"Stop it! Don't hurt him! Please! Stop! Stop!" Blair jerked awake and upright, then practically leaped off the couch to stumble toward the kitchen, still tangled in his blanket.
His partner met him half way, reaching in him time to stop him from tumbling to the floor. "Sandburg?"
Frantically Blair latched onto Jim's upper arms. "Are you all right? Turn around, man, right now, let me see!" Blair began to pat him down, as if checking for wounds. Finding none, he took a shaky breath, and stepped away, still staring wildly at Jim's face.
"Must have been some dream, Chief," Jim said mildly, leaving a hand on his shoulder for reassurance.
"Tell me about it!" Blair relaxed marginally, rubbed his eyes and began to pick up the blanket from the floor.
"Isn't that supposed to be my line?"
An image from the dream hit Blair and he stumbled again. This time when Jim reached out to help him, he knotted his hands into the fabric covering the outside of Jim's arms and hung on tightly. "He was hurting you! Torturing you, making me watch! There were ropes holding me, I couldn't help at all, just yell at him to stop."
"He who, Chief? One of our old cases come back to haunt you?" Jim steadied him, waiting for his answer.
"N...no," Blair answered, trying to focus on the memory. "I don't know where it came from." Shuddering hugely, Blair abruptly changed his mind and shoved it away. "Probably an amalgam of a variety of free floating anxieties," he said, reaching for professional, trying to dismiss his fears.
"I'm defending my thesis - literally you - in a couple of weeks, we've been dumped into one high profile case after another lately, finals are this week, and it'll take me a week to grade them and post 'em. Intense dreams are normal when under intense stress."
Looking down at the white knuckles imbedded in his shirt, Jim raised an eyebrow, but let Blair off the hook. "If you're falling asleep on the couch, instead of making out on it, yeah, I can see where a few nightmares wouldn't be too surprising."
Seeing where Jim's gaze was, Blair forced himself to release the material. He bent, and successfully picking up the blanket this time, started to fold it. "I don't even remember nodding off. You covered me?"
With a shrug to dismiss the last question, Jim went back into the kitchen, throwing a concerned look over his shoulder as he did. Nevertheless, he said in a casual tone, "Dinner's in a few. Hungry?"
Putting the folded covering on the back of the couch, Blair took a deep breath and mentally gripped the normalcy of the moment, the loft, of Jim. The emotions of the dream were real, the dream wasn't. Let it go, let it go, let it...
"Sandburg! You want food or not?!"
With a smile that came naturally, now, Blair yelled back. "Your cooking? Not, man, not!"
***
Muscles flexing, cramping, Jim struggled against the ropes that held him in his dream, not caring about the pain from his ruined eye, mangled hands, or any other part of his damaged body. All that mattered was getting to the knife, the one stained with his blood, before it could strike. Putting Herculean effort into it, he strained forward, wordlessly screaming his denial as it cut through the air and into Blair's chest.
The scream still echoed the loft as his eyes popped open, and he automatically scanned his home for sense of his roommate. No heart beat! Hastily sitting up, reaching for his gun, he dialed up all his senses. He found nothing - no scent, no breathing, no feel of movement or warmth. Racing downstairs, he looked for some sign of departure, though Blair had said he needed to spend the evening writing. He whirled on his heel, shouting his partner's name.
Shouldn't there be a lingering trace of scent, a reminder of warmth? He hadn't been asleep that long!
Urgency rising, he called again, "Blair!"
Invisible hands caught the sides of his head and pulled. He looked down into Blair's wide, startled eyes. "Right here, man! Right in front of you!"
Unconsciously mimicking Blair's actions from earlier, Jim patted Blair over, then gripped the collar of his shirt tightly. "You weren't here, Chief! I swear it. It was like... like you'd never been here."
"Jim, I heard you shout, came out of my room, and you ran right past me, calling for me. It was like some weird zone, and you didn't come out of it until I grabbed your face to make you look at me." Blair let his hands slide down and rest on Jim's forearms, "When did you miss me? What started it?"
"I... I was dreaming," Jim answered reluctantly, "Woke up and couldn't feel you in the loft."
"Dreaming? What?" his Guide demanded.
Seeing the knife descend into Blair's unprotected body once again, Jim barked out harshly, "Your murder. He took the same knife he'd been using on me, and stabbed you to death."
Blair asked in an odd voice, "A knife, Jim? That he had been using on you? How?"
Dismissively, Jim tried to step away from him. "It doesn't matter. Guess bad dreams can be contagious. Sorry I bothered you, Chief."
Catching at Jim's empty hand, Blair refused to let him retreat. Holding it between his own, he ran a thumb over Jim's knuckles. "He cut off your fingers," he murmured, looking at the intact skin.
The words, more than the action, held Jim in place. "How'd..." he blurted.
"My dream. I didn't tell you he used a knife; I didn't tell you anything but that someone was hurting you."
Stunned, Jim nevertheless tried to dismiss it again. "Coincidence. Common experience. If you're wanting to do some damage without killing, a knife *is* what you'd use."
As if not hearing Jim, Blair lifted a shaky hand to the right side of Jim's face, staring at him in fear. "It was like he was punishing you for being a sentinel. Your ear... oh, Jesus, he cut out your tongue!"
