small gifts piled on the desk was in the same vein.

"This is way too over the top." Though he hadn't intended to, Blair said what he was thinking, holding his ground when the others spun to stare at him. He shook his head, meeting one gaze after another, not trying to hide his disappointment and disapproval. "It's just... wrong."

One by one they all turned away from him and hurried back to their own desks, their own jobs, leaving him bewildered that they had planned this assault on Jim.

"Sandy," Megan started.

Unable to look at her, but knowing that retreat would be a mistake of the worst kind if he was to make his point with his co-workers, Blair simply walked away, going straight to Simon's office. Almost before he knocked, Simon called his usual gruff 'come in,' telling him clearly that the captain knew what had been going on in the bullpen. Throwing himself into a chair, Blair ran both hands through his hair, fumbling for the right thing to say to the man who was both his friend and his commanding officer.

Finally, trusting Simon to find the path between both roles, Blair said, "Why didn't you stop them when it started getting out of hand?"

Elbows on his desk, Simon pinched at the bridge of his nose under his glasses. "Because by the time I caught on, I couldn't warn them off without it looking like I was showing favoritism."

"You wouldn't," Blair said instantly, but Simon waved off the rest of his protest.

"Normally yours and Ellison's solve and convict rate stops that bullshit from getting serious, but right now it would be too easy for it to find an audience. The brass still has the entire department under scrutiny."

Simon gave a snort of disgust and pointedly went back to their original topic. "Besides, I kept waiting for you to rein them in."

Eyes on the floor, Blair admitted, "They kept me out of the loop, totally." Simon's silence was the only comment he needed to make and Blair glumly added, "Which says everything about how busy I've been everywhere but in my own department, and saves you the trouble of doing it. It's just there's always another cop that could use my help, a case that I have input for, a victim who needs more than for me to take his statement."

Simon chuckled. "Which is exactly what Jim said would happen, by the way. That you'd throw yourself into being a cop the same way you throw yourself into anything you do."

"He did?" With permission given, of a sort, to finally talk about how and why he'd been offered a badge, Blair asked the question that had haunted him from the moment it had been casually tossed to him. "Did he, uh, have a hard time selling the others on the idea?"

Looking at him and shaking his head, Simon said, "All those brains... You aren't the charity child for Major Crimes, Sandburg. As a matter of fact, technically it wasn't any one person's idea, let alone Jim's. It was a spontaneous brainstorm brewed in minds used to solving problems. Most of the department was in my hospital room, officially giving me a run down on a case and unofficially helping me survive the tedium, when Jim unexpectedly announced to the room, 'if we don't do something, we'll lose him.' Nobody had to ask who or why we would."

"Oh."

Eyes on the ceiling and oh so carefully not commenting on how tight Blair's voice had been for that one word, Simon went on. "They tossed around more than few ideas, trying hard to find a legitimate position for you that came with a paycheck but left you a civilian. The general consensus was that it was too useful an edge to lose, if we could avoid it."

Somehow finding his voice and working to keep it steady, Blair said carefully, "I would have thought it would have been easier than getting me hired as a cop."

"Same here," Simon said, leaning back in his chair and getting comfortable, as if he'd been wanting a chance to have this conversation, too. Belatedly Blair wondered how long he'd been forced to keep his distance from them, unable to remember the last time he'd seen Simon for any reason except the job.

"Strangely enough, it was the D.A's office that insisted it wouldn't work. Credibility for a civilian consultant or advocate or liaison is everything in the courtroom. As a cop, there are half a dozen ways, in their opinion, to deal with any liability attached to your reputation before you joined the force. Especially since you, personally, had never actually done anything illegal or even wrong."

"Yeah, they went over that with me before I was officially hired," Blair reminded him, wincing at the memory of the way he'd been hammered in a mock cross examination.

"You'd already proven yourself as a witness in cases where you were an observer," Simon said sympathetically. "But they had to make sure you could hold up against the kind of dirty tactics that could be used against you. Their recommendation went a long way to getting you the job."

Simon hesitated, then added honestly, "The only person we weren't sure would be behind the idea of you joining the department was you. Jim had some worries that your principals might keep you from carrying a gun, and a few, especially Taggart, agreed. Don't think that Jim didn't want you as a partner; just that he wanted you to have a choice."

Glowing with an echo of the relief and pleasure he had felt, Blair said, "He told me that himself. When we all wound up at your place afterwards? Found a chance to talk to me privately and in his usual Jim way made it clear that if I couldn't do the badge, we'd find a way to stay partners."

He rose and paced around the small room, that entire evening rushing through him. "Everybody, and I mean everybody was behind us that night. If the sentinel thing was on anybody's mind, they kept it below even Jim's radar. Even my mom seemed to understand that there was more going on than friends trying to help; that I was considered a part of the team, an important part."

Stopping he looked out through the gaps in the blinds and watched as the birthday decorations were quietly taken down an assumed air of casualness. The presents went away, as well, usually as discretely as possible, and he thought he caught more than one glimpse of sheepish regret. "How did we get from there to here? It's all just so wrong," he murmured, repeating what he had thought - and felt - earlier.

Simon joined him and watched for a moment as well, cigar turning over and over in his hands. "What makes you say that?"

Concentrating on what he saw, Blair said automatically, "There's a malice of spirit to it all. I mean, it's not even Jim's fortieth; why do the over the hill thing, and why in such excess?"

"So go find out what's behind it," Simon said quietly.

The unexpectedness of the order got through his absorption, and Blair shot him a look of surprise.

Meeting it blandly, Simon added, "Jim's not the only one who thinks that it's your non-cop qualities that work best for you - and for the department." He opened the door and literally ushered Blair through it. "Go, do your thing. Fix my people before we lose what made Major Crimes the department every cop wants to work with."

The door snicked quietly shut behind him, and, gaze on the floor as if in deep thought, Blair went to his desk and booted up his computer. In the middle of waiting for the familiar chime, he realized that it was the first time that day he'd even sat in his own chair, let alone worked on one of his and Jim's cases. Casual conversation at home or on the way to work had kept him abreast on all of them, and of course he had accompanied Jim out in the field, but Jim had taken care of the drone work for days, usually the chore for the junior partner.

Which should have been pointed out to Blair some where along the way, in joking tones, perhaps, but with a definite air of 'put the rookie in his place.' Not that they had ever really treated him like that since he'd become an official part of the team. Was that the reason for the distorted birthday thing? Rookie hazing twisted so that Jim would take the brunt of it, leaving consciences clear that Blair wouldn't feel as if they'd changed their minds about having him?

Unconsciously shaking his head, Blair dismissed the notion. It didn't ring true for a group as tight as Major Crimes. Hazing would have been above board and open so that Blair could get his own shots in.

Trying to pinpoint their motive, he came at the problem from the other side. What should they have done for Jim's birthday, fortieth or not? Approached him quietly, he decided, one at a time, maybe with a present, definitely with a joke or back-handed compliment, slowly building up to a quiet snack of cake and coffee in the break room or drinks after work. The madness that had been going on could only have gotten more vicious; he couldn't imagine what could have topped what they had already done.

A split second later he corrected himself. There was one thing that could have made Jim's discomfort worse. Calling it a hunch, Blair looked over at where Megan and Rafe were whispering to each other in urgent tones that wasn't quite arguing.

He was on his feet and moving instantly, coming up on them so quickly they didn't have a chance to notice his approach. As Megan was saying, "We'll get Sandy on our side; he'll see the funny side of it."

"No, I won't," Blair said flatly. They both jumped, but he cut off their explanations. "Cancel the stripper, now. Eat the deposit, if you have to. It beats the hell out of the complaint for sexual harassment I'll lodge if one shows up here looking for my partner.

"Sandy…"

"Hairboy…"

"I mean it." Blair sat on the edge of Rafe's desk, leaning in to keep their words private. "I'm not sure what fantasy you have in your head about how Jim's going to react, but you're both wrong. Come on, think it through. The Jim Ellison we all know and love will ignore the dancer, probably without looking up from his paperwork, then politely applaud when he or she is done. What else could you possibly expect?"

"For him to act like a human being for a change," Rafe snarled. "Not a badge with a body to carry it around, treating everyone else like they're specialized pieces of cop equipment!" He stomped off, leaving Blair goggling at his retreating back.

"What was that all about?" he asked rhetorically.

"Ellison might not have enjoyed the dancer," Megan snapped. "That doesn't mean no one else would have. Let's move, or we really will be late."

She kept the curt, professional tone for the rest of the time Blair spent with her, but he hardly noticed. Though he had had vague plans of taking his partner out for dinner for his birthday if Jim didn't have a lady to celebrate with, it didn't seem enough now, yet he couldn't think of anything better. That bothered him, almost as much as it bothered him that he felt more was called for. Last year had been beer, pizza and a taped game on the tube. If he went by the banter and how relaxed Jim was by the end of the evening, that had been exactly the right thing to do.

So why wasn't it the right thing to do this year?

It went somehow with the vibe of wrongness in the bullpen, and was still another question that had to be answered.

Introspective to the degree he couldn't remember even talking to the D.A., let alone what he said, Blair pulled himself back to reality when he went in the front door of the station and spotted Jim standing to one side of the elevators. Anybody else would have thought he was merely waiting for a car; Blair could tell that he was listening intently. Of course, he thought, making his way toward his partner. Even if anybody we work with suspects Jim might really be a sentinel, they have no idea how much he's capable of. They don't know they can't keep a secret from him without taking some extraordinary precautions, which means that he knows they're up to something.

Blair didn't blame him for wanting a bit of advanced warning on exactly what was waiting for him. What he didn't understand was why Jim would go up at all, unless he thought he had to. Which he didn't, Blair decided suddenly. It was end of shift and unless Simon had handed off a hot case to him, there was no reason not to go home.

Better yet, there was no reason not to go out. Dismissing Megan as if she didn't exist, though she was trailing after him, he said cheerfully, "Hey, there you are." With a playful punch at Jim's upper arm, he added, "Many happy returns, man. Got anything special going on to celebrate?"

Smiling as he ducked the blow and pretended to return it, Jim said, "Just another day to me, Sandburg. You know that."

"So, no date?"

Blair felt more than he saw Jim's withdrawal; on the surface he kept up the buddy-to-buddy front. "Not seeing anyone in particular right now."

Or for a while, Blair realized, mentally adding it to his growing file of 'what the fuck is going on.' Aloud he said with a broad grin, "Then allow me to buy dinner tonight so I don't have to come up with an excuse for not having a present."

"Tofu burgers with alfalfa sprouts," Megan chirped up from behind them. "You really know how to treat a body, Sandy."

There was no mistaking the withdrawal this time, but all Jim did was shrug. "Beats the hell out of his cooking. At least this way I have half a chance of recognizing what's on the plate."

With a subtle shift to put himself closer to Jim and Megan at his back, Blair said, "Call it a plan, then, and I think we can do better than tofu for a special occasion. How 'bout Billy Mack's Steak House and an order of prime rib with all the trimmings?"

Clearly pleased, Jim said, "Sure you can stretch your budget that far? You need to be pre-qualified for a loan just to look at the menu there. And there's not a single healthy thing on it."

"Hey, it's your birthday." Bringing up their running joke, Blair added with just the right touch of mischief, "You won't mind if I'm a little late on the rent this month?"

"Rent?" Jim asked innocently. "You're supposed to pay me rent?"

Laughing, Blair took him by the arm and towed him away. "We can discuss it over dinner."

He didn't miss the snort of disgust from Megan, and attributing it to her frustration that he had successfully derailed any ambush she and the others might have still had on tap, Blair promptly put it out of mind. It was harder to put aside his worry at how off-kilter Major Crimes was, but he succeeded until it dawned on him on the way to the restaurant that Jim was as ensnared in oddness as his co-workers were. It was just far more subtle. So much so that if he hadn't been sensitized to the latter, he wasn't sure how long it would have taken him to notice the former.

At the same time, he couldn't point to any specific behavior on Jim's part that he could call him on and demand an explanation. Their conversation was a bit more subdued than normal, which could easily be attributed to weariness from a long day. Blair talked more than Jim did, not that it was remarkable, though Jim usually managed more than a few leading questions and 'keep the other person talking' comments.

It wasn't until they pulled into the parking lot at Billy's that he had a definite clue, not that it made sense to him. Just before he got out of the truck, Jim took a deep, appreciative sniff, and the delight that suffused his features was one that Blair was familiar with. He'd seen on the faces of fellow students after they'd come back home from roughing it on an expedition, caused by the smell of food they had longed for when it had been impossible to get.

As quickly as the expression came, it left, replaced by a polite social one that effectively hid Jim's real feelings, despite the practice Blair had had seeing past it. Somehow, of all the disconcerting, troubling things he had dealt during the day, that bothered him most. It spoke of Jim having both time and opportunity to learn to conceal himself from Blair, and it hurt that Jim thought it was necessary. Blair couldn't begin to imagine why he had; until that moment he would have been willing to swear that their partnership had never been stronger.

It was not, however, a topic of conversation for what was supposed to be a special outing. Reluctantly, almost superstitiously afraid that letting it slide would be a mistake, Blair concentrated on making sure Jim enjoyed himself, not that it was particularly hard to do. Their normal banter flowed more easily as they moved from one topic to another, laughter occasionally in its wake, while they waited for their table and nursed a beer. By the time they were seated, Blair wasn't sure he hadn't been imagining the awkward beginning to their evening; Jim's pleasure in his company was obvious.

Just as he was convinced that other worries had misled him into misreading his partner, Jim hesitated over the menu, clearly of two minds about what to eat. With a deference that was completely unsettling, he waited until Blair ordered, his face turned down so that Blair couldn't read it. Even after Blair ordered a seafood appetizer tray for them to share and a ribeye with fries for himself, Jim kept glancing at him as he asked for a petite cut of prime rib, almost as if he expected Blair to want him to change his order.

Hoping to coax the reason for the indecision, Blair said lightly, "Petite cut, not queen? I thought you said that was the perfect size to satisfy an appetite for beef."

Patting stomach muscles that were so taut that Blair doubted the skin over them could be pinched, Jim said facetiously, "Watching the calories a bit. Takes more and more time at the gym to maintain this."

A casual comment that one of the uniforms had made about Ellison training for a triathlon because of all the hours he was spending working out suddenly made sense to Blair. Holding down a serious comment about over doing it, he said, "You could let yourself go a tiny bit and let the rest of us feel a little less out-classed."

"If I ate nothing but pizza and watched the tube, I'd still out-class you," Jim said with just the right tone of one buddy ranking on another.

Too right, as if he were uncover and saying what had to be said to be believed, but Blair still let it go in favor of giving Jim a chance to relax and enjoy himself. Tomorrow, he vowed silently, was another day all together, and he fully intended to do whatever it took to get to the bottom of whatever the hell was going on. Aloud, he said, "You do realize that the only reason I'm not regaling you with information on exactly what all that rich food is going to do to you is because it's your birthday, right?"

"As gifts go," Jim said dryly, "It's better than a pair of socks."

"That the worst you've ever gotten?"

"Not even close."

"My personal worst was a package of neon orange underwear given by one of my mom's lady friends when I was like, twelve or so."

Wincing theatrically, Jim said, "What is it with honorary aunts and inappropriate clothing choices? One of mine gave me an athletic cup."

Snickering into his drink, Blair tried to top him. "One of my girl friends gave me panties. Nice lace ones, with satin lining. I never could decide if it was a hint for a change in our bedroom activities or a way to get them for herself!"

The next little while was spent trying to come with the most outrageous gifts they had received, given, or had wanted to give. Blair's cheeks were hurting from grinning so widely, and once or twice he thought Jim was going to snort his beer. Their humor seemed to be contagious; the waitress was giggling when she brought the appetizer tray. With a tongue-in-cheek admonition that food should be treated seriously, she sashayed off, leaving the two of them greedily ogling the goodies in front of them.

"Have I mentioned I only had a peanut butter sandwich for lunch?" Blair forked a shrimp, dipped it in sauce, and popped it into his mouth, mmmm'ing enthusiastically.

Jim didn't answer. He had a lobster stuffed mushroom on his fork, butter dripping inelegantly back into the dish, and was eyeing it as if it were a diamond. With great deliberation, he brought it to his lips, licked it, then his lips, then took a dainty bite. Clearly savoring the flavor, he chewed slowly, eyes drifting half-close. After swallowing, he repeated the process, nibbling away at the mushroom as if each bite were better than the last.

It was the most sensual thing Blair had ever seen, and his second shrimp hung midair as he watched his partner eat. When the mushroom was done, Jim selected a crab cake, picked it up with his fingers, and proceeded to lap out the savory filling between bits of crisp crust that he broke off and popped into his mouth. That morsel gone, he paused mid-reach for a shrimp for himself.