For second, just a split second, Jim was in his nightmare again, feeling the rush of blood down his throat and over his chin as he tried to scream Blair's name. He swayed, dizzy, and Blair urged him over to the couch. Carefully he took the gun from Jim, and sat in front of him on the coffee table.
Without any coaxing, Jim began to control his breathing, and was soon composed enough to ask, "What the hell is going on here?"
"All I know right now is that it doesn't feel like a dream to me. It feels like I'm, I'm *remembering* it's so real. I haven't been able to shake it all evening."
Head resting on the back of the couch, eyes closed, Jim grudgingly acknowledged, "Yeah. Yeah, I know what you mean."
"Maybe that's why you couldn't sense me when you came downstairs. You remembered me not being here anymore, so your senses filtered me out of your perceptions." Blair made the suggestion gently, obviously not wanting to bring the dream memories too close.
Uneasily Jim shifted in his seat. It didn't sound... right, but was better than thinking he was going to have to deal with his senses going haywire again. "Maybe." One eye flew open and fixed laser bright on Blair. "You didn't tell me you died in your dream," Jim accused.
Shuddering, Blair shut his own eyes. "I knew he was going to kill me, but didn't care. He was hurting you because of me, and I couldn't stand it."
Shooting upright, Jim reacted to the dread and fear inside of himself by gathering Blair in his arms and growling, "Don't ever give up like that, Sandburg! Never, you hear me! You fight to stay alive every second you can." He chopped off the rest of what he wanted to say and let him go as suddenly as he had grabbed him.
With an abruptness that left Blair sitting open-mouthed, he stood, scooped up his gun, and headed upstairs. "No point in going back to bed; have to get up in a few hours anyway. I'm going to the department gym to work out before shift. Are you coming in today?"
Any other time he would have enjoyed watching the expressions on Blair's face as he opened and closed his mouth, apparently changing his mind several times on what he wanted to say. As it was, Jim took advantage of the uncharacteristic indecision and made his escape.
***
Early that afternoon, sitting at his desk and marking another big red 'F' on a paper, Blair wished he had something more absorbing to do than grade multiple guess questions. As his hand and eye automatically ran down the test sheets, his mind endlessly worried at last night's puzzle. Shared dreams, while extremely rare, weren't unknown. From what he'd heard, they were very important and highly symbolic of deep relationships.
Was that what it had been about? Jim had told him about a dream he'd had once before, in Peru, about waking and finding his guide gone: senses gone, guide gone, and his spirit guide urging him to make a choice. The senses were still there this time; it was the guide that was gone. Was he doing something wrong, something that was hurting the Sentinel so deeply Blair's death was the only relief?
Blair gouged a tear in the paper under his pen, his thoughts translating into a reaction in his body. That can't be it. Ok, so maybe I don't know what I'm doing here, making it up as I go along. Jim knows that. He gets grumpy sometimes that I don't have all the answers, but he doesn't blame me. He wouldn't have reached for me the way he did, held onto me like that if I were hurting him.
For the first time that day the lingering effects of the dream lifted a bit as Blair let himself revel in the memory of Jim's spontaneous hug. He'd had the feeling for a while that he and Jim were growing closer than most people would understand. Than maybe even *he* understood. Last night's hug and urgent words was the first indication he'd had that Jim felt it, too.
Could be that's what the dream was about; a way to pull us together a little more.
That didn't feel right, and Blair put down the pen and took off his glasses to rub his eyes. We were being kept apart by something outside ourselves. *Someone* outside our selves who hurt us *both.* Is Jim's subconscious trying to warn us? Are his senses picking up on information that he's not processing, sending it to me somehow because I *can?*
Without warning, the image of the man standing over Jim, bloody knife in hand, hit Blair, bringing with it the intense fear and pain from earlier. He tried to breathe through it, let the emotion pass through him and away. The intensity became overwhelming and Blair was suddenly certain, beyond all questioning, that whoever held the knife was near to Jim now, ready to strike.
Picking up the phone he tried three times to get Jim's office number, but was unable to hold off the terror long enough to dial correctly. Mentally swearing at himself for not putting it on speed dial, Blair gave into his paranoia and ran for his car.
Pushing himself and the old Volvo, he got there in record time, his fear making him bang around the interior of the elevator. Chest bursting from strain and reaction, he exploded into the bullpen, located Jim at his desk, and ran with the last of his strength to get to the side of his partner.
Jim looked up as he arrived, one hand instantly going out to catch him. "Sandburg! Slow down before you run someone over!"
At Jim's touch Blair's fear evaporated as if it had never existed, and he all but fell into the chair next to him. Knowing it sounded ridiculous, he asked anyway, "Are... are you... okay?" he panted. Taking several long, gulping lung fulls, Blair waited and asked less breathlessly, "I mean, has anything odd happened, like, maybe someone you don't know looking for you?"
"In case you hadn't noticed, strangers come looking for me all the time. Part of the job, remember?"
"Remembering's the operative word here," Blair said under his breath, Sentinel quiet.
Not as softly, but enough for privacy, Jim asked, "Did you dream again?"
"Not exactly. I was wide-awake this time, but felt just like I did last night when I woke up. Man, I *had* to know you weren't hurt, had to see it for myself."
Jim checked out the bullpen quickly, but people were use to Blair's hurried comings and goings. Most hadn't even noticed him arrive. "Look, everything's normal here, not even a fresh case to work on right now. Just doing paper work. You're letting this get to you, Chief."
Blair looked at him blankly for a moment, then said with dead certainty, "No, I'm not, and you don't think so either. You're feeling as twisted up as I am and trying three times harder to deny it."
Before Jim could respond, the familiar bellow of "Ellison! Sandburg! My office, now!" sounded and both men started automatically for Banks office.
As they went, Blair promised, "Later, man." Jim looked pained, but cleared his face as they closed Simon's door behind them.
To their surprise, Banks stood at the windows for several minutes, not acknowledging them. They traded several confused looks, their personal situation forgotten for the moment, and waited for the Captain to speak. When he did, it was on a topic that left both of them floundering.
"Alimony, braces, keeping two households, all on a cop's salary, even a captain's... I don't have to tell either of you that half the department moonlights sometimes to make ends met," Banks said slowly, guilt clear in his voice.
"Sir?" Jim asked for both of them.
In what seemed to be a tremendous effort of will, Simon turned around and looked both men in the eye. "I needed some extra cash, and I've always thought I had what it took to be a good writer. You start with what you know, and aim for the audience that wants to read it, get yourself published a time or two in some small magazine so you can work your way up, right, Sandburg?"
"Uh, sure, Simon. I've been published a time or two, articles you know, not a lot of money, but, yeah, a way to start." Blair had never seen the captain look so uncertain.
"Police Digest Quarterly's been taking my stuff pretty regularly, now. And you're right, it's not a lot, but I've got a kid getting ready for college, anything's a help. Don't write under my own name, yet. Not ready to deal with the fallout here, I guess. So I didn't think it would matter when I did it. I didn't use real names, and thought that I didn't leave enough clues that anyone could guess who I was talking about."
"Sir, could you cut to the chase here?" Jim interrupted carefully. "I take it you think there's a problem because of something you wrote?"
In sudden decision, Banks lifted a magazine and handed it to Blair. It was opened to an article entitled, "Unorthodox Partnerships - Making Them Work and Benefits From Them." Standing so Jim could read over his shoulder, Blair quickly scanned the article. "Nice, Simon. You have a good, tight prose and put just enough color in it so that it's still professional but not dry," Blair muttered absently.
"You think?" Banks sounded genuinely pleased and relieved.
"Simon, this is clearly about me and Blair, but you're right, no one would know that who didn't know both of us personally. If you're worried about needing our permission or something..." Jim added.
"I wish it were that simple, gentlemen," Banks said tiredly, and sat down behind his desk.
"Spill it." Jim gave the order humorously, as if expecting to be told that they wanted a follow up and Simon needed an okay to interview them or something.
Instead the big man tossed a file toward Jim. "In the past year there have been eleven murders, scattered all over the country, and the M.O. is always the same. Partners - police, EMT, federal marshals, firefighters, all kinds - are taken. One is mutilated in front of their partner, then the other is killed with the injured one looking on. They've figured out who it was after the third set, but couldn't figure out how he was picking his targets. Blair, Jim, I'm so damn sorry, you can't even begin to imagine... he picks them from articles like mine in professional publications. Partners of the Year, that sort of thing. Now there's no reason to think..."
Surprisingly steady, considering how heavily Simon's words were hitting him, Blair reached over and slowly opened the file that Jim was staring at as if it were a bomb. On top was a picture of the man who had featured last night in their dreams.
"That's him," Blair whispered, brokenly.
"Not quite." Jim corrected, his voice dangerously empty. "Must be an old photo. He's scarred here," he tapped the image's right cheek, "and here." tapping the right side of the throat. Burn scars."
Banks was on his feet, looming over both of them. "You've seen this man! Where? When?"
Neither heard him; their shared horror rose unrelentingly in their minds. Blair shrank from it, then rebelled bodily, the bile rising up in his throat too quickly to be controlled. He lurched for the wastebasket, getting to it as his stomach emptied. Understanding only as the first heave hit the younger man, Banks instinctively went to him, supporting him as Blair lost it. Banks glared over his shoulder to shout at Jim, only to lose the words before they were fully formed. The detective was standing, frozen, where Blair had left him, apparently oblivious to the external world.
"Leave... him...." Blair gasped out, between spasms, "...waiting... for me... 'second, 'kay?" He sagged against Simon, and rode out the waves of nausea. When it seemed the last of the convulsions were over, Blair let Banks hoist him into a chair. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and nodded his thanks to the captain. Banks took the basket away and left to make explanations to the officers listening outside his door.
As soon as Blair was sure he could stand without falling, he went to his partner and began trying to call him from his zone. Guessing that it was the same kind that had filtered him out last night, he reached up and forced the great head to bend down, so he could catch Jim's eyes. Jim gave no reaction to his effort, staying stony, only the tell-tale muscle in his jaw showing he was outwardly aware at all.
"Man, you are not hearing or seeing me or anything, are you?" Blair muttered.
"Sandburg, what..." Banks started to ask as he came back in the room.
"He's still here?" Jim demanded, not moving from his rigid position.
Taken aback, Banks looked carefully at the young man then back at his detective. "Definitely. He's got a death's grip on your ears, trying to get you to look at him. Can't you *feel* that, Jim?"