"It's not any good?"

"Huh?"

Jim pointed at Blair's forgotten shrimp with his fork. "The shrimp, it's not good?"

"No, I mean, yeah, it's delicious, just, ah, anticipating, you know?" Blair quickly ate his shrimp, not tasting it at all.

With a barely perceptible sniff, Jim said, "Good, the cocktail sauce isn't too spicy." He dredged the pink curl through the sauce, licked a drop from his finger that had gotten on it somehow, then slowly sucked the shrimp, sauce and all, through lightly pursed lips.

For one insane moment Blair wondered if the erotic action was a subtle come-on, and he took a long slow breath to steady himself, prepared to lie to Jim that he was just enjoying the smell of their food if he noticed. Fortunately or unfortunately - and for the life of him, he couldn't decide which it was - Jim didn't notice his sudden sexual interest in what he was doing. On the odd occasion in the past when Blair had found himself aware of Jim as a healthy, attractive male animal, he had pushed it away, grateful that his lack of experience in exactly what men did together in bed kept his speculation and fantasies vague. If he had known exactly what he was missing, he doubted that he would have been able to hide the surge of lust from Jim, or excuse it away as he'd had to once or twice.

The last thing Blair wanted was to complicate an already complicated relationship with something he wasn't sure was a good thing to actually have. And Jim had said early on that he had no intention of ever again getting deeply involved with someone he had to see to a daily basis after the breakup; making that mistake once was quite enough. Given that he had also said that he'd been attracted to men, but wanted a family, so had never walked that path, Blair had been content to ride out the occasional surge of temptation, relieved that Jim never noticed.

Or at least pretended he never had. More than once Blair had caught that speculative gleam in his eyes, but Jim always turned it aside into harmless horseplay. It gave Blair a charge to know that Jim found him sexy, and he saw Jim's reluctance to act on it as a sign of the value he placed on their friendship.

Which was all fine and well until Jim popped a finger tip into his mouth to suck the last dribble of sauce from it. Blair almost moaned with the need to swirl his own finger in the buttery cheese of the mushrooms and offer it to Jim for a taste. Or to paint it across his lips and lick them in obvious invitation for Jim to do the same.

Before he could give into temptation and coax Jim into turning his sensuality toward him, Blair's cell phone vibrated against his hip. Startled, he half-reached for it, then firmly put his hand back on the table. If it were an emergency, Jim's phone would have rang first, and Blair didn't want the interruption, even if things had taken an unexpected turn.

The aborted gesture was enough to get Jim's attention, though, and he put down his fork, all signs of pleasure gone. "Better answer it, Chief. That's why you give out your cell number - so people who need to can reach you."

Shaking his head, Blair said, "Neither of us are on call; it can wait."

As if that were a cue, the phone stopped vibrating, but the next minute Jim reached for his. Looking at the caller I.D., he said shortly, "Conner."

"Damn." Against his will Blair remembered the spark of insight he'd had earlier. "The Anderson case. I know that he's been using his telemarketing as a front for identity theft, but we haven't been able to prove it. Too many of the victims are ill and elderly; they can't give us enough to even bring him in for questioning."

"If you don't talk to Conner," Jim said, pinning him with an earnest, understanding look, "it'll prey on your mind until you do. May as well see what she wants and get it over with."

"Man, I don't..." Blair started.

"Go. It's my birthday, and if I don't have an objection to the job intruding, you don't have room to argue."

It took several more minutes of debate, but finally Blair's own sense of duty and obligation made it a moot one, and he gracefully surrendered. After a call that consisted of Megan crowing, "I've got it!" he made his excuses, making sure that Jim could see that he sincerely didn't want to go.

All during the cab ride to the station, Blair flipped back and forth between asking the driver to turn around and go back to the restaurant and reminding himself that he and Conner had put in serious hours trying to nail Anderson. Finally coming down on the side of the sooner the case was closed, the sooner he could devote all his energies toward the mystery Jim and Major Crimes had become, he mentally reviewed what he remembered of his notes, trying to reawaken the hunch that he'd lost earlier in the day. By the time he'd paid the driver and raced up to the bullpen, he had a glimmer of what he'd forgotten. He burst through the door and said, "Timing!" the same time Megan said it, and they both laughed as Blair dived for the file.

Two hours later they'd coordinated the calls officially made according to Anderson's records with the calls that had actually been received at each of the victims homes. "One extra, every time," Megan said jubilantly, highlighting the last one. "I don't know what it means yet; just that it's something that he's going to have to explain."

Flipping through the pages of a notebook, Blair muttered, "It's not here, it's not here. There was something, I'm sure of it."

"Hey, give it a rest, Sandy. Let it pop back up on its own." Megan tossed down the phone record she held. "Maybe order something. I'm fair famished."

Unpleasantly reminded of the steak dinner he'd abandoned, Blair said shortly, "You pick. It doesn't matter to me."

If Megan heard the trace of annoyance, she over looked it, and burrowed into a drawer for a stack of take-out menus. "Indian, maybe? There's that place on Fairfax that delivers."

"Whatever." He put down the notebook, exasperated, but the sight of it on the desk, crowded with his messy handwriting, conjured an image of another notebook, with much more precise writing. "Not mine. Jim's! I read something over Jim's shoulder while he was referring to his notes on another case."

Excited, he all but ran for his partner's desk, silently lavishing praises on sentinel sensibilities that loved to have everything in its place. Unerringly finding the notebook he wanted, he pulled open another drawer to find Jim's copy of the files that went with it, and frowned. Jim only kept open cases in that drawer, and to the best of his knowledge, there weren't that many right now. Yet the drawer was full.

Curiosity and the intuition that he'd just stumbled onto a clue about the changes in Jim hit him, and Blair picked one out at random, flipping it open. He recognized it as one of their old cases from when he'd first started riding with Jim, and skimmed over the text, growing confused as he saw that it had been heavily updated. A copy of the original text was in the back, with red comments in a stranger's handwriting all over them. It only took a few minutes of reading to realize that Jim was very, very carefully explaining, justifying, or out-and-out hiding every instance where his senses might have been used to bring in the bad guy.

Closing it, he took out another, to find the same thing had been done to it. A hasty check showed the same for all of folders behind the open case ones, most of them with obvious repeated revisions, and as he sat tapping the last one on the edge of the desk, a vivid mental image of Rhonda handing Jim a stack of files with an apologetic look that he returned with a wry shrug of 'what can you do.'

"The brass must be making him cover their backsides in case the sentinel thing ever comes up again," Blair murmured. "And he's keeping me out of it so that he can honestly say that I had no input on the final report. He'd be the one 'falsifying records' if it came to that."

Opening the one he held again, he skimmed through it again, this time noticing that his contributions were there in the same form they'd always been: stated simply in a way that made them all the more obvious for their importance to the solving of the crime. "Giving me credit, even back when it didn't matter. That must be part of the ammunition they used to get me the badge. God, I never even thought about what kind of bullshit they'd have to go through, the price everyone, especially Jim and Simon, had to pay to get that done. Is that why everyone's down on Jim? Because of the scrutiny the department's getting on these?"

That didn't fit, and with no other choice than to get back to the problem most immediately at hand, he took the notebook he had originally gone for and meandered back to Megan's desk. He had been at his investigations long enough that she had typed up an initial report on the Anderson case to give to Banks to keep him updated. With a gleeful grin she handed it to him, and he quickly read it over, nodding at her accuracy and their conclusions.

When he was done, though, Blair said, "You never mention my name. I've put in as much leg work on this as you have. More, since I was more patient about listening to elderly ladies ramble and pick out what we needed."

"You're not my partner," Megan said flippantly, taking the report away from him and signing it with a flourish.

Taking a step to one side so that he could see her desk and Jim's at the same time, Blair compared the two, almost as much symbolically as visually. To his shock, there was no sign of him in his partner's space, though his own desk was right beside Jim's. His coffee cup, his spare glasses, the pens he favored, even the menus to the take out restaurants he preferred had somehow migrated to one corner of Megan's. He didn't have to look to know that all the paperwork that should have been in his 'in' box was with hers, and that too much of it wasn't what he should have been working on.

"No, I'm not," Blair said softly. Scooping up folders and possessions until his arms were loaded, mug precariously balanced on top of it all, he went back where he belonged and began putting his stuff away.

"Ah, come on, Sandy," Megan said. "Don't get in a snit just because I made a bad joke." When he didn't stop what he was doing, she added coaxingly, "You could be, you know."

Dropping his pens into their holder with an air of satisfaction, Blair slumped back in his chair. "Why would I want to? And before you give me a list of all the things you think are wrong with Jim, let me remind you that I lived, played, and worked with the man for nearly four years before officially becoming his partner. If I didn't like him, flaws and all, I hardly would have lasted that long, don't you think?"

"That doesn't mean you can't do better," Megan insisted. "Hell, you deserve better. You're the spirit behind this department that makes it the best I've ever seen. It's why everyone was glad to back the move to bring you onboard; no one's had a moment's regret over it, either."

Tilting his head to one side as if she were a particularly interesting test subject, Blair said, "Thank you. But I want the partner I have, my recent behavior not withstanding. Tell me, do you want me because you think you can take the credit for everything we do, or because it'd be the ultimate competitive rush for you - taking Jim's partner away from him?"

As he spoke, Megan's expression grew more and more thunderous until she burst out, "Compete! With that bloody lying coward? I'd be a better partner for you if I were on the take and planning on dragging you into the dirt with me!"

Shocked to the core, Blair asked, "Lying coward?"

Getting up to pace, Megan said, "He let the whole world think you were the fraud, the cheat, when he's the one hiding what he really is, even from people he should trust! He let you commit professional suicide, like his career was more important than yours, and all you get for saving his arse was an offer to suck up more of his guff for a pitiful paycheck.

"The ironic thing is that he killed his own at the same time." She stopped in front of him, one hand chopping at the air as if to express her anger with implied violence. "Half the force doesn't think he deserves the Cop of the Year honors he racked up because he didn't earn it with honest cop skills, and the rest figure that if he had an edge like that, he would be doing bigger, better things, and was trying to manufacture one for just that reason. You gave it all up for nothing, and he doesn't have the balls to make it right for you."

She threw herself into a nearby chair and leaned forward, putting her hand on Blair's knee. "You really can do better, Sandy. I know you feel you're obligated to take care of him because you understand the senses thing, but you don't need to devote your life to that! He can take care of himself!"

Blair closed his eyes, and tried to find a way to breathe that didn't hurt. When he thought he could speak without breaking down, he said very, very softly, "Jim Ellison is the bravest, strongest man I have ever had the privilege to meet. Not once during the entire fiasco with my dis going public did he once deny what he was. He could have called his own press conference, publicly called me a liar, my research faked, with Ellison money and reputation to back his claims. I honestly don't think the thought even occurred to him. He could have run away, let the whole thing die down, then sued me for not protecting him as a research subject and taken me for everything I might have gained. Instead he stayed in his home, at his job, doing what he was meant to do, despite not even liking that idiot, despite what he had to go through every day from every person he encountered."

His throat ached but he had to take that deep breath, pain not withstanding. "All he wanted while he was being hounded by the press, mocked by peers, and threatened by his superiors, was for things to go back the way they were. He didn't ask me to leave or toss me out; he didn't rage at my mother for ruining his life, though gods know she deserved it, just because she is my mother."

He opened his eyes, blinked against the moisture in them and ignored the tear slowly trailing down his cheek. "No, he didn't handle it well. Yes, he was brutal with me over it. Given the hell he was in, I'm surprised he could even look at me without ripping my head off. How well would you have been able to deal with what he was going through? Every eye on you, judging you, making up lies based only on misplaced perceptions. What he obviously goes through every day if you're telling the truth about how the others see him, and not just voicing your own resentment."

Megan sat back, visibly arguing with herself. Finally, she said as gently as Blair had ever heard her speak, "You see things that way because you're in love with him."

"Yeah, so?"

Her jaw dropped all the way to the next floor.

Before she could recover, Blair stood and went behind Jim's desk, picking up the Anderson file and taking out his badge. "I took this because of this. Because I can help." He waved them both at the room in general. "Because I can contribute in ways I never thought possible; not just saving lives, but heart and spirits, too. Not because I didn't think I could get another job, not because Jim's abilities tie me to him, not because of guilt for the trouble I caused."

He put his badge back on his belt and pointed to his heart. "This is what keeps me going when I start to feel like the little Dutch boy with his finger in the dike, trying to stop a flow that can never be held back for good. This is the strength that I lean on when my own falters, the hidden compassion that fuels my own, and yes, the courage I measure myself against, made all the more powerful because Jim gives all that to me without knowing what it means to me."

"Sandy..."

Holding up a hand to stop her, Blair said, "One last thing, then this conversation is over and we are never, ever going to have another one like it. I've asked you repeatedly not to call me 'Sandy.' I don't like it, which I've also told you repeatedly. If you don't even respect me enough not to call me by a nickname that you stuck on me for the sole purpose of pissing on Jim's territory, how on earth can I trust you to be any kind of a partner to me?"

Leaving her sputtering behind him and thinking vaguely that as breakups went, that one gave him more satisfaction about being in the right than any other one he'd gone through, Blair raced for the loft. He had too much to process, and needed the security and peace of his - their - home. If Jim was up - not likely, given the late hour - he had a few pointed questions about what the sentinel was hearing his co-workers say about him. It certainly would explain a few things. If the other cops thought Jim didn't deserve the badge, Jim would do his damndest to become the super cop Rafe accused him of being.

What he didn't understand was why they would see Jim as the fraud and not him. Jim had established himself, his credentials, long before Blair started as an observer, let alone as a detective. Even if they suspected that Jim might have a gift that made him a better cop, it should have been accepted with good-natured, envious grousing and posturing, the same way a gifted athlete was accepted by his less blessed peers.

Pulling into his usual parking lot, he looked up at the dark windows of the loft. "Typical. I find an answer to one question about what's going on with you, only to have three more pop up, knowing damn good and well I'll be lucky to get a straight response to any of them from you."

Though Jim was used to his late night comings and goings, Blair tried to be as quiet as he could when he let himself in, moving around the dark rooms with the ease that came with familiarity. He hesitated before going to shower up, stomach reminding him that he hadn't had his dinner, and went to raid the kitchen for the steak he'd left behind. To his surprise, there were two snug in their Tupperware containers, looking very out of place among the otherwise healthy contents of the fridge. They were so out of place that he abruptly realized that he couldn't remember the last time Jim had bought junk food, let alone eaten any.

Which explained his obvious pleasure in the meal, but not why he hadn't finished it, though Blair had paid for both meals before taking off. In fact, the entire dinner was there except for the appetizers they had eaten before the call.

It was one mystery too many, more confusion added when he was already surfeit, and Blair retreated to his room, sleep the farthest thing from his mind. In the gray hour just before dawn, he slipped away, the beginning of a plan in place. After weathering Simon's justifiable storm for waking him so early, he got a long weekend off for himself and Jim, then called a few of his acquaintances from his free-roaming days with his mother to cash in some major favors. Everything set up before Jim's alarm went off, he returned home, mentally braced for a serious confrontation with his partner.

Both as a fair warning to Jim and to work off his own nerves, Blair made a hearty breakfast of whole grain and nut pancakes with honey and had coffee done by the time Jim came downstairs, nose twitching and wariness evident. Blair waved him off to the shower for morning ablutions, and feigning more calm than he truly felt, sat down with the morning paper to wait. Given how out of sync he and Jim were, he shouldn't have been taken aback when Jim merely sat down and quietly ate, complimenting him on his cooking.

With no wisecracks or guarded queries from Jim as to why the unexpected meal, Blair was left without an opening to begin convincing him that he should go on vacation with him, right now, as in right after breakfast. Unexpectedly floundering, he finally blurted, "This isn't to make up for having to leave last night."

"I didn't think it was; don't think you have to," Jim said mildly before taking a sip of his coffee. "Did you find what you need to get Anderson?"

Pulling at his hair at one side, Blair struggled on. "Yeah, and turned my hunch about break-ins coinciding with Anderson's last call over to Simon this morning when I talked to him." That got him a take, putting him back on mental track. "Bear with me a minute, will you?"

At Jim's nod, he took a deep breath and launched himself. "I got to thinking last night, yes, I know, dangerous all the way around, but still, I did, and I noticed a few things that bother me. Like you don't do much of anything besides work, work out, and read police journals or forensic texts, which is really just more work. You don't have to tell me that you had to curtail your social life because of media exposure; I figured that out on my own. I was with you at that Jags game, remember? If I felt like a bug under the microscope, you must have felt naked on a stage for a high school production, with all the whispering and pointing, and I had to see and hear only a fraction of it. I don't even want to go near the whole dating thing. Every time I try to imagine that I see a prospective date purring, 'just how sensitive are you, anyway?' and want to apologize for the entire species."