"He's totally tuned me out, Simon. I don't know why," Blair answered for Jim, still looking into his face and shifting his hands to frame either side of it.
Jim sat heavily on the floor, blindly reaching out to feel for Blair as he did. "Simon, I can't tell he's here. I can't..." Jim made contact with the center of Blair's chest, who had knelt as he sat, planted both hands there, and finally caught sight of the worried blue eyes of the younger man. "Damnit, Sandburg, do you think for once we could work a nice, normal serial killer case without having weird things happening?"
"Define normal?" Blair said half questioningly, half laughingly, not caring about anything but that Jim could *see* him.
"Why do I have the feeling I'm going to like the explanation for this even less than usual?" Banks asked rhetorically.
***
From the time he had zeroed back in on Blair in the office, Jim had been unable to release his hold on his partner. He had tried to make it as subtle as possible while they filled Banks in, who did indeed hate their explanation. The only thing that kept the Captain from tossing them both in a mental ward was their knowledge of Thompsons's scars. That was not part of the file, having been kept on a need to know to help verify it was indeed Thompson stalking a partnership.
If Banks noticed Jim's obsession, he didn't mention it. Blair did, and made it easy for him, willingly staying close. He managed to listen dispassionately as Simon briefed them on a good cop who had gotten a bad knee in the line of duty, and rather than sit behind a desk, had decided to change directions and become an EMT. The physicals weren't as demanding, and the work kept him in the field where he felt he belonged.
"He was partnered for four years with a Brian Anderson," Simon told them, "and lost him on a routine call. Some idiot ignored the sirens and lights tried to pass them on the right. Thompson was tossed free, but broke both legs. He had to watch while his pinned partner slowly burned to death in the wreckage of the ambulance, him trying to crawl close enough to help. That's how he got burned on the face and back.
"The profilers for the case say he's acting out his pain over and over again. He picks partners - male, female, cop, firefighter, it doesn't matter. He watches them for a while - actually he's been suspected of watching, then abandoning them, nobody has clue why - then breaks into their homes and rifles them. He never takes anything, and again, sometimes he abandons his target. One of the reasons it's taken so long to get him is because of that. They set up to take him, and he never shows, instead hitting another partnership two or three weeks later.
"He's killed six outright, three more from their injuries, and two of those who survived committed suicide. Doctors aren't saying if it's because of the mutilations or losing a partner more important to them than their looks. Only the woman doctor whose nursing partner was killed is still alive, and that tough old bird is back to doing her rounds in rural Arkansas. Folks there don't mind what she's missing as long as she can treat them.
"I am going to go to the FBI with this Jim, on the strength of you being able to describe the scars. It's the best lead anyone has had in a while. I do not, however, have the slightest intention of telling them where you saw him. The guy is good. He knows police routine and how to do long range surveillance, but he has been spotted often enough by his targets that they'll at least check it out."
"Actually, Simon," Blair said slowly, "I think Jim has seen him in the flesh." Both men looked at him, and Blair held up his hands defensively. "There's nothing overt about the guy to make Jim tag him as a potential suspect, and people do see the same faces over and over in the course of a day. Mostly we filter them out unless there's a reason for them to be noticed. Jim sees *way* more than the rest of us, hears more, etc.
"A case like this - with cops the victims - there has to have been some gossip, people discussing it, maybe news releases on it early on. It's possible Jim was subliminally aware of being watched by Thompson, remembered cases about partners being stalked - and his subconscious mind added it all together and told him in a dream."
Banks sat back, looking reflective. "Good cops listen to hunches," he said. "Jim especially. That almost makes sense, Sandburg."
Sotto voice, Jim said for Blair only, "If I'd had the dream first..." Blair shrugged, accidentally dislodging Jim's hand from his back as he did. Instantly he shifted in place, bringing one hip into contact with Jim's knee as he sat on the edge of Banks' desk.
Irritably, Banks snapped, "Sandburg, why don't you just climb into the man's lap?"
"Gee, Simon, you don't mind? Thanks, man." Blair made as if to get up on the desk with Jim, who swatted him on the backside, then pulled him to his side, leaving an arm looped threateningly around his neck.
"Don't mind him, Captain. He's afraid I'm going to tune him out again."
"I don't suppose you could teach me....?"
"Sorry, sir. Believe it or not, it's better to know where he is and what he's up to."
"Yeah, I can see where that would be the case." Dropping the mock-cheerful tone, Simon asked seriously, "The two of you do have a handle on this, right? I'm not going to have to worry about sentinel strangeness along with everything else?"
"I assure you, Simon, I'm right on top of this," Blair said sincerely. "We'll deal with it like we have everything else that's come up, and I'm sure you'll be happy with the results. In the meantime, I would like to get him home and do more testing." Blair took Jim by the elbow, and started pushing him toward the door. "We need to establish more definitive parameters for the phenomenon to be able to contain its duration more effectively."
Jim let himself be pushed, looking down on his partner with something very akin to admiration on his face. He glanced back at Simon once, hid his smile at Simon's bewildered expression, and nodded as if agreeing with everything Blair said.
Not quite completely buffaloed, Simon managed to ask, "Are you sure you don't want to go to a safe house, or even a hotel, to be on the safe side, Jim?"
"Thompsons' still at the stalking stage, Simon. If we're his target, I can spot him, now that I know to look for him, and we can bring him in."
"Don't worry," Blair added, "We'll call if there's any problem." With a small shove he sent Jim the rest of the way through the door, and added on the other side of it, "Now let's get out of here before Simon realizes he just okayed the rest of the day off for you."
"I'm with you, Chief."
***
By mutual consent they rode in Jim's rental, talking about repairs to the truck and other trivialities on their way back to the loft. Jim tried to make the arm draped over the back of the bench seat casual, the drooping hand ever so slightly brushing the back of Blair's neck seem accidental. He knew he was failing miserably, from Blair's sidelong looks. Though he had made a joke of it, he was afraid of tuning out his partner again. Under the circumstances, Thompson could walk right up to Blair and take him without Jim even noticing. The knife flashed in his mind again, and he gave up all pretense, digging into the back of Blair's collar.
"Jim, it's okay," Blair assured him, quietly, not quite able to meet his eyes.
"Blair, I... you shouldn't have taken the rap for me with Simon."
"Believe it or not, if you weren't reaching for me, I'd be reaching for you right now." To prove it, Blair pried Jim's fingers free of his shirt and held his hand.
Not able to hide his sigh of relief, Jim twined his fingers with Blair's and rode the rest of the way home silently. They parked, took the elevator up so that they could lean into one another without public eyes, and were halfway down the hall when Jim tucked Blair behind him and against the wall. "Someone's inside," he murmured.Seeing Blair reach for the cell, he pushed the smaller man into the wall again, harder, with a harshly uttered, "Stay here, dammit."
Tracking the intruder's progress from the bathroom to Blair's room, Jim dropped stealth and went for speed. He broke open his front door, gun in hand, yelling "Cascade Police!" and charged for the fire escape. Hearing the click of a gun, he hit the floor as the shot was fired, and aimed for where he'd heard it go off. After two shots of his own, he hurried to the window, to see Thompson jump into a car.
Reluctantly deciding he wouldn't be able to get down fast enough, he focused on the license plate and make of the car. Mentally reciting it, he went back into the living room of the loft, calling out that it was safe to come in. He was holstering his gun as he realized he couldn't hear an answer from Blair. Nor could he hear his heartbeat or respiration.
As he had in Banks office, he held himself completely immobile, scanning through every sense over and over, looking for some trace of his companion. Putting blind faith in Blair being there, trying to reach him, he dialed everything up as high as he could stand and waited.
An eternity later he felt solid male legs lock around his waist, sturdy arms wind around his neck. He enfolded Blair and held him tightly to his chest, nearly crushing both of them in his effort to make the contact *real*. Scent, hearing and sight punched in, and he could smell Blair's scent wrap around him like a blanket, hear his frantic, "Jim! Come on, Jim!" see his wide-eyed fear.
He brought his face down closer to Blair's, to capture more of him - the sweep of air from his mouth, the fragrance of his words, the brightness of his gaze. Looking deeply into those soul's mirrors, he saw wonder slowly birth, felt its twin born in himself. He came closer, carefully, giving Blair enough time to see for himself, decide for himself. Feeling, not seeing, Blair's choice, he dropped his eyes to Blair's slightly parted lips, watched them quiver, then covered them tenderly with his own, eyes sliding shut as he did.
Surprisingly, there was nothing tentative about this first kiss, first with Blair, with any man. The minor differences in a male's mouth only meant 'Blair' to him, and he deepened it gradually, taking care to move no faster than his partner seemed willing.
Blair was very willing. He licked gently in invitation at Jim's lips, met the shy probe of Jim's tongue eagerly with his own. One taste and both tongues became fast friends, playing and tangling with each other freely. Soon they were trading deep, hard thrusts, each trying to out do the other in depth and suction. Holding the back of Jim's head, Blair tried to force himself down his new lover's throat, or at least, take him down his own. Jim encouraged him, moaning along with him.
As gradually as he had begun, he ended the kiss, easing off a notch at a time, coaxing Blair along with him with tiny sighs and murmurs deep in his chest. When he finally lifted his head to look back into Blair's eyes, he whimpered, and delicately, gently unwound him from his body and set him away. When his hands reluctantly tore themselves from Blair, he turned and leaned on one of the support posts in the loft.
Forehead resting on his hand, he listened to Blair sink to the floor, whispering dazedly, "Jim, gods, Jim, why'd you stop?"
Roughly, voice barely understood even to himself, Jim asked, "You called for backup?"
"Shit, yeah, I did."
"Probably a report of shots fired, too. People'll be here in a minute."
"If that's the reason, why won't you look at me?" Blair sounded hurt, frightened, and for the first time Jim realized he didn't know what Blair would think of being kissed by a man.
The thought made him say honestly, "If I look at you, if I see your lips swollen and bruised by my mouth, see them wet with my taste, I'll have to kiss you again. Blair, lover, if I touch you right now, I won't stop until I've claimed you."
"Oh." Blair was quiet, then he asked challengingly, "What if I want to claim you?"
Already more than half hard, Jim's erection pounded its way to steely full length, and he shoved his hand down the front of his pants to silence the ache. "*Would* you claim me?" he demanded. "Would you claim *me*?" he begged.
"Yes. And yes."