Looking fairly bemused, Jim waited while he took a deep breath, and returned the weak smile Blair gave him for it. "Anyway, some time off is definitely required, Simon was glad to give it, and while we usually go camping or hiking or whatever, the weather's just too damn bad anywhere that's within reasonable reach." Mentally he added, ' and the last time we did, you treated it like a training exercise, which hit me only in hindsight when I was planning this.'

"That's not a bad idea," Jim said neutrally. "Sleeping in for a couple of days would be good, and there are some things around here that I've been meaning to take care of."

"That's just another kind of work." Blair leaned toward Jim and put his hand over Jim's forearm. "A break means that - a break from everything that's wearing you down. I'd like to get out of town, some place completely different, do something completely different."

Jim didn't say anything or change expression from his patient 'waiting for the other guy to get to the point' one. With an odd feeling of having wandered into a stranger's life, Blair went on doggedly. "I'd like to take you to Vegas as my guest. I've gotten everything covered from the flight to transportation around town to the hotel to reservations for a house boat to explore Lake Mead."

"That's a pretty expensive birthday present," Jim said carefully, as if sensing that Blair had more on his mind that a vacation.

"Not really. I'm getting a lot of it free or at seriously reduced cost as payback for past favors." Blair ran his hand through his hair again. "If you're worried about the sensory assault, I'll be the first to admit that Vegas has got to be hard on anybody with all the light and noise it's famous for. Add in the stink that has to be worst than most cities because of the fear/adrenaline thing that goes with gambling, and the general air of promiscuity stirring up the musk of arousal, and I don't want to think how far down you're going to have to dial. But I honestly think you'll be able to handle it. I'll be there every step of the way as your own personal 'sensory white noise generator.' If it is too much, there's that houseboat and I've got directions to some fairly remote areas of the lake where you should be able to get away from the worse of it."

Pausing to marshal the rest of his argument, Blair was caught off guard when Jim said, "Sounds good. When do we leave?"

For a moment all Blair could do was stare at Jim, a part of his mind screaming in confusion and worry. Again all Jim did was wait for him to answer, and Blair finally managed to say, "I was expecting more debate, with you pointing out how heavy your case load is and a few digs at me about wanting an excuse to get up close and personal with showgirls."

Turning his attention back to his food, Jim said, "Simon already gave it the nod, case load or not, and what man in his right mind wouldn't want to try his luck with a showgirl? Besides, we both know I'll cave sooner or later; might as well save the fight and start packing."

"Hey, I like that kind of fight," Blair protested, automatically. "Pounding my head into a brick wall feels so good when it suddenly stops."

"I've wondered about that masochist tendency of yours," Jim said, grinning. He stood and picked the dishes to wash. "So, like I said, when do we leave?"

"Um, five minutes after you pack." Jim stopped in his tracks and shot him a questioning look over his shoulder. "Private jet; belongs to one of Naomi's friends. I'll call the pilot to let him know we're on the way as soon as we lock the door here." Blair stood and picked up his own plate. "I've already packed. Why don't I clean up here while you get what you need? Oh, and bring your tux, just in case, okay?"

With a last puzzled glance at him, Jim did as told, and once he was upstairs, Blair indulged in a few seconds of pure, unadulterated fear. "Wrong, wrong, wrong - it's all wrong, no, seriously past wrong," he said to himself. "Half the time Jim's the way he should be, and half the time he acts like an abused housewife who's resigned herself to being a punching bag until she dies. Is that why he's having problems with the guys at work, or is their attitude causing the change in Jim?"

Trying hard not to put too much hope into a few days of fun putting his partner to rights, Blair hustled through closing down the loft for an absence. By the time Jim had his suitcase at the door, Blair was done, and they left, comparing the various Vegas shows they had heard about and playfully arguing about which to attend. More because he was looking for it than because Jim showed any obvious indications, Blair could see it was mostly an act on Jim's part. Frustrated because he couldn't tell if it was because Jim didn't want to go and was placating him, or if it was something else entirely, Blair kept up his own performance, determined for it to become the reality he was accustomed to.

By the time they reached the hotel in Vegas, he thought perhaps he had succeeded, if he went by how fast the entire trip seemed to go - and how pleasant it was. It wasn't until they were alone in their room that he began to doubt the wisdom of bringing a sentinel into strange surroundings to get him to unwind.

"Is the sound proofing good enough?" Blair asked nervously, slowly turning in place to check the suite out himself. "No bad scents? I told Winston that allergies were a serious problem, including to some cleaning stuff, and he promised me that they had dealt with the problem with other guests and knew what to do."

Waving at the large sitting room comfortably appointed with over-stuffed chairs, a state of the art TV and sound system, all done in soothing blues and greens, Jim said, "Do I need to worry about the statutes of limitations on the favor you did for him to warrant this?"

Tongue in cheek, Blair said, "I refuse to answer that on the grounds that what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas."

Jim laughed, and strolled through the rooms to pick out a bedroom for himself. A few minutes later he called out, "Sandburg, please tell me you hid the body well."

"Huh?" Blair followed the sound of his voice and found him in a bathroom the size of the main room of the loft. Tiled from floor to ceiling in black marble, punctuated with gold fixtures, the room featured a sunken bathtub big enough to use as a swimming pool, and a corner shower lined with showerheads at every level. There was a fireplace at one end and French doors at the other that opened onto a small balcony that looked out onto the desert. Two long, low chaise lounges were on either side of the fireplace, and Blair would have been willing to bet that the cabinet discretely set into the opposite side held another television.

"Whoa."

"Yeah," Jim agreed.

"Want to camp out in here the entire weekend?"

Moving to the balcony, Jim asked absently, "Room service?"

"Done," Blair said lightly.

"Done."

"Except for one thing," Blair said, sure now was the time to spring the rest of his surprise. Reaching into a breast pocket, he took out two tickets and held them out to Jim. "The first round starts in about twenty minutes. Maybe postpone sybaritic indulgences until after?"

Though he had to be able to read the print from where he was, Jim crossed to take them from him, a shy pleasure lighting his face. "To the poker tournament? Front row seats and a pass to the pre Finals black-tie party?"

"That," Blair said, knowing he was beaming but unable and unwilling to stop, "Is your real birthday present." He made a sweeping gesture that took in not just the room, but the private flight, the limo, and the city. "The rest was just the wrapping for this."

Not giving Jim a chance to voice the protests Blair could see forming in his head, he hustled them both out, un-necessarily reminding Jim about the rules for the audience: silence and remain seated during all shuffling, dealing and betting. Though he loved playing a good hand of poker, he didn't consider it a spectator sport, but could understand Jim's fascination with watching it. To Jim, the money, even the cards, was inconsequential. For him it was trying to read the players. He tried to pick out who was bluffing and who really had a good hand, who was losing their cool and who was on top of his game. It took no time at all for him to immerse himself in the play, silent and alert save for the occasional grunt of satisfaction when he correctly predicted who would fold or bluff.

Blair couldn't help but get caught up in the air of subdued excitement, and he found himself giving little nudges or nods when he agreed or disagreed with Jim over what a player was doing. More often than not, they agreed, communicating finer points with looks or small gestures that wouldn't have meant anything to anyone else but them. When the games were recessed for a long break before the evening rounds began, he was revved up, having enjoyed himself far more than he expected. More importantly, Jim was Jim again, not an actor playing the role. It was a relief to be right about them just needing a change, and a few of the psychic knots he'd been carrying around cautiously loosened.

Rehashing the hands play-by-play, they went back up to their suite, Jim arrowing for the bathroom once there. In very short order he was in the Jacuzzi, up to his chin in the pounding water, a glass of very decent champagne in hand. His sensory bliss was so obvious that Blair turned down the invitation to join in him the tub, preferring to sit cross-legged beside it and continue talking, as much because Jim seemed to want him to as because he wasn't ready to be separated from him yet.

Gradually the talk died away into agreeable silences broken only by the hiss of the fire Blair had started as a distraction for himself while Jim stripped and got into the tub. Eyes closed, head lolling back on the bath pillow, Jim gave every impression of being half-asleep, and Blair was content to stand watch over him so that he could safely relax. His ease was contagious; Blair mellowed out as if he'd been meditating for hours.

Unexpectedly, Jim said, "Blair, I can't help but think that there's more behind this trip than a birthday gift."

The rare use of his first name told Blair that he couldn't brush off the question with a joke or a mock insult. Not ready to tell the whole truth for reasons he didn't want to examine too closely, he settled for half-truths that he hoped would satisfy Jim without arousing his cop instincts. "There is. Actually there's a lot of different stuff going on, and added all together, it made getting away seem like a good idea." Giving his glass his attention, he twirled it gently between his fingers, trying to pick and choose his way through all the emotions and thoughts flitting through him.

"Like?" Jim prodded gently.

"Like, there some apology in there because of the way I've left you on the own lately. I've worked everybody's cases but ours, and spent more time with Conner than I have with you."

"A little payback to the others for the support to get you a badge, a little reassuring yourself that you made the right decision, a little proving to the rest of the force that Major Crimes was right to back you," Jim agreed. "It added up but I knew what was going on; knew it was important."

With a sigh of relief, Blair put down his glass and put his elbows on his knees so that he could prop his chin in his hands. "I realize that now -and that's why there's some gratitude here. You didn't give me a hard time about not being there for you, didn't drop any pointed hints about exactly whose partner was I, no snide observations about a junior partner's place. You just trusted me to get it straight sooner or later."

Idly carving patterns into the bubbles of the jacuzzi, Jim said, "I may have to be hit over the head to learn some of life's harder lessons, but trust is never going to be an issue between us again."

"We'll find something else to fight about," Blair said flippantly, for once hoping a personal conversation with Jim was over.

One corner of Jim's lips lifted, as if he appreciated the humor in the observation but didn't want to be side tracked. "So apology and gratitude? That's all?"

"Ah... well, no." More truth, Blair decided hastily, but not too much. "There's some worry mixed in, too. All work and no play in anybody's book isn't good, but for a sentinel who has to keep control over his senses almost constantly, it has to spell major problems sooner or later. I know you're keeping yourself toned down as much as possible except when it's safe or your need your abilities, and frankly, I don't think that's a good idea, either. You're not made to be that way; fighting your own nature has always made for trouble."

Jim went still, head averted, for so long that Blair halfway expected him to turn on him in anger, grimly denying that he was less than one hundred percent in shape in every way that counted. Instead, he finally splashed water over his face and reached for a towel. "Can't say that I find your idea of R&R a bad one, Sandburg. So far this beats any vacation that I've ever taken on my own."

Getting out of the tub, he asked casually, draping a towel over himself as he did, "We've still got a few more hours to the next round. Want to try your luck with the gaming tables or the slots?"

Just like that Jim was gone, not physically, but in every other way that counted. He didn't retreat behind defensive walls, or put up a facade to cover what his true thoughts and feelings were, he left. Though Blair couldn't explain even to himself why it felt that way to him, there was no denying the sense of loss that cut deeply into him.

At the same time Jim was still there, standing in front of him, obviously waiting for an answer to his last question. With no action to point to and say, 'what just happened here?' with no misspoken word to draw attention to, all Blair could do was take the hand proffered to him and let this shadow of his partner help him to his feet. The deed was what Jim should have done, the grip was just right, but at the same time, Blair couldn't stop a shiver from an indefinable change in the touch.

"Want me to build up the fire?" Jim asked with what seemed like genuine concern.

"No, the casino sounds better," Blair muttered stepping away and resisting an urge to tuck his hands into his armpits to warm himself. "Give me five to freshen up, will you?" He made a shooing gesture, and with a mock salute, Jim left the bathroom.

Once the door was shut between them, Blair blindly trusted that this version of Jim would respect his privacy and staggered to one of the loungers to collapse on it. For several long, mad minutes he mentally bounced back and forth between convincing himself that he was imagining things and grief so bitter and vile he could have been mourning the loss of his own soul. The turmoil he was in put pinpointing the cause behind Jim's leaving, let alone formulating a plan to coax him back where he belonged, beyond him.

Finally a sharp tap on the door and a gruff, "Sandburg!" stirred him out of his stasis.

"Almost ready." He hurriedly washed up, suddenly glad Jim had suggested the casino. Going downstairs and drowning himself in the bustle and din of the crowd was infinitely preferable to hiding in the bathroom from his partner.

Once on the gambling floor, Blair launched himself into a wildly-colored comparison of Vegas and Atlantic City, deliberately trying to be entertaining, while he and his partner drifted by the various slots and gaming tables. The man made all the right noises to keep Blair talking, but it was obvious that he was struggling to cope with the sensory input, never losing the watchful, slightly guarded air of a cop being on duty despite it. There was no chance he was enjoying himself at all, yet he didn't suggest going someplace else or start snapping and grumbling in irritation to cover his discomfort.

It was too much of a reminder that this person wasn't his Jim, and in hidden despair, Blair picked a roulette table at random and found a place for himself. Without discussing it with his partner, he settled in for the long haul, not caring if he were winning or losing, as long as he had something to occupy his mind. Surprisingly, he won more than he lost, building up his modest stack of chips fairly quickly.

After a while the sentinel said, "Hey, partner."

Blair glanced up from the spinning roulette wheel, still mostly concentrating on the bounce of the ball. "Headache, man?"

With a short nod of agreement, lines around his mouth and eyes deepening even from that small movement, his partner said, "Going to go upstairs." He looked at the stack of chips in front of Blair and the lovely ladies on either side of him who had congregated as the winning streak - and chips - had. "Are you going to stay down here?"

"For a while anyway," Blair said, keeping his voice level with an effort. The faint tone of asking permission and the even fainter one of diffidence, as if his partner didn't have the right to question Blair on his plans, grated on his nerves as more proof this person wasn't Jim.

"Later, then." After glancing around, as if to make sure Blair were safe, no enemies lurking in the crowd of the casino, the sentinel left, people hastily moving out of his way, seemingly without realizing they did.

Blair watched him go, for once grateful to have him gone. Maybe without him around as a constant reminder of what he'd lost, Blair would be able to figure out what to do to get Jim back! Without looking, he placed another bet and gave himself back over to the whirl of the wheel and the tumble of the ball. Distantly he was aware of the growing throng around him and their rising excitement as his winnings accumulated, but neither it nor the wealth the chips represented mattered to him.

All the while he played, his mind bounced from one memory of Jim to another, trying to find the moment or the event that had fractured their relationship. It had to have been small, subtle - surely he wouldn't have been so wrapped up in becoming a cop that he wouldn't have noticed a major problem. And damnit, after all they had been through together, he would have noticed a small change, too.

No, whatever was wrong between them had to be solely within Jim, hidden under his reticence. With him gone, there was no possibility of prying the problem out of Jim himself, which created a major problem for Blair. Somehow he couldn't see the sentinel even understanding the question in the first place, let along having an answer. Shoving a stack of chips onto a random spot, Blair patted his fingertips against his lips, replaying their brief conversation and futilely searching for the trigger for Jim's departure, hoping for a clue there.

He got another win, and as he was scooping his winnings toward him, a uniformed officer appeared at his elbow and courteously asked, "Detective Sandburg?"

An air of camouflaged tension, a tight line of strain across the officer's forehead was enough to tell Blair that whatever he wanted, it didn't bode well for Blair. "Yes, I'm Detective Sandburg."

"Could you come with me, please? I'm sure the croupier will take care of your winnings until you get back."

Abandoning the chips without a backward glance, Blair gestured the man to lead the way. As soon as they had relative quiet around them, he said, "Can you give me some idea of what's going on?"

After a sidelong glance to assess him, the officer said, "We need you to identify someone, sir."

"My god, Jim... My partner, is he hurt?

For some reason his reaction reassured Officer Clay, though he became grimmer in the way that Blair associated with a cop who was seriously ticked, usually because of a suspect. "I can't say more than that, Detective."

They threaded their way to a back corridor, clearly part of the behind the scenes service areas. Clay asked, almost too casually, "What department are you with, Detective? Vice?"

"Major Crimes," Blair said, stealing his own glance.

"You've seen some bad stuff then?"

Taking the hint, Blair nodded. "Unfortunately. Done some good, too, though."

"Don't see any good coming from this." Clay motioned to a door and stood back to let Blair go through it first.

Seeing the keypad beside it, Blair asked, "Shouldn't this be locked?"

"It's not - that's why we were called in from foot patrol, right on this block, as luck would have it. A floor worker saw someone suspicious go in and notified her boss. The casino manager isn't the only one who wants to how his state of the art system was bypassed."