With his free hand, Jim hastily undid his pants, opening them enough to release his erection. "Even this?" he stroked his fist hard and fast over his flesh, turning from the waist so that Blair could watch.
"All of you." Blair was panting, and Jim could hear a zipper being undone, silk being pushed aside, and he dared one peek. Sitting on his heels, shirts hiked up, jeans hanging open, Blair was pumping into one hand and using the other to pinch his nipples. Hungrily he watched Jim's thrusts from under shuttered lids, trying to match them, licking his lips as he did.
"For you, then, Blair. Sweet Blair, my Blair..." He groaned, freely fucking from his hips, and bit his arm to quiet his scream as he shot. The seed splatted onto the floor, and a minute wail of pleasure heralded the rain of more from Blair. The scents combined, and Jim sucked them in avidly, barely staying upright as he clung to the post.
He risked another peek; Blair was curled on his side, one arm flung toward him, face hidden in the crook of the other. Jim released his grip, and sat on the floor, daring to stretch out a leg beside the out-flung arm.
"Lover, is there something you've been meaning to tell me?" Blair mumbled into his arm, the words barely understandable.
"No." Jim sighed, focusing his hearing. "There are sirens heading this way. We've only got a few more minutes."
"I see. Five minutes ago you decided you were gay. And that I was the perfect lover for you."
"I've known since I was eleven I liked boys better than girls. You have to understand - you know about my family - it was too dangerous to be anything but normal. Then there was military school, the army, the force. I couldn't afford not to be straight, not if I wanted to survive. The only way to deal with it was by never allowing it out of its cage. I've never so much as allowed myself to fantasize."
"Jim, no one has that much self control."
"Not even if their lives depend on it?"
"So bang, you've let it out of the box." Blair was the one refusing to look at his partner now, hiding his reaction to Jim's confession.
"No. You've snuck into my cage with me." Fear crowding the words from his throat, Jim fixed his clothes and stood. "They're downstairs. I'm going to met them, give you, uh, a chance to pull yourself together. Blair, I... thought you wanted to be there with me. If, I, uh, I mean...."
"I did. I do." Blair stood, straightening himself out as best he could. "It's just, damn, look, I've never thought about this for me at all, thought about you this way."
Torn between the commotion he heard downstairs and Blair's distress, Jim hesitated at the threshold of his home. "We've been moving toward something special for a while, Chief." He tried to make those words a promise as well reassurance.
At that Blair finally looked up and smiled brightly, lovingly at him. "I know, Jim."
Jim's smile was as bright, if more relieved, and he started toward the elevator. Behind him he heard, as the door closed, "I just didn't think it was only going to be sex."
It was in the undertones of a man talking to himself, and Jim didn't think Blair knew he had spoken aloud. Jim stiffened, braced himself on the wall for a second, then made himself walk on. At each step away from Blair, he took more of his feelings, more of his desire, and stuffed them down, securing them firmly behind the walls he had spent his entire life perfecting.
By the time he met Banks at the elevator door, three years were gone from his heart and hidden where not even he could reach.
***
It had only taken a few quick moves to tidy away the traces of their passion, and Blair was perched on the back of the couch when Jim and the others came in.
Uncharacteristically, Jim stood back and let the forensics team do their part, speaking only when Banks asked for information. Watching his partner closely, Blair knew something was wrong, but couldn't put his finger on what about the other man was bothering him.
It wasn't until Simon turned to him and ordered him to go pack a bag that Blair was startled out of his own absorption. "Safe house, right?" he said on his way to his room. "At least the timing is good for the university - no classes. Can we stop by my office on the way and pick up a few things? I can get some serious work done, here. How long do you think it'll take before we know if he's dropped us or not?"
"If the fingerprints we lifted off the fire escape check out as his, we'll shut the city down. With luck, the FBI can net him quickly, if he's not already long gone," Simon said, standing in the door. "His first victims were FBI; they want him bad. In three or four days you'll be back to your normal routine of driving me crazy and talking the ear off everyone in the bullpen."
Raising his voice the small amount it usually took to get Jim's attention, Blair said, "Jim, don't forget to pack your white noise generators or you'll never get any sleep."
"He's not going anywhere, Sandburg." Simon said firmly.
Looking up in astonishment, Blair dropped the shirt he was about to put in the bag and stormed into the living room. Jim was standing by the balcony doors, back to the room. "If you don't go, I don't go!" he nearly shouted at his partner. Turning back to Simon, Blair let his anger and voice rise higher. "You don't split up partners. Not when they're in trouble. That's when they count on each other most."
"Look, Sandburg, I know my job and I know my men, and I don't need you to tell me how to handle either!" With an effort Simon dropped his own voice to a more reasonable level. "This is one of the few times when good teamwork is a liability, Blair. Look, this guy wants the pair of you; if one is hidden, there's no reason to take the other. With Jim's senses, we can pick Thompson up before he makes that you're not around. It's our best chance of getting him."
Ignoring Banks, temporarily, Blair rounded back on Jim. "You knew! You and Simon set this up downstairs."
"No," Jim denied softly. "It's been the FBI's game plan all along to stash one of the team when Thompson was tagged next. All Simon and I agreed on was which of us would go into protective custody. It makes sense, Chief. Not only because of the Sentinel thing, but because you're a civilian. That's what they'll insist on when they take over, anyway."
Stubbornly, Blair insisted, "If you don't go, I'm not going."
Still staring out at the city, Jim asked quietly, "Simon, give me a few with him, OK?" He half-turned to give his captain a crooked smile, "He'll make it to the car, I promise."
Taking in Blair's mutinous fury, Simon nodded shortly and left the room, shutting the door behind him. As soon as he was on through it, Blair snorted, "There's not a thing you can say to me that will change my mind."
"Six deaths outright, three more from their injuries, and two of those who survived the attack committed suicide." Jim was back to staring out the glass, keeping to the soft, quiet tones he'd been using. "One survivor, Blair. One. How many after us before he's careless enough or tired enough or unlucky enough to be brought down? If it we were risking only our necks, if all this was was a case like any other we've worked on, I'd tell Simon where to go. But the next pair he goes after may be like that nurse and doctor - absolutely no reason for anybody to think they'd be targeted." At last Jim turned to face him. "We both know Simon's right about me being the best chance of getting Thompson. But only if I'm online; only if I'm at my best. I'm not, Blair."
Blair's anger and indignation had deflated slowly while Jim spoke to him, and defeated by his guilt, he backed off. "Because of me."
"No! Not because of you. Because of me. *I* need to know you're safe, protected, now that I can't do it myself."
Restlessly pushing his hair away from his face, Blair muttered, "It feels wrong to me."
Reaching for him, Jim agreed, "Goes against everything we've learned, I know."
With a deft movement Blair side stepped Jim's outstretched hand, anger and fear rising again. "I'll finish packing, then go." Fiercely he whispered, glaring at his partner, "I am not saying goodbye to you, and you aren't going to say it either. No goodbyes cause I'm not doing anything but crashing someplace else for a night or two. Get it?"
"Got it. I'm doing the job and you're catching up on paperwork." There was something about Jim's neutral words that set off the alarm bells from earlier even louder, but Blair was too upset with himself and Jim to pay heed. In short order he was on his way out, refusing to even look at him as he went.
The uniform waiting for him took him to Simon, and he threw his bag in the back, hanging onto his pack as he sat in the front. Nervously, he worked his hands in the straps, twisting and knotting them, not saying a word to Simon as they drove away. Though he kept glancing at him with concern, he respected Blair's apparent need for quiet, and drove without speaking.
The fear Blair had felt from the moment he agreed to leave was growing with unstoppable force, making it harder and harder for him to think, move, breathe. He began to rock from the weight of it, legs bouncing in agitation. More than concerned, now, Simon apparently instinctively eased back on the gas and gave Blair more of his attention. "Sandburg, what's wrong?"
"Can't breathe," Blair mumbled, "Not enough air in here, can't breathe!" Literally bouncing off the back of his seat with the momentum of his rocking, Blair began to struggle to pull air into his lungs, wheezing and gasping. Reaching for his radio to call ahead, Simon signaled a lane change to reroute to the hospital.
Suddenly Blair began shouting, "Pull over! PULL Over. PULL OVER!"
Automatically Simon hit the brake and drew up to the curb. Without warning Blair threw open the door and scrambled through it. Lunging after him, Simon caught only the hem of his coat. One shrug and Blair was out of it, running as if hell itself was after him, back pack bouncing on with his steps. Wearily Simon picked the radio from where it had fallen and called Ellison at the loft.
* * *
Though Blair had given no sign of noticing, Jim had trailed after him, following his movements through the loft, not saying a word. It was ridiculous, he knew, but he didn't want to stop; the trace of warmth left in Blair's wake was all he could permit. Would be all he would ever permit again. He would not drag Blair into something neither of them could handle; something Blair didn't really want.
Whether or not Blair would understand was a fight they would have to have eventually. But not tonight. If Blair didn't want any goodbyes, Jim didn't want anything but the memory of their friendship to mark his leaving.
Finally, locking the door behind Blair, Jim leaned on it, pressing against the wood as if he wanted to morph through it, every sense straining after him. When the last trace of him was gone, Jim dimly heard the roar of an enraged beast and nearly died from the pain that clawed through him. He endured it. Digging in with every survival instinct, every ounce of stubbornness, he out-waited the agony until it at last ebbed enough for him to move. Wearily he straightened and brushed a hand over his face in a vain attempt to focus.
The trick was to go about normally, do the usual thing, he decided. Eat something, watch some tube, go to sleep, get up, go to work. Routine could carry you, if you let it; that's what the military taught. He looked toward the kitchen - saw Blair laughing while cooking - and looked away. So, he wasn't that hungry. TV was even less appealing. Sleep, then. The idea of a hot shower and clean sheets was damn near irresistible, and he had no reason *to* resist.
To say that he felt human when he was drying off would be exaggerating, but it was close enough that he decided he'd better eat. Pulling on sweatpants, he mentally reviewed the contents of the fridge. Not much; it was Blair's turn to shop...
The pain from earlier was a ghost of what hit him this time. Grimly he hung on, trying to think of nothing, sense nothing, be nothing. It didn't work. All he had learned was useless against less than an hour without Blair. Several lifetimes of walls and denial would not be enough to find a way to live with the agony that would define what was left of his existence. Admitting defeat, almost laughing at himself, Jim let the pain own him.