Seriously worried what trouble the sentinel had found, Blair braced himself and went in, gaze instantly flying to his bloody and battered partner. "Jim!"

With a slight shake of his head, the sentinel kept Blair from racing to him, and he turned to another office, older and more weary-looking than Clay. "Satisfied?"

"Not yet," the new cop rumbled in a deep, husky voice.

"That hippy could be anybody."

Tearing his eyes away from his partner, Blair quickly looked over the hefty security guard who had spoken, then the nervous well-built one beside him, before unwillingly checking out the body beyond them. Toughened though he was to seeing them, he couldn't stop from looking away, though he took in enough to know that it was a young woman, half-naked and barefoot, covered in blood, with a blood trail leading from yet another hallway. "Homicide and Forensics on the way?"

The two LVPD cops exchanged a nod, but the older one held out a hand. "I'd like to see your i.d. please."

There was a ripple of motion from the security guards, and Clay pointed to them with a cautioning finger. "Don't even think of moving until I tell you to. I'm more and more inclined to believe that this gentleman really was trying to help an injured woman when you beat the crap out of him."

"No badge, no wallet," the beefy one insisted.

"Bullshit," Blair snapped, doing asked and giving the new cop - Torrison - his badge. "He had both when we came downstairs. And I don't have to ask him to know that the first thing he did if, and I do mean if, you followed procedure by identifying yourself before jumping to conclusions, was hold it up to let you know he was one of the good guys."

The nervous guard blurted, "Didn't hear us coming."

His partner spoke up for the first time since Blair arrived. "Your steps echoed, you were already running - I called out to ask for an ambulance before you turned the corner. You came in batons swinging."

"Did you see him attack the woman on the security monitors?" Blair asked sharply.

"They're down." Now the first guard was nervous, sweat breaking out on his forehead.

"Why were you running?" the sentinel asked blandly, all cop despite the way he leaned on the wall to hold himself up. "Why leave your post to come here when there are a dozen entrances, a dozen security corridors?"

"I meant for this section," beefy blustered.

"There are still tapes, you know," the sentinel pointed out reasonably. "They'll record the static if nothing else."

Surprisingly Nervous pulled himself together. "Okay, so maybe we were over the top. You can sue the hotel because we sure don't have anything to take."

Immediately Torrison reached for his cuffs, and Clay already had his hand on his weapon in warning. "You're under arrest for assault on a police officer. It doesn't matter he's not local, boys. And if he's telling the truth about being trained as a medic, you might get accessory to murder for preventing him from doing what he could for her."

Beefy grabbed his buddy and swung him into Torrison, apparently not caring if he were shot. He turned to run, but Blair anticipated him, tackling low and at the knees to bring him down, knocking the wind out of him. With a practiced move he knelt to put his weight in the small of the man's back to cuff him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Clay had stepped clear, ready to draw his weapon if need be, while Torrison and the security guard grappled. The two of them tumbled into the sentinel, who went down, taking them with him. Regardless, he pulled back his elbow for a short, sharp punch with the heel of his hand into the guard's solar plexus, which was enough to put him out.

The sentinel rolled away, coming to rest with his back against the wall while Clay made sure of his prisoner. Curling in on himself, the sentinel coughed once, choked, and coughed again - a wet, bubbling cough that sprayed blood down his front. Forgetting about his own prisoner, Blair scrambled on all fours for him, putting his partner's head in his lap to elevate it to make it easier to breathe. With an all over shudder, he collapsed against Blair, more blood pouring from his mouth.

"Tell me there's an ambulance on the way," Blair snapped, patting his partner down to look for other dangerous injuries.

Before either of the officers could answer, the sentinel pulled Blair's head down and muttered so quietly only Blair could hear, "Raped, smell - theirs, her DNA on them. Cameras, glitch, timing, partner, timing."

Coughing again, the sentinel fought to stay conscious and do his job, but Blair smoothed a hand over his forehead. "I've got it covered, you can let go now."

For a moment Blair was looking down at a face he'd seen before on the cover of a magazine - a worn out soldier at the end of his endurance, trying to hold on until he'd been relieved from duty. Wild relief tainted with something akin to amazed thankfulness bloomed to replace exhaustion, then Jim slid away again, this time into unconsciousness. Unlike earlier, though, all of him was going, and in his mind's eye Blair saw him balancing precariously at the edge of a precipice, gathering his nerve before willingly surrendering to gravity.

Horrified, Blair replayed his words and saw that they could be taken more than one way. Before he could speak to undo the damage, Officer Torrison asked with an impatience that meant he'd already asked at least once and Blair didn't hear, "What did he say?" He bent over Blair, taking half-reaching as if to shake him. "Detective Sandburg, we need to know what he told you; it's testimony."

On one level, Blair had already taken Jim's words and applied them to the case, leaving him with a good idea of what had to be done. Timing was the key: when had Jim left his side, were the public security cameras working, did they capture him going into the service area and when, how long had the girl been missing, from where, when did the interior glitch happen, where were all the key players when it happened, when did the cops come in on them beating Jim, had they had time to make his badge and i.d. vanish or was did it have to be nearby still.

If he acted as a cop and worked the case, getting the answers to those questions, bullying Clay and Torrison into helping him, he couldn't stay with Jim. If he did as he'd sworn to do, what justice demanded he do, and nail the two guards as rapists and murderers, Jim would be lost to him permanently. Even if his body survived, Blair had no doubt that all that would be left would be duty, obligation, a 'badge with a human body,' as Rafe had called it. If Blair did as his heart and instinct demanded, and acted as shaman and guide to his sentinel, he might lose his place in Major Crimes for letting two criminals walk, could lose his right to be Jim's partner.

In the bare moment he had between Clay's demand and his touch, Blair made up his mind, ruefully admitting he owed Conner an apology for lying to her, however much he'd believed it at the time. He did take up the badge because of Jim, to be with him, to make sure he could be the best at what he did. Hell, if Jim wanted that damn superhero's cape, Blair would be the one buying a sewing machine to make the thing for him.

Without hesitating, he placed the palm on Jim's forehead and bowed his head, fully aware it would look like he was praying. Whispering so that only Jim could hear, truly praying that he would, Blair said, "Rest, now, Jim. Heal. I know how tired you are, how much the senses have torn and wracked you, but you can go off duty for now. I'll be here with you every step of the way, making sure you get what you need to mend all the raw spots and sore places. And I promise, I promise, it'll be better from now on. You just hang in there and get better. Please? Please?"

Jim mumbled and turned his head into Blair's stomach, eyelashes fluttering for a second. Taking it as a sign he'd heard and agreed, Blair reached for his hand and clung to it. "Ambulance?" he repeated, as if he hadn't heard Clay's insistent question.

"Nearly here," Clay snapped. "What did he say, Detective?"

Shrugging off the sarcastic emphasis on the title, Blair said, "Timing. As in, it takes it to find a target, get her someplace private, assault her, let her escape, and catch her again. Which is what had to have happened, otherwise, where are the rest of her clothes and the knife that cut her? Jim didn't have time; he wasn't away from me long enough. Who did? And conveniently while there was a glitch in the security system."

Eyes narrowing, Clay looked at the two guards, but if he had any more questions for him, Blair ignored them. EMT's finally pushed through the security door, accompanied by two men that were clearly plain-clothes detectives. Hoping he had given enough to the uniforms for them to do their job, he focused on Jim, saying all the right things to the medics to stay with his partner and get him the care he needed.

He kept his word to Jim and never left his side, using a serene determination and Jim's sensitivity to drugs to override anyone who thought he should be in a waiting room or filling out forms. It helped that every time Jim began to climb back toward consciousness, he called hoarsely for Blair, quieting only when Blair squeezed his hand hard enough to get through whatever sense was tormenting him. His ability to elicit Jim's cooperation came in handy when the doctor had to cauterize a blood vessel in Jim's throat that had been ruptured during the beating. Blair was able to convince him that he could do it without drugging Jim, as long as Blair was there to talk him through it.

It was the only serious injury, barring enough bruises inside and out, along with cracked bones, to make Blair's body ache in sympathy. Nevertheless it took massive persuasion to get Jim released instead of kept overnight for observation. The doctor agreed grudgingly, and only after reading them the riot act about rest meaning sleep and healthy food, not booze, broads, and gambling. Blair earned himself a piercing look from both Jim and the doctor when he said sharply that was not going to be a problem, but other than that, Jim never once objected to Blair taking command of the situation.

That was going to change, too, Blair vowed, but first, they both needed quiet, peaceful surroundings and more than a few hours sleep. Mercifully, a limo driver for the hotel met them at the hospital exit and bundled them both into the car, taking his cue from Blair to stay silent. He led them to their room by a private elevator, made sure they needed nothing, and waved off the generous tip Blair tried to press on him.

"Boss sent me," he explained quietly. "You're comped for life for stopping those two before they made the security corridors their own private hunting grounds. Sick bastards have been fantasizing about it for years; cops found a notebook in one of their lockers, with all the details lovingly spelled out. Thanks to you, they got caught first time out."

At Blair's wince, he added sympathetically, "I know, it would have been better if they'd been stopped before they took that young lady's life, but at least her death counts for something." Face showing open admiration and compassion, he said directly to Jim, "Poor thing couldn't have had more than a heartbeat to decide you weren't going to hurt her, too. Says a lot about you that she did."

Hanging his head so that his expression couldn't be seen, Jim muttered something meant to be taken for a drugged man not being able to talk, giving Blair the excuse he needed to gently shoo the driver out. He guided his partner to his bedroom, but Jim balked at the entrance.

"Sandburg, I have got to clean up better than a bed bath." Jim held up a hand with blood grime around the nails. "I don't know what gets to me worse: the feel or the smell."

"Or the memories both stir up," Blair muttered, not needing the sudden bounce of Jim's jaw muscle to know he was right. "Tub, because I have to tell you, I don't think you're steady enough for the shower."

Once they were in the bathroom, though, Jim hesitated, then admitted through clenched teeth, "I don't think I can get out once I get in."

Eyeing the sunken tub, Blair turned them both toward the open shower stall. "Not a single decent handhold, anywhere. Jim..."

"It'll only take a minute or two," Jim ground out, trying to pull away from Blair's support to prove he could stand on his own. He took two steps, but Blair clung to his side, wrapping an arm around his waist before the third could turn into a wobble.

"Look," Blair said as reasonably as he knew how. "I'll shower with you. No big deal. Believe me, I know how important it is for you to wash up thoroughly. You need rest, not nightmares induced by your senses digging up the past."

Jaw muscle going into triple time, Jim shook his head, but Blair leaned into him, half-hugging. "Did you hear me promise that I would do whatever it takes for you to get better?"

Eyelids going to half-mast to shutter his thoughts, Jim said, "I wasn't sure if that was real or not."

"I did, and I meant it," Blair whispered, taking his own turn at shifting away so that his partner couldn't read him, either. "Being a crutch for you in the shower is nothing compared to what I might have needed to do if the bleeding had been much worse."

Clearly weighing the invasion of his personal space with the necessity of cleanliness, Jim abruptly caved. "Same old, same old - still faster just to do it than to argue and wind up doing it anyway."

"Not to mention it means I won't have to wait." Blair grimaced and pulled at his shirt, deciding then and there to drop it in the trash.

"Have to admit, that'll be a help, too. Smell's not as strong coming from you, but it's harder to ignore because your scent is mixed in." Moving carefully, Jim eased off his own shirt as Blair reached in and turned on the water and experimented with the shower heads.

"How hot can you take it, and would a massaging spray be worse or better?" He asked, attention on the faucets to give Jim the illusion of privacy as he finished undressing.

"Doesn't matter. At least one side isn't going to be cold while the other's not quite warm enough," Jim said off-handedly. "Ever notice it always sounds like fun to share a shower until you actually do?"

"Cold, hard, slippery tiles are not conducive to a romantic mood. Hey, this is great - like a gentle rainfall but from all levels." Blair maneuvered Jim into the spray, then hastily took off his own clothes, slipping effortlessly into 'nudist colony' mode and blessing his mother for teaching him young that skin was just skin.

It served him well while Jim clumsily washed, though he eventually just propped himself up and let the water pour over him. Blair hastily scrubbed and rinsed, cutting it short when Jim began to sag. Without thinking he got himself under Jim's arm, putting his weight into holding him against the wall to steady him. All the reasons he had held up as shield and buckler about naked not meaning anything dissolved with the sweet shock of Jim's bare flesh gliding over his own.

With a small sound that jolted Blair to his core, Jim ran his hand along the outside line of Blair's torso and hip. At the same time all the tension melted from Jim's body, leaving him heavy but pliable in Blair's hold. Remember Jim's sensual enjoyment in his interrupted birthday dinner, Blair floated a fingertip over the sharp wing of Jim's shoulder blade, relieved when Jim exhaled slowly, chin almost on his chest, face coloring.

Pretending he didn't see the shame, Blair said as he turned off the water and reached for a towel, "People need loving, supportive, physical contact, and one of the most fucked up things about the culture we live in is its bias against one of the most important parts of being human. All because the average man is so dirty-minded, he equates all touch with sex, unless it's provided by a professional for specific reasons, like a hairdresser or therapist."

To his surprise, Jim smiled faintly, and Blair could all be hear him think, "A lecture now, Sandburg?"

He was so certain that was what was going through Jim's head that Blair said, "Yes, a lecture now." He tossed the towel he'd used on Jim aside and took one for himself before steering them both toward Jim's bedroom. "You have got to get it through your thick head that it's okay to enjoy my touch, to find it a palliative for pain. Especially now, when I'm damned near the only person it's safe for you to let your guard down with. I'm not going to take it the wrong way or take advantage of your weakness or think less of you for being more human than the society you live in."

Blair said the last with a huff as he finally got Jim to the bed, half-dropping him, half directing him in a fall as he sat. With some judicious shoving and tugging, he got the comforter over Jim, but when he went to tuck it in around him, Jim caught his hand, lacing his fingers through Blair's.

"Stay," Jim mumbled, flexing his grip lightly as if to make sure Blair understood it was a suggestion. He tried to blink himself more awake, probably to explain his request, but his over-taxed body simply refused to obey.

"It's okay. I know you'll sleep better in a strange bed in a strange room if there's something familiar for you to latch onto," Blair said reassuringly. "It wouldn't be a big deal if you weren't hurt; then you could just stretch out your senses to find what you need. But you're too out of it; they have to be acting up too much for that to work."

Jim squeezed his fingers again in acknowledgement and carefully edged over, clearly making room for Blair. Grateful his common sense had nagged his libido into respecting the limits of tolerance for an injured man, Blair took up the silent invitation. Sliding in as smoothly as possible to keep from jostling the bed, he turned to his side and got comfortable. It would have been easier if Jim had relinquished his hold, but he dropped into deep sleep, Blair's hand tucked tightly against his chest. Blair couldn't get angry with him for hanging on. Seeing him like that, as if clinging to a teddy bear or blankie like a child, negated any annoyance at how awkward a sleeping position it put Blair in.

It wasn't that bad anyway, he mused, yawning widely. Endearing really. In fact....

Blair never completed his thought, falling asleep himself, with not even pleasant dreams to break it.

A murmur of pain and an unaccustomed weight on his body pulled Blair out of slumber, and for a moment he had to blink at his surroundings, with no idea of where he was. Jim shifted position restlessly, nuzzling his head into where it rested on Blair's chest, their entwined hands still tucked under his chin. Automatically Blair feathered a caress over the back of Jim's head to quiet him, whispering that everything was okay, to just listen to his heartbeat and go back to sleep.

"Hurts," Jim said indistinctly, but he cuddled a fraction closer, brushing his cheek over Blair's chest. The rasp of his early morning beard sent a series of goosebumps scurrying over Blair from head to toe. As if that sensitized him, the next puff of Jim's breath over him pulled his nipples up into pebbled peaks, balls drawing up tight in their sack in reaction. He fought to hold off growing arousal, but he couldn't kill his awareness of Jim's skin molded over his, warm and incredibly soft for all the heavy muscle under it.

Already half hard, Blair carded his fingertips through Jim's hair in a last caress and braced himself to slip away. Before he could move, Jim nudged him to his back and perched over him on elbows and knees, hovering only inches away. Cursing himself for forgetting that, even injured, Jim could go from dead asleep to fully alert in zero seconds, Blair stared up at him with no idea of what to say to explain his state.

"Not going to dismiss it as a morning boner or the result of a wet dream before waking?" Jim asked, tone honestly curious.

Swallowing hard, Blair framed the side of Jim's face with the fingertips of one hand, afraid to do more. "You have to know that I've wanted you for a long time. But if I started listing all the reasons why acting on it would be a bad idea, I'd still be talking this time tomorrow."

Jim leaned into the touch, faint though it was. "My list is a hell of a lot shorter than yours, I think, mostly because it all boils down to 'what the hell do we do if it all goes south?' I can walk away from a woman, lick my wounds in private until I'm ready to try again, then get right back up to bat. But with you...."

"It would all be so fucked if it went bad," Blair filled in for him when his voice trailed off as he searched for words.

"In so many ways," Jim agreed.

"So we just keep wanting?" Blair asked, though he already knew beyond a doubt that making such a fundamental change in their relationship now, when something was so terribly wrong with Jim, was way more than a bad idea.

Jim took a deep breath, eyes going dark and hot, and Blair had a moment to reconsider, thinking that sex could also be a great bridge for communication. Before he could change his mind - or his hardon change it for him - Jim pulled away and rolled to his side so that all Blair could see was his back.

Yet the retreat was only physical; he was still there with Blair in every other way, relieving a fear that Blair hadn't admitted to himself until he didn't have to worry about it any longer. As if to prove that he accepted that wanting was the wiser thing to do, Jim said, "Do you want to sleep in a while longer? They're not coming to take our official statement until late this afternoon, and I don't feel like dealing with the crowd that'll be at the quarter rounds of the tournament today."

"Too awake, now," Blair said ruefully. "Maybe you should give me the uncensored version of what happened last night." He laid his palm in the center of Jim's back, between his shoulder blades to tell him that nothing had changed, he was there and always would be.

Relaxing slightly, Jim said, "The ironic thing is that I literally did stumble onto it, no sentinel abilities involved. My head was throbbing so bad I could hardly see, and I was just trying to get away from the noise. Went through the first door I came to, with no idea it was to a secured service corridor. I just knew it was quiet on the other side."

Jim finished filling him in, then their conversation meandered until he eventually drifted back off to sleep, which set the pattern for the rest of the day. Waking with his usual sudden alertness, Jim would eat the food that Blair had gotten for him while he slept, or stiffly, miserably get up to tend to personal matters, then Blair would lie or sit beside him while they watched the tube, or read, or just talked about everything and nothing until Jim's damaged body demanded the rest it needed to mend. After he got up and dressed the first time Jim snoozed, Blair tried to keep a physical distance between them, wanting to put temptation out of reach. Inevitably, though, he and Jim would drift closer, until a knee was snugged into a side, or a hip was firmly alongside a calf.

Neither commented on it, but neither made an effort to move away, either. The one time Blair tried to drag a chair up to the bedside, on the excuse that he had to make the mattress bounce every time he got on or off, he was met with a blank acceptance from Jim that reminded him far too clearly of all his unresolved questions. More than once Blair thought of bringing them up, taking advantage of Jim's inability to easily escape to get his answers, but those self-same injuries made starting that particular conversation too much like kicking a man when he was down.

Besides, they were both enjoying the lazy, peaceful day, and giving Jim quality downtime had been part of Blair's goal all along. It wouldn't do any good, he rationalized to himself, more than once as the hours ambled pleasantly by, to reaffirm the importance of their partnership to him, only to use it as a bludgeon to fix a problem that may have only needed that in the first place. Excuses firmly at the front of his mind, Blair gave himself permission to simply take pleasure in Jim's company for the first time in way too long.

Just as they were watching the last hand for the day of the tournament on the television, via in-house closed circuit, the real world broke in on their refuge in the form of two LVPD detectives who had been sent to take their statements. Resentful of the intrusion, Blair put on a friendly face regardless as he let them in, hopeful they could get it over and done with quickly. Sizing them up while they introduced themselves, he decided the partners were a veteran bringing up a rookie, though in this case the rookie probably had some military training behind him, to judge by his posture and attitude. Both had a bull-dog build along with WASP coloration, and they shared an air of old-fashioned sternness about them, as if a cop working in Sin City had to be above the decadence around them.

They were friendly enough, but Blair had spent too much time studying cops as part of studying Jim not to be able to see through the pretenses most of them used when working with outsiders. The older homicide detective, Steele, used his age to come off as fatherly and concerned; Tucker seemed earnest and solemn, reminiscent of television detectives from the age of Adam-12 and Emergency. In truth, they were mystifyingly on edge, much more than they should have been for the routine job of taking a statement for an open and shut case.

To settle them down, Blair said, "The good thing about working with another cop is that they know procedure; you don't have to tell me that you need to talk to us separately." He grinned. "The bad thing about working with another cop is that they know procedure. Jim's too grumpy from being laid up to make this easy for you. He's waiting for you in his room."

They chuckled at that, and Tucker stepped forward. "In that case, I'll leave him to my partner. He does gruffly sympathetic better than I do. Would you like to go elsewhere to give your statement?"

Gesturing at the expansive living room, Blair said dryly, "I think we can make this do. Jim's that way, Detective Steele."

Blair made himself comfortable on the end of the couch closest one of the easy chairs, but Tucker chose to wander around the room instead, peering closely at the various objects d'art and appointments. "Nice digs for a couple of cops," he said, conversationally, then turned to grin at Blair. "Though I hear you're getting comp'ed for saving the casino from a black eye."

Hearing the faint question underneath the comment, Blair casually said, "The hotel manager, Winston Brewster, is an old friend - his dad dated my mom kinda thing, back when that was still on the rare side. We've gotten each other into and out of trouble more than a couple of times, and he owed me from the last. Management here is allowed to give rooms to family members at a seriously reduced price, as long as it's not peak days, so he got me this for something I can actually afford."

"That why this weekend and not a more traditional vacation weekend?" Tucker bent forward to look out one of the windows, supposedly to admire the view.

"Birthday present, man." Blair shrugged with his hands, then spread them wide as if to ask for understanding. "Combined with a major need to get away from the job, if only for a couple of days."

"Been there," Tucker said, not unfeelingly. "Must be a real pisser that you get dragged into a case after coming all this way, even if you didn't have to waste time with airline schedules."

"Cascade, Washington isn't all that far, and the jet was another favor being paid off."

Tucker hesitated for a split second, barely enough to be seen, but Blair caught it. Instead of making a light comment about checking their credentials, though, he kept up the small talk. "Must feel like it though, coming from wet and more wet to heat and desert."

He's really wound up, making mistakes, Blair thought. Why? Aloud he said, "What it feels is great. I'm thinking about making like a lizard and just soaking up sun for the rest of our stay."

"So you and your partner aren't planning on visiting the casinos again?"

"Probably not," Blair said dismissively, then added with the right amount of black humor that a cop would understand. "Look what happened last time."

"Point. Still, after the run of luck you were having, I'd think you'd want to see if it was holding." Tucker glanced at Blair from the corner of his eye, suspicion bright and sharp in the quick look.

Puzzled, Blair cast about for a harmless answer that would let Tucker believe that he was making progress in his supposedly subtle questioning, and without a perceptible pause, decided to go for honest, just to confuse him more. "I was in the zone last night. No way I'd be able to do that two nights in a row. Hell, I don't think it could happen again for twenty years."

"Maybe your partner will want to try his hand?"

That was the kicker question, had to be, because Tucker had turned to face him completely for the first time since he'd started talking. On the heels of that understanding came the one that explained everything to Blair. They were using the statement they needed as cover to probe the possibility that he had been cheating at the roulette wheel last night - if sentinel abilities had been used to score a 'wining streak' for them. Which meant they had done far more than a standard background check. Again, the why of it was the biggest question.

"Jim doesn't gamble much," Blair said with deceptive calm. "Poker's the only game he gets into, and even then, he'd rather watch - hence the tourney tickets."

"He went out on the floor with you last night." Tucker finally sat, taking the arm of a chair, giving a very solid impression that he was finally leading into questioning Blair about the murder.

"To keep me company while I decided if I wanted to play or not." Frowning, Blair looked toward Jim's bedroom, wanting very much to be in there with him, and not just because he was concerned about how well Jim would handle having his senses brought up, let accused of using them to cheat.

Taking out a notebook and pen, Tucker asked, "How long did he stay with you once you picked a table?"

He's gotten his stride back, Blair thought distractedly. That's a good question that can be used for either the statement he's supposed to take or the cheating issue. The urge to go to his partner was growing stronger, almost becoming a compulsion.

"Sandburg?"

Blair yanked his attention back to Tucker. "I don't know. Like I said, I got in a zone, really focused on the wheel and the ball.

With an ingratiating smile, Tucker said way too casually, "Must have been a while. From all accounts you had quite a stack of chips. How much do you think you won?"

"I have no idea," Blair said, suddenly impatient to be done with the man. He stood, brushed his hair back from his face with one hand, and gestured toward the hotel in general. "The casino had a camera on the table, I'm sure. Unless all the security system was screwed, which I doubt or there would have been wall-to-wall guards until it was fixed. Check the time stamp on the video."

Projecting confidence, Tucker said, "We've already gotten copies, but you know how it is. Prosecutors like to have their facts checked, double checked, then checked one more time just to be sure."

"Mmm," Blair agreed, pacing around the room, aware that he was making Tucker think he was anxious, but not giving a shit at all, because something was wrong, getting wronger by the second, and he wanted this finished, now.

He ground to a stop in front of Tucker, and said rapid fire, "Look, we arrived early afternoon yesterday, went to the tourney, came up the room to chill during the break, went down to the casino to waste some time until the next round, checked things out, I picked a table that looked interesting, Jim hung around a while, got a major migraine, which he's prone to if you'll check his records, left me to go back upstairs, a uniform came and got me not too much later to identify my partner who had managed to stumble onto a murder, and he calls me a trouble magnet. That's it. Any point that needs clarified, elaborated on or discussed? No? Then type it up and I'll be in to sign it before I leave."

Not giving Tucker a chance to speak, Blair darted for Jim's room, feeling him going away again, as if he'd turned his back on the world and was walking into the jungle. Steele glared at him as he crossed to where the two of them sat on opposite sides of a small table, Jim managing to look imposing and regal despite the Goth artist's palette of bruises showing on almost all his bare skin. Taking a place behind Jim at his left shoulder as if it were the most natural thing in the world, Blair impassively returned Steele's glare, until Tucker lightly slapped his partner on the side of the head to get them all back in gear.

To Blair's surprise, Jim turned up his face to him and smiled, snapping back to himself as quickly as he'd left. "Easy, partner. They're just doing their job."

Blair let his expression show his opinion of that, but only said, "Not done yet?"

They both waited for Steele answer that, and clearly not happy with being put on the spot, he nodded.

"One last thing, then," Jim said. "My badge - where was it found and when can I get it back?"

Steele and Tucker grimaced, and Steele said, "In her body, where, ah, they cut her the worse. One of them said they thought that would implicate you more, and that we'd think you just hadn't had a chance to remove it when they caught you. Which means you'll have to ask your captain to reissue you another because yours is evidence, now."

"Every time," Jim murmured.

"Yeah, the perps come up with something worse," Tucker agreed, with seemingly honest understanding.

Digging at his eyes with two fingers, his exhaustion sneaking out despite his best efforts, Jim asked, "My weapon?"

"Still in its holster when they took you to the hospital; no reason not to return it, though you'll have to go down to the station to sign for it." Steele somehow managed to make the statement sound like an accusation, and Blair expected Jim to bristle and turn alpha.

Instead he leaned his head back on the chair, close enough for the crown to brush against Blair's side. "As I said, I was expecting help, and they came in swinging. I never had a chance to draw my gun, and the only reason I didn't take more damage was because the two of them didn't know how to stay out of each other's way. That or the blood lust was so high they couldn't work together like they should have been trained. I got the air knocked out of me fairly early on - I have no idea when or why they stopped beating on me. By the time my head cleared enough to know what was going on, two uniforms were standing over me, ready to arrest me. I don't know why they didn't."

Both Tucker and Steele looked uncomfortable, a flash of chagrin showing. "Ah," Tucker said, looking down at his partner as if to ask to be spared explaining.

Grimly, Steele said, "You were trying to crawl toward the victim, muttering 'let me help, I'm a medic, let me help.' And apparently the guards didn't even try to hide the wood they were sporting from working you over. It was enough to tip Clay and Torrison over toward suspicious right from the beginning."

"I owe them," Jim said simply.

Why that was the last straw their guilt could take, Blair didn't know, but Steele stood and gathered Tucker to him with a glance. "You're leaving for home on Sunday?"

"Late," Blair answered for them. "I'll call and let you know when we'll be in to finish things up." He showed them out with the sketchiest of good-byes, then hustled himself back to Jim's room.

Head tilted down slightly, Jim was clearly listening to the detectives as they went to the elevator, and Blair took the chair that Steele had vacated while he did. "They think the casino manager is full of it for bringing up that sentinel bullshit and making a big deal out of it," Jim said distantly. "Don't understand why they had to muddy a case just because a couple of cops hit it lucky. Isn't stopping crooked players what casino security is for?"

Softly so he wouldn't break his partner's concentration, but knowing that tone was as important as content, especially with cops, Blair asked, "How are they saying it, Jim?"

"With bravado - trying to convince themselves I'm just another cop and working on how to convince anybody else who brings it up."

"Huh, I would have expected them to be ticked - questioning us like they did made them look like the bad guys." Blair tapped his lips with his fingertips. "Maybe redirect it toward us for catching them in their suspicions."

"They don't want me looking at them too closely," Jim said, still with the detectives, mentally. "Most people don't."

"What?"

Jarred by Blair's startled outburst, Jim yanked back from following Steele and Tucker with his hearing. Unselfconsciously stretching out his long legs until they tangled with Blair's, Jim slumped down more comfortably into his chair. "Everybody has their secrets, even if they're important to nobody but themselves." He somehow gave the impression of shrugging without moving and bumped Blair's shin with his. "As a student of the human condition, you should know that."

"As if we don't have our own, right, partner?" Blair agreed, obliquely, wondering if this was the opening he'd been looking for to find out what Jim was hiding that made him willing to turn his back on life.

Before he could frame an opening line, though, Jim pinned him with the wide, happy grin that Blair had often wondered if anybody else ever saw. "Just how much money did you win, Sandburg?"

"I don't know." Blair reached for the phone and hit the button for the concierge, unable to turn toward somber things when Jim was feeling good enough to give him that smile. "Let's find out."

Fifteen minutes later he was barely holding in whoops of excitement as he politely escorted the day manager himself from their rooms. The moment the lock snicked home, though, he did a victory dance that took him all over the suite, keeping his triumphant yells down to slightly less than ear piercing in deference to sentinel hearing. Jim watched from his mountain of pillows on his bed, heh, hehing softly to himself.

When Blair finally wound down enough to throw himself onto the bed beside him, Jim said, "Guess I'm going to get that four years of back rent, huh?"

"At the very least." Blair waved the cashier's check in the air. "Do you know what I can do with this? Do you know what I can do with this? I can, I can, I can..." He rolled onto his stomach, stealing a pillow to wrap his arms around. "I can help Mom get that year-long around the world spiritual tour organized; this would be more than enough seed money for reservations for a good-sized group. Or partially back an anthropology expedition designed to help preserve native cultures of the rainforest. Or buy a huge chunk of rainforest and make sure there's a place for that culture to exist. Any of that and still do nothing but first class dates for a solid year."

He beat on the mattress with one hand in sheer exhilaration. A split second later he remembered the sore and exhausted body sharing the bed with him and grinned sheepishly at Jim. "Sorry, man."

It was odd to see such deep and abiding delight shining out of a face so badly beaten, let alone the tenderness that accompanied, but at the same time it was so Jim that Blair all but melted from the inside out. "We both know what you're really going to do with that, don't we?" Jim teased gently.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah - pay off a huge stack of student loans, get the Volvo fixed right for a change, and sensibly tuck the rest into mutual funds for the next time we have to fly off to where the hell ever to save the day." Laying his cheek on his pillow, he smirked. "But not right away, so I can dream for a while, you know."

An idea hit him that was just perfect, and Blair bounced to his feet. "In fact, how would you like to go new car shopping with me tomorrow? There's this place here in Vegas that specializes in recreating old classics. Care for a drive in the desert in a Thunderbird convertible or Stingray?"

"One of those will eat up more of that check than they're worth in cold, perpetually rainy Cascade," Jim pointed out, but from the humor in his voice, Blair knew he was teasing.

Responding in the same tone, Blair said, "I said 'shopping,' not buying. One is much more fun."

"In that case, how do you feel about Porces?"

***

Contentedly squirming into Jim's side for more of the shelter that he provided so effortlessly against the night chill, Blair stared down into the valley that held Las Vegas, for once beyond words. Draping an arm over Blair's shoulders, Jim settled himself comfortably on the tailgate of the Jeep Cherokee they had ended their day of test driving with, not tearing his gaze away from his own study of the city below them. Glad, and not for the first time in the past twenty-four hours, that he and Jim had dragged their mutual attraction out in the open, Blair luxuriated in the casual hug. Not having to hide his body's reactions to his partner made so many things easier.

After the LVPD detectives had left, they had laid their plans for today while he had helped Jim into and out of the tub for a long, hot soak that had done as much to help him heal as the bed rest had. They had retired back to Jim's room, to Jim's bed, without discussion, and spent a very pleasant evening and night there munching on a smorgasbord style meal, watching the semi-finals of the poker tournament until sleep claimed them both. If, occasionally, like now, Blair noticed how good Jim smelled or what laughter did to those incredible blue eyes of his, well, it was easy enough to chalk it up to hormones with a wry grin, and dismiss it.

Doing precisely that, he waved at the explosion of light and color set in unearthly darkness. "Say something, because I'm, like, not sure whether to go on a tear about the decadence the light represents or admire the ingenuity and perseverance that went into creating it."

"It's frenetic," Jim said unexpectedly. "Bumblebees on steroids, dyed all the colors of the rainbow. From here even the sound is insect-like, strident."

"No beauty at all then, as far as you're concerned, because I have to tell you, even bumblebees have their elegance." Blair let his eyes go a little out of focus and took a deep breath, letting the world around him, including the view, soak into every sense. Desert dry, not much in the way of scent; desert quiet, not much in the way of sound. No taste on his tongue from his breath; apparently the wind was with them, sending the inevitable pollution away. All he could feel was the cold encroaching on the wonderful day. Overwhelming it all was the flash and sparkle of Vegas' abundant neon.

"Chaotic, wild - yeah, frenetic bee colony would cover it," he murmured. "Do you perceive all cities like that, Jim? Organic, alive in their own right?"

"No, but they've all got a signature, not that different from the way every person has their own sensory fingerprint. New York is rushed, no surprise there, I'm sure, but it's an organized rush, if that makes sense. Definite, directed, purposeful. D.C. is ponderous, creaking, like the weight of snow building for an avalanche."

Fascinated, Blair asked, "Cascade?"

"That's tough - it's home. How many people are aware of their home beyond the emotional connotations?" Jim rubbed the outside of Blair's far arm to give it a share of the warmth the one tucked along his side was enjoying, clearly searching for words. "It's like a really good pair of boots that I've broken in perfectly, or a great pair of jeans that have been washed and worn so many times, they might as well have been custom cut for me."

It was a unique perspective that made perfect sense for a sentinel, and Blair couldn't help but ask, "And the loft? Your skin?"

"Warmth on my skin, like the warm, cozy spot your body makes in the blankets that's so hard to leave on cold days." Jim hesitated, but admitted with painful honesty, "You're my skin. A marvel and a delight, containing and defining, but not restraining or imprisoning. Sometimes I think I strike out at you to hurt myself; I've been trained to find pain... useful."

"Man," Blair breathed reverently. That kind of revelation was the last thing he expected, and he struggled to match and meet it, despite a purely male impulse to deflect the intimacy with flippancy. "There are times when I wanted you to, just so that you had a safety valve. That's why I've always forgiven you."

Predictably, Jim had to tone it down himself. "There's that masochist streak again, partner." He sighed, the air seemingly coming from the soles of his feet. "Speaking of which, it's time to head back into the bee's nest if we're going to attend the pre-party for the finals tonight."

Letting him go with an actual physical pang, Blair hopped off the tailgate and went to the driver's side of the car. "Are you sure you're up to it?"

"I spent the day stretched out in either a limo or an assortment of expensive convertibles, soaking up rays while you cruised the desert; I'm in a heckova lot better shape than I should be in, given how spectacular the bruises are. And I dragged that damned tux all the way here; might as well put it to use." Despite his light tone, Jim moved carefully as he climbed into the jeep.

Chuckling evilly, Blair said, "I can't believe how well we played all those sales people." He started the engine and aimed for the road. "You'd think they'd be pros at spotting a real sale from a 'just fantasizing here,' window shopper. But I'd wax eloquent over the motor or the lines or how much of a chick-magnet it would be, and you'd be all sensible, put aside the winnings, Sandburg, they'll come in handy, oh so casually working in that we're cops with a big windfall check in hand."

Expertly hitting the clutch and shifting, Blair got them up to speed, loving the way the air swirled through his hair and clothes. "And wham, out come the keys and the suggestion for a test drive, and I'd play the 'can't leave my injured partner alone,' card, and whoa, there we are, tooling along."

Answering Blair's laugh with one that was absolutely beyond wicked, Jim shouted over the rush of wind, "It's a good thing we're the good guys. Otherwise we'd be even more dangerous than we already are."

"Hey, yeah, I kept expecting to wind in up in a high speed chase for no other reason than because we were doing a test drive." While they were still in the shadow of the mountains, Blair glanced up at the brilliant covering of stars overhead and sent a formless burst of gratitude to whoever or whatever for the best day he'd ever had. A second was all he could spare at the speed they were traveling, and he grudgingly went back to his driving, but not before Jim caught him at his sorta prayer.

A little embarrassed, Blair stopped any possible comment by hitting the gas a bit harder and whooping as they surged forward. "I have to admit, there were one or two of those cars that I could really go for, including this one, ecologically irresponsible as the thing is. What I really, really want, though, is to have that limo at my beck and call for the rest of my life."

"I'm trying to imagine I.A.'s reaction." Cranking up the heat to compensate for the open jeep, Jim settled into silence since making himself understood over the road noise was a hassle. He could have heard Blair, of course, if he wanted to keep talking, but Jim seemed to really be into the simple pleasure of speed, road, and the wind in his face, as he'd been so much of the day. Content to let him re-immerse himself in it, Blair followed his example as much as he could, and was disappointed when Las Vegas loomed ahead of them.

He found the Jeep lot without any trouble, unable to stop another bout of evil chuckling when he saw the limo that had taken them from dealership to dealership was waiting in front, the driver standing idly by the door. It was the same woman who had been driving them all day, though Jim had very pointedly told her to get her relief and go off-shift while they were gone. Blair was well aware it was less because of consideration for a long day for a hard working gal than because the woman acted like she was going to knock Jim down and take him on the back seat at the slightest hint of interest from him.

Time for more male bonding, Blair decided; this time in the traditional form of joking at his partner's expense. "Ah, I see your latest dating-disaster-to-be is lying in wait for you. Better convince her to go home before she sees you cleaned up in your tux. One look and she'll Velcro herself to you for the rest of our stay."

"Hopefully her company has policies about fraternizing with the clients," Jim grumbled. Moving with exaggerated slowness and clumsiness, Jim climbed out of the jeep and literally hobbled toward the limo. Louder, meant to carry, he said, "All I want is a long, hot soak and good night's sleep."

Caught off guard because he expected a smart alec come-back, and Jim to gallantly take up the game with the lovely lady, Blair missed his cue and was knocked farther out of the loop when the salesman hurried up to him, artificial smile in place. Before he could begin his spiel, Blair cut him off with a sharp gesture and shake of the head. "The off-road drive seemed like a good idea at the time, but I think Jim's doctor is going to be tearing me a new one. To be perfectly honest with you, of all the cars I've checked out today, this is the only one I'm actually considering, but I won't be making any decisions until tomorrow. I'm sorry. Good night!"

Not giving the salesman a change for rebuttal, Blair hurried after his partner, getting the limo door slammed closed behind him so fast, it nearly hit him on the backside. The privacy glass was up between the driver and the passenger compartments, but Blair was willing to swear that he could feel a glare directed through it. Jim was stretched out on his stomach on one bench seat, facing the back, and Blair took the one opposite, crossing his legs under him.

After a moment of quiet that wasn't anywhere near as companionable as the ones he'd enjoyed earlier, Blair said uncertainly, "Did we over do it?"

Jim started to speak, visibly stopped himself, waited a beat, then said with painfully obvious determination not to sound angry, "Not really. Acting like I did makes an excuse to be less than polite to someone who won't take a 'not interested' to heart."

"Are you nuts, man?" Blair burst out. "She's gorgeous and just your type: beautiful, leggy, strong-willed. Okay, so she's not a redhead, but hey, you're allowed a little variation, here. This is Vegas, and you're here on vacation. She's not expecting anything more than a little wining and dining with maybe a good romp to end the evening." Heartache rose up unexpectedly, but he added with as much sincerity as he could muster, "Sex is supposed to be about fun, too; not just looking for the next Mrs. Ellison."

The line of Jim's back became so taut that Blair wouldn't have been surprised to see it vibrate in preparation for breaking. Again, Jim held his tongue until he was sure of his tone, and he said, "I'm not looking for a wife. I gave up on a future with that in it when I accepted being a sentinel. It's hard to find a place in your life for family when you're a regular cop; for me, it's impossible without sacrificing more than I'm willing to surrender."

"Jim!"

As if he hadn't heard, Jim said evenly, "As my father's generation would say, I've been looking for an accommodating woman. Someone who has a busy professional life of her own and only wants occasional companionship, an escort for social events, maybe the thoughtful gesture once in a while. Turns out that's hard to come by, too, unless you pull in more than a cop makes."

For a moment Blair couldn't think of a single thing to say that wouldn't sound pitying or angry or any one of a dozen other emotions that Jim didn't need to hear coming from him. Finally, unable to let the sullen silence linger any longer, he said as firmly and encouragingly as possible, "Even more reason to take advantage of a willing lady for a night."

Fury, as naked and unmistakable as sunlight, radiated off Jim, and Blair thought that surely now he would explode into one of his usual rages, slashing at any and all within reach. Instead the rage died, leaving behind a husk of a man who said emptily, "Sandburg, just once will you look at the reality and not your hormone-drenched fantasies? Use that brain of yours, that gift of insight that you're capable of bringing to bear when you're not thinking with your dick."

Blair didn't try to answer him; there was no point. Jim was gone again, leaving behind a simulacrum that Blair had nothing to say to. The feeling seemed to be mutual, and they finished the ride back to their hotel with a harsh, useless blankness between them that had the potential for destruction if allowed to fester. Regardless of his opinion of the substitute Jim, Blair did as he was told and thought hard, barely noticing their return to their rooms to prepare for the party.

As he shaved after his shower, he realized that the first thing he had to do, if he went by the conversation that had started it all, was to challenge his assumption that sex was better for Jim than anybody else because he was a sentinel. And once he'd looked at that square in the face, added it to how hard it was for Jim to simply live in a world not designed for him, Blair had to wonder why he'd been so sure of it in the first place. The man had trouble with the most basic of things and on a daily basis.

Stopping mid-rinse of his face, Blair considered one of the most startling problems. Any meal Jim ate held the potential bombshell of taste going off the scale, no matter when or where he had it. If an ingredient was off or the cooking environment had something unexpected in it, it had an impact on Jim's ability to eat the food, with absolutely no way for him to prepare himself in advance because even scent could be misleading at first.

The urge to procreate had to be as fundamental as the need for food, but if Jim could have difficulty with one because of sensory issues, why not the other? Unwillingly Blair thought of times when a woman's perfume or bad breath had derailed his own ardor, at least momentarily, and winced. For Jim every woman had to stink of everything from the cosmetics she wore to the laundry products on her clothes to whatever odors clung to her hair as she went about her daily business. And that was just scent.

Shuddering, Blair remembered his first look at the most intimate part of a woman. He'd been very, very young and at a commune where natural birth was supposed to be a group event for everyone, including children. His first impression, and one that would flit through his mind at the most inappropriate times even now, was that it looked very much like a wounded animal: raw, nasty with thick liquids that belonged inside out of sight. How could Jim find that appealing when he probably saw the bacteria clinging to the follicles and glands unless he controlled his senses viciously?

Emotional context, Blair lectured himself sternly. It was appealing because of the pleasure that it was responsible for, because of the person attached to it, because of trust and need allowing unpleasant distractions to be dismissed in favor of intimacy and hunger. That sort of context was rarely instant, and Jim's only other chance was for other imperatives, like rushing adrenaline from danger or pheromones, to overwhelm it.

Suddenly so many of Jim's choices in women made sense, and Blair could have kicked himself in the backside all the way back to Cascade for not seeing the truth before. Checking himself out in the mirror after he finished changing without really seeing the image, Blair muttered, "His last two disasters have been women from his past; he must have been trying to build on old associations to carry him over until he could create new ones. Fuck. Some observer I am."

Unable to put off joining his partner any longer, Blair mentally braced himself and went into the living room. It was on the tip of Blair's tongue to tell the sentinel to go ahead without him and spend the rest of the evening turning this new insight over and over in his mind to fit it into their lives. The bland, docile patience in the man made Blair reach for his suit jacket. As intriguing as his revelation was, the change in Jim was far more important. So far he'd been able to coax him back; there was no guarantee that he would always be able to.

Preoccupied with the morass inside his own head, Blair didn't really take notice of his partner as they left to go downstairs. It wasn't until they were standing at the raised entrance to the ballroom housing the black-tie party being held prior to the Tournament Finals that he was yanked back to his surroundings with a nasty thump. There was no way he could have overlooked the ripple of silence that accompanied their arrival. Hostile eyes darted toward them and hurriedly away again, leaving behind a wake of fear that bordered on hatred.

It didn't make sense. Why should they recognize them, and if they did, Jim was a policeman, a hero who stopped two potential serial killers before they could learn to cover their tracks. Yet everyone was staring at him as if he were the killer and they were the next victims. Blair took a split second and looked at his partner, really looked at him, trying to banish the familiarity and see him as a stranger would, and had to stomp on his own frisson of fear. Beneath the socially bland mask marred by bruises was a person who radiated deadly power and merciless indifference to anything but his own agenda. The suit, originally cut to downplay Jim's size and build, now emphasized the results of the sentinel's recent obsession with working out, making it obvious he had the physical prowess to back any demands or claims he might make. To Blair's knowledgeable eye, he was all sentinel, no longer anything as mundane as a simple cop.

At the same time he was such a magnificent specimen of masculinity, that the all the ladies and not a few of the men should have been panting over him, the aura of danger a titillating spice for their interest. Against his will, Blair's body tightened in response to the sentinel's beauty, and he had a brief image of lying under him, writing against his contained strength. Pushing it down hard, and needing more will to do it than he ever had before, Blair brought himself back to the problem at hand.

Beaming around at the ballroom as if he were delighted to be the center of attention, Blair said for only one set of ears, "I don't think we're welcome. Did I step in something on the way here or did my deodorant give up the ghost way ahead of schedule?"

Not unexpectedly, his partner ignored the humor, but still bent toward him as if to share the joke, one hand tucked under his elbow. "Something is up, here. I'm hearing the word 'sentinel,' and it's pretty obvious they mean me. Why would that be news again, especially in Vegas?"

It took everything Blair had to maintain his pose of being unaware of the atmosphere around them, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet to add to his pretense. "A better question would be how did they find out in the first place. It may be public record, but who besides the cops would be looking at ours, or care what's in it? The press, if they reported the murder at all, should have downplayed it to keep the tourists from worrying."

"Cops gossip, but not to the kind of people in this crowd," the sentinel agreed. "In fact, given the evidence, they shouldn't have dug hard enough to bring up the dis thing in the first place. It's not like it's in our files with the department." Surreptitiously studying individuals in the room under the guise of finding the buffet table, he gently prodded Blair down the stairs to the main floor toward it. "The way Tucker and Steele talked - maybe the casino manager was the one who did the digging. But even if he were suspicious of your win, why more than a routine background check? And then spread what he learned widely enough that it's common knowledge for a group like this?"

All too aware of the eyes on them, Blair said, as he picked up a plate "To have everyone focused on us instead of him? He could be trying to deflect the blame for hiring psychos."

If the sentinel had been a big cat, his ears would have abruptly perked up, tail lashing as he went into hunting mode. "Or he's worried about what the investigation would uncover if it went on too long."

"That's a bit of a leap, isn't it? I mean, he's going to be under extra scrutiny no matter what."

"Maybe he thought I stumbled onto something about him when I stumbled onto the murder," his partner said absently. "Bringing up the whole sentinel thing is to keep us distracted from looking at him."

"Everybody has secrets," Blair said in agreement, intending to remind Jim that it didn't necessarily make a man a suspect. But his voice trailed off, the words he'd just spoken clicking through his head, calling up others like dominos falling, each leading inexorably to the next.

Everybody has secrets. Everybody is afraid to have their secrets revealed. They would fear anybody who could. A sentinel could learn anyone's secret, even if he didn't want to. People would fear sentinels because of that. The people Jim worked knew he might be a sentinel. They were afraid of him because of what he might discover. To protect their secrets, they had to devalue, denigrate, and debase Jim, - his work, his life.

The only defense Jim had against them was to shut off the hurt from their betrayal and concentrate on what he was sure of - being a cop. Which made him work harder, do more, proving repeatedly and beyond doubt that he earned his place, and only served to make matters worse with the rest of the department. With no proof that he was incompetent as a cop, the attacks had to turn personal.

Pain razored through Blair, so devastating that he had no choice but to shove it far, far away, numbing himself from the soul out. Dimly, almost abstractedly, he thought, Well, now I know what's going on at work. And at least part of what's wrong with Jim. With his humanity locked down, all there is left is sentinel abilities and demands, which makes him even more terrifying. Damn. What a vicious cycle. I've got to help him find a way back to the way it used to be. Sudden determination rose, and he added, Starting now.

Making the move look like a buddy-to-buddy mock-punch, Blair caught the sentinel by the chin and made him meet his gaze. "You don't have to do this, you know."

Pure astonishment flitted across the man's face before he clamped down on his control with all his might, and Blair could feel the tautness in him. Not giving him a chance to blow, he went on. "This isn't your fight, your people, your territory. Vegas has cops of its own, and if you honestly believe the casino manager is up to something, you can talk to them about it. The idiot overplayed his hand with them; they'll listen if for no other reason than that."

"And if I want to take the case?" the sentinel snarled so softly that Blair could hardly hear him.

"Then take it. But because you want to. Look, if you didn't enjoy solving problems, outsmarting the other guy, you wouldn't be a cop; you would have found another way to protect and serve. It's not all instinct and genetic imperative. You have preferences, likes, dislikes, choices, like any other human. All I'm saying is, right now you're tired, stressed and injured, not to mention on vacation. Act on what you want and need, not what you think you should or have to do."

To his astonishment, Jim's eyelids fluttered down, and he caught his breath in a way that told Blair that he was on the edge of losing it. With great deliberation he took a single step away, clearly not trusting himself to be too close to Blair if he did. "It's not that simple or that easy."

"Why?" Blair waited for Jim - and it was Jim, all the way back and locked in place by an anguish that he could see if not understand - to answer.

He didn't. Taking the small plate with the few tidbits he'd chosen before their conversation turned intense, Jim retreated to a small table on the edge of the room, close to balcony doors. Anyone watching them most likely missed the small signs that something had changed since they'd entered the room, and the vitriolic gossip continued around him unabated, people not-so-subtly inching away in distaste. And becoming irritated when Jim didn't deign to notice.

Blair lingered over his own selections, giving them both a chance to recover. For all his un-natural composure, he very much wanted to go buy that Jeep and drive it into the middle of the desert, far, far away from people and face his rage and guilt. When he'd stayed back as long as he dared without people noticing, he joined Jim, already gearing up for a monologue on eating customs, an old standby that had gotten him through more than a few awkward social situations.

Thankfully, Jim said as soon as he sat down, "I'm not going to run."

Airily waving a hand, Blair said, "From this bunch? As if. Only way to deal with nasty gossip is to hold your head up high as if you'd done nothing wrong - which we haven't, but would even if we had - and kill 'em with politeness. Though your version is to ignore anything not pertinent to what's at hand; that works good, too."

"I meant from a case, any case." Jim snorted at a harmless piece of celery, then chomped it in two, as if to underline his contempt at the notion of him turning tail.

As mildly and blandly as he could, Blair said, "That is not what I said, and you know it." Dropping his head so his hair would shield him from nosiness, he added, "Please, listen to me on this, man."

Caring fingers brushed his hair back over his ear. "What do you want me to do?" Jim didn't sound angry or demanding or even hurt. It was more as if he truly didn't know what was right and was looking to Blair for guidance.

And that, Blair thought, clutching at his numbness, Is more of the answer. He's trying to be what I want him to be, what I expect a sentinel to be, right down to an ultra-healthy diet, indulging only with 'permission.' Probably out of guilt for how he acted when the dis went public, but because he wants to make sure I don't regret giving it up and taking the badge, too. Oh, God, he wants to make it all worth my while and it's the only way he thinks he can pay me back.

Though Blair would have been willing to swear he was too far into shock to show any sign of emotion, there must have been something for Jim to pick up on. Leaning in close with a false smile plastered on to fool onlookers, he said urgently, "Blair?"

Before Blair was forced to find a coherent way to respond, Jim slowly straightened, expression going neutral again. "Looks like the decision might get taken away from us. Trouble's coming."

Casually swinging around so that he could look in the right direction, Blair spotted his old friend Winston heading for them, trailed by two other men that he hadn't seen before. Judging by the tiny nervous tic in one corner of Winston's eye and the extremely expensive suit one of them was wearing, the tall, slender man with gray hair was someone very, very important. A hunch, based on the tension he could read in the other, said that the ultra-yuppie looking one, complete with aspen tan, was probably the casino manager.

The brief but hearty introductions all around when they arrived confirmed Blair's guesses, and if Blair had been ready to defend Holac, the casino manager, earlier, his first impression of him ended that. He hung back a shade too far to be polite when Winston gave Blair a happy hug, and when the CEO of the corporation that owned the hotel and casino, Roger Graves, warmly shook Blair and Jim's hands, he hesitated for a fraction too long before doing the same with noticeably less friendliness. Blair was positive he didn't imagine Holac's reluctance to sit with them when Jim politely invited them all to have a seat, and then he perched on the edge of his chair as if eager to leave.

Both Winston and Graves made their thanks short and heart-felt, as if sensing neither Jim nor Blair particularly needed or wanted to hear them. Holac listened and at the first opportunity said coolly, "Very fortunate indeed, Detective Ellison, for you to come along like you did. Some of your partner's luck must have rubbed off on you before you left the table."

Ignoring the implication that it hadn't been just luck, Jim said impassively, "The real break was that floor worker who saw me go in. If she hadn't told you, it's very likely I'd be dead now. I don't suppose you could tell me her name so I could thank her personally? I think Mr. Graves would also appreciate knowing who was so fast on the uptake."

It didn't take a sentinel to see Holac's discomfort. "I'll have to check my notes on that; I'm sure I have it written down somewhere."

"You don't remember someone who has enough pull to get to you and convince you to listen to something that had to have sounded impossible?" Jim's tone was completely neutral, somehow making the disbelief implied all that much more powerful.

Holac bristled, almost invisibly, but said pleasantly, "I try to make myself very approachable to those in my charge."

Winston made a noise that Blair knew from the old days meant, bullshit, and Grave didn't seem very convinced either.

Possibly picking up on that, Holac stood, plastering on an insincere smile. "I do regret that portions of your stay were so disagreeable, Detectives. As the board has been very generous to you in their appreciation, I'm sure we'll see you many times in the future, and certainly those visits will be much more, ah, to your liking."

Like I couldn't have predicted he'd try to turn it all back on Jim, Blair thought to himself, willing to sit back and let Holac and Jim have it out.

With a superior air that would have made even Blair grit his teeth if he hadn't known it was pure acting, Jim said, "While I appreciate the thought, I'm afraid I'll have to turn down the board's generosity. This might not be my jurisdiction, but I'm still a cop. I am not going to do anything that might reflect badly on myself or my department."

Dismissing Holac with a casualness that stunned the man into immobility, Jim turned to Graves. "Speaking of which, I'd be remiss if I didn't ask you if the locals have thought to physically check your security system for evidence. At the very least, I'd want to make sure there isn't anything unknown or unexpected tied into the system that their lawyer could point to later to make the jury believe the suspects had nothing to do with the problems in it that night. It would lend toward motive and opportunity, maybe create that reasonable doubt."

Without a word Holac spun around and walked away as fast as dignity allowed. Eyes narrowed, Graves watched him go. "Perhaps I had better see to that personally."

"And very soon," Jim agreed. He stood as Graves did, offering his hand again.

Taking it, Graves said, "You know, he got to his position because he has a knack for reading people - which pit bosses are honest, which ones are on edge, which floor people will work out well, which ones will be too distracted by the action. At the moment I can't help but wonder what he saw when he hired two particular security guards."

"I always have the urge to apologize in situation like this," Jim said with disarming frankness. "I didn't create the problem, but that doesn't stop me from regretting the disappointment and hurt they cause."

"Which is probably why your Captain Banks spoke of you so highly," Graves said, a bit of mischief in his smile. "Oh, yes, I wanted to know for myself who I was dealing with and not rely on someone else's opinion. Which is why I'm the CEO." With a shake to Blair's hand and friendly clasp to his shoulder, Graves left.

Winston turned and smacked Blair gently on the upper arm. "I've been waiting for that supercilious jerk to be taken down for ages. I owe you. Again. Don't let what happened this time keep you out my town, okay? I'll pay for a place myself if you don't want to stay here."

Chuckling, Blair pulled him in for a fast one-arm hug. "I don't suppose you have any connections in Aruba or Rio?"

"Hey, if I did, that's where I'd be going - I don't owe you that much!" With a wave Winston left, and Blair sat, shaking his head and reminding himself to send his friend the dirtiest post card he could find - a route it through a acquaintance of his mother's who lived in Rio.

Sparing a shred of concern for how their little encounter had been viewed by the audience, Blair snuck a quick peek at the people around them, inwardly amused at their blatant confusion at seeing him and Jim treated well by obvious wealth and power. Telling himself that it was good for them, he focused on Jim. "Okay, what did you pick up from Holac to send you in the directions you went?"

"Timing and scent," Jim said shortly. "It's bothered me all along. They should have killed me. Dead, I can't defend myself from rape and murder accusations, and no one would have looked very hard at the evidence once the guards were through planting it. Before they could, they were stopped, and by cops, no less. The only possible explanation was that someone saw what they were doing and sent the police in for their own reasons."

Getting it, Blair said, "You think the cameras were working - but to another feed. Who would watch the rape but not...." He trailed off, horrified, remembering the other clue.

Jim pinched the bridge of his nose, head hanging. "Holac has indulged a great deal in self-gratification lately. I believe his inspiration is a tape he made for himself."

"He knew what they were planning?"

"The opposite, I think. I think he's the type to keep an eye on all his employees, telling himself it's because he doesn't trust any of them when he's really a voyeur. He was probably enjoying the show up until the moment he realized they were going to kill a cop. Whether he panicked or realized that he risked too much by letting them go that far, I don't know."

Blair was spared making any reply to that sickening bit of information by Graves going to the podium and officially starting the final round of the tournament. Given the bad start for the evening, he was more than a little surprised when he and Jim sank into the exchange of cards and bets, maybe because they both needed the diversion so badly. Blessedly the audience was as absorbed, and Blair had no doubt that once the game was over, he and Jim would be yesterday's news, not worth rehashing. That made it possible to relax, at least a little, on Jim's part, and it seemed he truly enjoyed the rest of the event.

Despite that, once they had made their escape from the thunderous ovation the winner was awarded - along with a hefty cash prize - Jim was silent and withdrawn, and Blair anticipated a fight over anything and nothing once they were alone. They reached their suite, and five steps into it, Jim said with fairly credible nonchalance, "If that pilot of yours in on call, like the limo, maybe we should think of heading for home."

"If that's what you want," Blair said warily. "I can see where being tossed back into the spot light might have spoiled any fun we might have been able to have tomorrow. Not to mention that if you're planning on leaving the case to LVPD, it might be less frustrating for you to be where you can't be drawn deeper into it."

Back to him, Jim pushed both notions to the side. "There's too much going on here, sense-wise, and it's getting to be too much of a pain to deal with it. My control's not what it should be; being at the loft will take the some of the pressure off while I'm getting back in shape."

Confused both by the confession and the content, Blair said even more carefully, "You mean zones? This is as safe a place as any right now, and I'm here to keep an eye on you. No reason to fight them. It's even possible that they could be beneficial, which is why you're having an, uh, issue with them."

Plainly startled, Jim swung around enough to say, "You're telling me it's okay to zone? To just let my senses run amok?"

And there, Blair thought tiredly, Is the last piece of the puzzle. His sentinel abilities are the enemy to him; to be fought, controlled, used, but never, ever let off their leash. Unwillingly he remembered the few times he knew of where Jim had been inclined to simply enjoy what his gifts could give him, and inwardly winced. Damn near every instance Blair had had to rein him in, always for good reasons, even necessary reasons, but it couldn't help but underscore Jim's natural tendency to treat himself as if he really were nothing more than a sentinel and cop.

Aloud Blair said, trying to make his hesitation look as if he were looking for the right words, "I'm saying you have the same right as any other human being to goof-off, to drift in the moment and let go. Just be."

"I don't know how to do that."

There was such total dejection in his slumped shoulders and lowered head that Blair couldn't stand it any more. He tugged Jim around to face him, catching Jim's ears with both hands to force him to look at him, the words, 'you can learn,' on the tip of his tongue. The sorrow and compassion that had pushed him into acting without thinking dissipated abruptly as he looked into Jim's desolate eyes, leaving behind the hunger that had been gnawing at him forever. Fingers trailing into Jim's hair, he stretched up and kissed him, wanting with all his heart to promise him there could be more to his life than duty and obligation.

For a painfully long moment, Jim didn't move or kiss back, then, with the softest, neediest sound Blair had ever heard, his arms crept around Blair's waist. Jim's mouth softened, warmed somehow, and he timidly probed at Blair's with his tongue, as if even now uncertain of his welcome. Hoping to coax him into finally, finally loosening his restraint over himself, Blair opened to him, gently pummeling and suckling on the sweet invader with single-minded devotion.

As abruptly as Blair had, Jim broke, taking command with a skill that would have left Blair breathless, if he hadn't already given up all the air he had. Thinking fleetingly, James Joseph Ellison really fucking knew how to kiss, Blair gave himself over to passion. Jim held him tighter and tighter, lifting him slightly to make ravishing his mouth that much easier. Even his strength had its limits, though, and he finally had to draw away to fill his lungs, letting Blair slide down his torso until Blair was steady on his feet, hands on Jim's shoulders. His hardon burned a swath down Blair's body as he went, making his own throb in response.

Clearly sensing that, Jim's bent to brush his lips over Blair's forehead and cheeks. "I want to fuck you," he whispered, voice raw and throaty. "I want to bury myself in you and never leave again."

"God, oh, God." Blair ground his cock against Jim's thigh. "Now, now, now, now."

Jim found his mouth again, possessing it thoroughly while pawing at Blair's shirt, trying to get it off. He couldn't undo the buttons because his hands were shaking too hard; he was literally trembling from head to foot. No one had ever, ever, wanted Blair that much, and his knees went weak from a surge of tenderness more powerful than the lust riding him. Clinging to Jim, he sagged, trusting him to hold him upright.

Either Jim took it as a hint or he decided down was a good idea. He went down with Blair, lowering them both gingerly to the floor. When he would have lain to one side, Blair stopped him by wrapping his legs around his hips and pulling him down on top of him. His bottom fit perfectly into the curve of Jim's groin, cock riding along Blair's cleft in a way that made Blair hate the cloth between them. It was no barrier to Jim's natural heat, though, and Blair found the warmth soaking into him an arousing intimacy in and of itself.

It wasn't enough to feel it through their slacks; he needed to be skin-to-skin with Jim, needed it now. Blair tore at Jim's clothes, ripping off buttons, then tackled his jacket. Levering himself up on one arm, Jim lost patience with fabric and shredded it to get it gone. With more frenzy than grace, they got each other naked from the waist up, somehow never losing contact with each other's lips.

Wiggling a hand down between them, Blair reached for the top snap on Jim's pants, but Jim lifted away. "Wait, wait... I'm..."

The last thing he wanted was for Jim to hang onto anything resembling control. Blair followed him, deliberately brushing his chest over Jim's, blindly searching for another kiss. Making that sound again - and Blair knew it would always have the power to send him into overdrive - Jim collapsed back onto him.

"Blair, oh, god, Blair, blairblairblair...."

Helpless under the love and awe in Jim's voice, Blair arched his back and came, moaning his lover's name. As he lost himself in the exquisite shocks of pleasure racing through him, he felt answering spasms in Jim's body, and the very thought that he had made that happen for him toppled him the rest of the way into ecstasy. When he could do something besides feel, Blair carded his fingers through the hair at the nape of Jim's neck, nuzzling at the cheek pressed against his and waited for him to recover.

After a long, languid while, Jim rumbled almost directly into Blair's ear, "Tell me you're not the roll-over-and-go-to-sleep type."

With a whisper of a kiss over Jim's temple, Blair murmured, "The only thing better than sex is post-coital cuddling with the hope of another go."

For one heart-stopping second Blair thought he had said the absolute wrong thing. Jim shifted so that his weight was on his elbows, hands framing Blair's curls, and looked down on him, his face a study in inscrutability. As he watched, Jim's features melted into aching adoration that sliced through Blair, making him want to call back the years that he had stubbornly denied what this man had to offer him.

Jim didn't speak, though, and he didn't speak, and he didn't say a goddamn word, and all the fears and worries that had held Blair back snuck up out of the recesses of his mind.

Almost as if he heard them himself, Jim shook his head slightly, and sighed. "I love looking at you," he said - the last thing Blair expected out of him. Thumb scoring along the line of Blair's cheek bone, Jim added, "I can see the boy you were; there are traces of softness lingering here and there under your skin, just a tiny bit of baby fat that rounds you in places where you'll have sharper lines someday."

Speechless, Blair just stared at him, but Jim didn't seem to need any verbal encouragement from him to continue. Lightly tracing the crow's feet at the corner of Blair's eyes, he said, "I can see the old man you're going to be someday. Where the wrinkles are going to be, where the muscles will sag. You're going to be an incredibly beautiful man all your life, Chief."

All Blair could do was swallow hard and give a tiny shake 'no,' which just made Jim smile as if he were using humor to fight off tears.

"Yes. When I was blind on golden you were even more beautiful, because I could feel you and hear you and smell you and if you only knew how badly I wanted to taste you, all without the lure of sight to keep me from appreciating you completely."

"If you're trying to seduce me with words," Blair finally managed to rasp out, "I'm yours, man. All the way. Crook a finger and I'll follow you anywhere."

Chuckling, Jim made a show out of surveying the room around them. "Who follows who, here?" Palm cradling the back of Blair's head, he slowly rose to his knees, urging Blair to match his moves. "Maybe you'd like to lead us to a bed?"

"Definitely." Blair did just that, shedding his shoes and the rest of his clothes as he went, unselfconsciously cleaning off his stomach and groin with his boxers.

Jim did the same, and in very short order they were tangled together on their sides in the middle of the king-sized bed, the mound of pillows scattered from one end of the room to the other. Still more than half-erect, he reclaimed Blair's mouth, this time leisurely exploring what Blair liked best in a kiss and teaching him what he enjoyed most himself. All the while his hands roamed over Blair, as if he couldn't get enough of touching him just to be touching. He followed the flow of muscle over bone, limned out the lines of sinew and tendon, never tickling and always leaving a trail of pleasure behind. Even his feet were busy, stropping along Blair's calves like lazy cats, massaging the tops and soles of Blair's feet.

Inevitably his hands came to rest on Blair's backside, kneading slightly, skirting along the edge of his cleft in a tantalizing way that made Blair's sexuality kick into gear. He hooked his leg over Jim's waist, inviting a deeper caress, and tore his lips away from Jim's to moan his delight when he got it. Jim took a deep breath and shuddered, his dick becoming hot steel against the arc of Blair's thigh.

Realizing that it was his scent that had sent his lover into overdrive, Blair moaned again and tried for another kiss. Cupping the back of Blair's head in one palm, Jim guided him to his throat instead, making an approving noise when Blair licked, then nipped, then sucked on him there. He urged him farther down, and Blair went willingly, latching onto one of Jim's nipples and nursing on it avidly. There was no mistaking that Jim loved that, and Blair didn't need any further guidance to switch to the other taut peak to give it a share of attention.

When both points were ruddy and impossibly tight, Jim nudged Blair downward again, this time the movement more of a suggestion than a request. Blair had no problem at all with laving his way down to Jim's cock, stopping when he reached it to take his first good look. Thicker than his own, which was more than most men's, and a respectable length, the crown was almost purple with need and shiny from the precum leaking from it. Despite the obvious proof of his desire, Jim waited patiently, watching Blair from under half-shuttered eyelids, only his harsh panting giving away how badly he wanted Blair to taste him.

Meeting his gaze from under his lowered lashes, Blair slowly opened his mouth and took Jim's hardon into himself, trying to savor the action the same way Jim had once savored a stuffed mushroom. Startlingly, it was almost that good. The bitter taste and velvet texture shouted Jim to Blair's senses in a way that made loving him that way the most natural thing in the world. Hand on his ass, Blair encouraged him to thrust, and Jim complied with a slow, dreamy rocking that told Blair his lover was lost in sensuality.

Much sooner than he wanted to, Blair drew away, absently drying his face on an edge of the sheet. "I have another use for that," he said, amazed at how raw and husky he sounded.

Languidly turning to his back, legs sprawling open, Jim murmured, "If that's what you want. Or maybe we can find a use for that rod you're sporting."

Grabbing his hardon just under the head, Blair squeezed tightly to stave off the climax that stormed through him. "Oh, oh, oh... I never thought... have you, I mean, anything"?

"I've had my ass played with by women, and I do it to myself - I love it. I love the idea of having you in me." Jim reached for himself, obviously for the same reason Blair tightened his own grip. "I've done it to women, too. I dream of doing it to you, but if you've not done anything at all, I can wait until you're ready." He groaned, hips lifting restlessly. "Or we can sixty-nine or rub against each other or nothing at all, but I'm really hoping that you'll at least let me jack off, cause I'm ready to come from just looking at you."

What little reasoning ability Blair had left sat up and took notice at Jim's wanton behavior, and worked frantically to redirect a portion of blood back to his brain so he could think! Much as he wanted to fall on him and do anything that would make them both scream in release, there was something off, something that intuition, or maybe a pure understanding of Jim Ellison, warned Blair to tread carefully. He shut his eyes to rob himself of the magnificent distraction his lover was, and considered what Jim had said, not to choose what to do next, but to see what was behind the offer.

Love, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, was the primary reason; need was as blatantly obvious as was hunger. Under all that, though, was the uncharacteristic diffidence, almost a submissiveness, that had bothered Blair earlier during their trip. He's giving me full control over our physical relationship, he thought with a pang. He loves me, wants, needs me enough that he's willingly surrendering everything to me in hopes that it will be enough to keep me. God, exactly as he's done with every aspect of our lives. Oh, God, Jim.

"Blair?"

The worry in Jim's voice was enough to pull Blair back from the edge of heartache. "I want." The words came out choked, and Blair half-coughed, half-sobbed, to clear his throat. "I want us to be partners in this: working together, either taking the lead based on the moment, on what we need, what we feel like. Having you take me isn't going to be a threat to my masculinity or self image. Taking you - and I am going to take you as many times and ways as humanly possible - does not put me in charge of our lives."

Clearly taken aback at Blair's serious tone, Jim said, "We're not just talking bedroom here, are we?"

Going on all fours over him, not touching anywhere, Blair said bluntly, "Yes. Much as I've liked you not fighting me over every suggestion, every idea, especially when I'm pretty sure of myself, I'm Not Always Right. And I trust you, sometimes more than you trust yourself, enough to follow when you feel you're the one who's in the right. Not to mention you're senior partner here and I like that. Do you understand? It's part of who and what you are, part of why I love you."

For a second Blair thought he had pushed too far, too hard. Jim went very still, expression empty of emotion. Before Blair could convince himself Jim was going to leave again, this time for good, Jim said thickly, "You're saying you accept me the way I am."

Blair started to say, 'of course,' but there had never been an 'of course' for Jim ever in his life, and he gave his answer with a fragile kiss that was almost too delicate for a sentinel to feel. "Doesn't mean I'm going to give on every little thing, you know. You're still way stubborn and dense and self-absorbed and all those great traits that make me want to bang your head into the brick wall for a change."

Acting as if he hadn't heard the disclaimer, which had too much woven through it to be as light-hearted sounding as Blair wanted anyway, Jim caught one of Blair's curls to wind it around a finger, drawing him down to him until they were nose-to-nose. Happiness wildly mixed with desire colored his eyes, and he murmured, "I love you, Chief. No matter how stupidly I act or how angry I get over useless shit, please remember that I love you."

Blair's heart jolted in his chest, and he had to whisper back, "I will, I swear."

With a wordless murmur of promise, Jim touched his lips to Blair's, all the future and all the past - good and bad and wonderful - in that silky press of flesh against flesh. Blair returned it with equal depth, riding the rising swell of it as it transformed first, into, passion, then into urgent hunger, despite the climax he'd had such a short time ago. Jim was with him, holding him close enough to hurt, yet not close enough at all.

The necessity of being closer than skin made Blair break away, much as he would have preferred never leaving Jim's lips again. He reached for the top drawer in the nightstand for the first aid supplies he'd placed there, which included sentinel-safe aloe cream. Of the same mind, Jim took the tube from him, coaxing Blair into knee-walking up the length of his torso until he could cover the head of Blair's cock with his mouth. Wet heat exploded over Blair's nerves, yet couldn't overshadow the oddness of the blunt point of Jim's finger probing at his opening. It quickly gave way to the most incredible sensations, and before long, Blair was riding down on the penetration, wanting more.

Sensing that, Jim wetly slid up and down the length of Blair's hardon as he pressed a second finger past the guardian muscle to Blair's body. Crying out, Blair trembled at the brink of climax, holding off only because he had to have Jim inside him. Jim reluctantly released his prizes at Blair's careful shove, skating a possessive, demanding touch over him as Blair tumbled to one side, back to him. Spooning up behind him, Jim murmured broken endearments and reassurances into Blair's curls as he placed the crown of his cock at Blair's entrance and pushed.

It didn't feel as good as Jim's fingers had. There was an intrusive internal tugging and pulling as he opened to Jim that was simply alien to Blair. At the same time there was something under the oddness that begged for him to endure; something that would come to the forefront if only given a chance. Blair chose to wait and see, which he would have anyway, if only because it was so fantastic to be so cocooned in Jim's strength.

Soon Jim was all the way in, nuts weird and furry against Blair's ass, and he was groaning hoarsely, as if just being inside Blair was enough to make him come. That sent a sharp spiral of renewed arousal through Blair, and when Jim curled the arm pillowing Blair's head so that he could toy with Blair's nipples and lips, he moaned helplessly. Taking it as a sign to continue, Jim slowly withdrew, whispered his name, and began thrusting in earnest.

It was good, much better than Blair had expected from the off-putting start, then Jim encircled his cock and stroked in smooth counterpoint to his plunges. Without warning it all connected for him - mouth, nipples, ass, cock, all linked by something too powerful to be called merely 'pleasure,' Crying out, he involuntarily clamped down on the hardness filling him, making the most out of the size and length of it to feed that wild feeling.

"Damn," Jim whispered against the sweat-dampened skin of Blair's shoulder. "You love making me lose it, don't you? Want me crazy and going after you like you're the only piece of ass I've ever had in my life." He picked up the pace, using more strength to take him, and Blair cried out again, this time with an urgency that Jim echoed by gently biting where his lips teased with words.

"Ask me for more, harder, Chief. Let me know that getting it in the ass from me is just what you want, just what you have to have."

"Oh, my, god, oh, my, god," Blair whimpered, hearing, understanding, but unable to say or do more. He didn't know what was happening to him; it felt nothing like any climax he'd had, born from more than just balls and bones. He scrabbled at the loving bonds across his chest, not sure why, but maybe to communicate that Jim was right, he did have to have it in the ass, he had to be fucked, harder and harder. He met each powerful thrust as best he could, babbling Jim's name.

With a shout that hurt, Blair shot, his seed ripping out of him in sharp jerks that must have created incredible friction for his lover. Jim somehow found the strength to slam into him even more powerfully, then finished himself, holding him with near brutal power. Bit by tiny, tiny bit, they both relaxed into each other, the last shocks of ecstasy easing them into serenity.

Because the peace between them was so complete, Blair wasn't surprised when Jim quietly asked, "Is this a Vegas thing, that stays here?"

Choosing the spot carefully to avoid truly hurting him, Blair punched him in the upper arm. "This is a permanent thing, as in failure is not an option any more, for either of us. For better or worse, we're in this for the rest of our lives." Raising their entwined hands up, he kissed the back of Jim's. "You up for that kind of a battle, that kind of commitment?"

After a pause that tore at Blair's surety, Jim finally confessed, "I'd given up hope that you'd ever give me the chance to prove to you that being lovers would only make us better partners and friends; more complete in so many ways. I don't blame you for doubting that it could all work out; God knows I didn't give you...."

"Stop, just... stop. Okay?" Blair took a deep breath, then another to steady himself. "That's why you gone in all but body, why you shut off yourself so completely that first evening here. When I invited you to Vegas, you must have, oh, man, I am so, so, sorry."

Giving a hard squeeze, Jim said, "My turn to say 'stop.' You may not have intended it as a prelude to seduction like I was hoping, but that's what happened in the long run, and that's what counts." With a gentler hug, he added, "It felt like I was gone?"

"You were all sentinel, nothing else." Unabashedly Blair snuggled back into him. "I have to tell you, it's the only time I've ever been scared of, well, not you, but you, though I don't even think the sentinel part of you would deliberately hurt me, it just wasn't for the right reasons, if any of that makes sense."

"The frightening thing is that, yes, I understand exactly what you meant." Blair could hear a smile in the words, but the next ones were serious. "That's the way it felt to me, too. Like there was this enormous gray distance between me and everybody else. I had the senses to reach across if I wanted to, but more and more there didn't seem to be any reason to even try. The job was getting done, and that was all that mattered."

Turning in the circle of his arms, Blair poked Jim right in the sternum. "The job is not all that matters. You have the right to be treated with respect and civility while you're doing that job; your workplace should not be hostile and detrimental to your psychological well-being. I know you don't think you have any choice but to try to ride it out, but attitudes don't fade, they grow ingrained. We need to do something, something positive to get things back to the way they should be."

Resting his cheek against Blair's temple, Jim said, "If you go by that so-called birthday party they had planned, it might be too late, even if most were glad for an excuse to back off."

"How much do you know about that?" Blair asked thoughtfully, trying to see a way to restore Jim's place within the department.

"Everything from the fake prescription for Viagra to the funeral wreath to the strippers." Apparently losing interest in the topic, he kissed Blair's forehead, scenting him with a long, low sigh. "If you're wondering, most were glad you broke it up. Seems more than a few were thinking things were out of hand, even if they were blaming Conner and Rafe for encouraging them to over do it."

Growing distracted himself, Blair lifted his face to make it more accessible and said, "Surprises the heck out of me that those two were in on it together. Conner, I can see. She's had you pegged as the man to bring down to make her reputation and establish herself as top dog. Rafe, I thought he had a serious case of hero-worship going on where you're concerned."

"Not hero worship," Jim corrected, absently, with the tiniest of licks to the dip between Blair's eyebrows. "Romantic interest on both counts. My bet is each of them realized they were both in the same boat and decided to work together because of it."

Sitting straight up, Blair stared at him, sputtering, and finally managed to say coherently. "Great way to show they care about you - public humiliation and blatant disrespect."

Gently pulling him back down beside him, enfolding him in his arms as if to never let go, Jim said, "Not me - you. And while there's no way we can afford to officially be out - not and ride together, it's not right to put Simon in the position where he has to cover for more than he already does - they're going to take one look at the joy in me and know why it's there. It's going to hurt, and it's their own fault because you wouldn't have brought me here if it wasn't for them."

The strength of his uncharitable reaction to that startled Blair, but he didn't try to deny it. They had conspired to hurt his partner out of pure spite and jealousy. "Good. They deserve to have the tables turned on them."

"Tables turned…" Jim said reflectively, and Blair couldn't hold down a grin at hearing that cov-op soldier turned cop brain going to work at full speed. "Can I change my mind about going home as soon as possible?"

Curious, Blair said, "Of course not. Think of something you want to do - maybe make that trip out to Lake Mead I suggested when I first mentioned the trip?"

"Later, if you want. I had in mind some shopping." Jim grinned a wicked, wicked grin that did wondrous things to Blair's sense of humor - and his libido. "Get some souvenirs for the bullpen. The tackiest, gaudiest, silliest tourist trap stuff we can find. Wrap it up for them and loudly let everybody know how much I appreciate them thinking of me on my birthday, and that I wanted to return the favor in kind by showing how much I thought of them during our long weekend."

"Just how pointed are you going to make these tokens of your affection?" Blair asked jokingly.

"Not so much they can't laugh at them, but enough that maybe they'll take another look at what they were nearly talked into and start thinking like cops again."

Nodding approvingly, Blair said, "They do that, the sentinel thing will die a natural death because they'll remember you've always been the way you are - one serious, hard-nosed, driven, obsessed, stoic, stubborn pain in the ass." A little of his good humor died. "It'll take some time, and there's always going to be some speculation, Jim."

Using a single fingertip, Jim drew a line along Blair's brow, around the curve of his eye and along the side of his face. "With this to sustain me, I can weather all of it and find ways to keep those tables turning. Speaking of which...." He rolled, pulling Blair on top of him, Blair's dick falling naturally and comfortably into the heated crease between his legs. "When do I get my turn to bottom?"

Throwing back his head, Blair laughed long and hard, already looking forward to a long, exasperating, thrilling, unpredictable, wonderful life with his extraordinary man.

finis