A simple, repetitive sound slithered through to Jim's awareness, catching his thoughts and teasing them away to the edge and the outside world. Footsteps, he identified muzzily, running footsteps, coming up the stairs. Familiar footsteps, somehow, accompanied by a sound he knew better than his own voice. Blair's heartbeat.
Unbelieving, he rose from where he'd been fetally curled on his bed and sat on the edge. No sounds of pursuit - where was Simon? Fearing the worse, Jim scooped up his gun and ran downstairs. He made it as far as the other side of the couch when Blair burst in, shut and locked the door in an unbelievably fast move, and tackled his lover.
He slammed into Jim, knocking him flat on his back on the couch, throwing his pack to floor beside it as he did. Arms caught between them, Jim couldn't do anything but try to relax and take the impact for both of them. Knees clamped onto either side of Jim's torso, Blair wrapped both arms around Jim's head, hugging it to the center of his chest.
"I'm not going. It's wrong, I have to be with you. I'm not going, I'm not going," he gasped, barely able to talk.
Surrounded by Blair's scent and heat, feeling whole, Jim surrendered completely. "You're not going," he affirmed. "I knew it was a mistake the second you picked up your suitcase. Blairheart, I just didn't know what else to do."
Hanging on tighter, Blair fought to catch his breath, and Jim was more than willing to stay as they were while he did. As Blair soaked into him, scars on his mind and soul eased, faded, and he drifted on a sensory cloud, not thinking about the input but being a part of it. Peace was disrupted by the sound of a phone, and he wriggled out a hand to snatch it up.
Before the person on the other end had a chance to say a word, Jim told him, "Hello, Simon, no, I was in the shower, hearing tuned down, yes, I know, he's right here, sitting on my chest, forcibly reminding me that since he *is* a civilian, he doesn't have to cooperate unless he wants to."
Holding the receiver farther away, he listened to the music of Blair's soft laughter instead of Simon's bellows. When the captain had wound down to shouts, he went on. "Look, sir, there's not much we can do about it. No, I don't think I can change his mind again."
What came out next was more reasonable, nearly pleading, and Jim answered very sympathetically. "Tell the FBI to go fuck themselves, and call it a direct quote from Sandburg. Simon, if you have to do something, post men at the loft entrance or stake us out. Beyond that, we'll deal with it because we have to. And, sir, a bit of advice? *Don't* underestimate Sandburg when he's pissed off. Goodnight."
Hanging up on his superior before he had a chance to start yelling again, Jim dropped the phone, stuck his gun under a couch cushion, and slid both arms around Blair's back. "Now where were we?"
Laughing again, Blair dropped a kiss onto the top of Jim's head and snuggled down, getting comfortable. Jim took the burden of his weight gratefully, and dug his nose into the fabric over his face. It was no barrier to him, and through it he enjoyed the soft spring of the hair on Blair's chest. More by luck than design he found one nipple and began to mouth it through the cloth. It tightened up immediately, and a flood of heat cascaded off Blair's body as he cried out quietly.
Biting gently, Jim worked his way to the other side of Blair's chest, found the other nub already hard and waiting. He worried at it, teasing it, until Blair sat upright and began ripping his shirts off. Skimming his hands over the uncovered surface, Jim let them come to a rest on Blair's stomach. "Are you sure you want..." he started to ask, but Blair dropped back down on him, covering his face again.
Bare skin on bare skin, the chest hair dragged deliberately over Jim's nipples - it was too much for him and he lost any semblance of control. "Damn, DAMN! Blair!"
"I want it all, Jim," Blair told him huskily, running his fingers through the short nap of Jim's hair, "fingers, tongues, hands, mouths, cocks, assholes, licking, sucking, biting, fucking, me in you, you in me, and I want it so bad I don't even know where to start."
Growling, Jim sat up, letting Blair's weight carry him into his lap. He captured Blair's lips on their way past, and took them in a deep, open kiss. Both hands came up Blair's back to tangle in the long, silky curls at the back of his head, holding him in place as he tongue fucked the willing mouth. Grinding his cock on Jim's stomach, Blair made hungry, needy noises in the back of his throat, urging him on.
Though Blair's bottom was solidly on his hard-on, it wasn't enough, not nearly, for Jim and he let go of the treasure he held to fumble at the top button of Blair's jeans. Still kissing, Blair half knelt, undid his zip, and between both of their efforts, was soon naked. Under him, Jim squirmed out of his sweatpants and turned on his belly, putting one of the throw pillows under his hips.
Lifting his backside slightly, offering himself up to his lover, he said, half prayerfully, "Please?"
"Jim..." Blair said hesitantly, and put his palm on the curve of one buttock. Whether it was because of the trembling he felt there, or the erotic vision before him, his voice trailed off and the heat from his body increased dramatically. "Need something," he muttered, indistinctly, and Jim felt him groping around the side of the couch. Then the scent of aloe hit him, and one lubed finger tentatively touched the virgin part of his body.
Barely mustering enough concentration to relax, Jim focused on what was happening - who was doing it to him - and took the single digit comfortably. The feeling was beyond belief, and he eagerly waited for more.
"Damn, hot, hot," Blair mumbled and added another finger to his explorations.
With a wordless cry, Jim rode back, and begged, "Now, now, now..."
"Don't wanna hurt you." A third finger filled him, and Jim lost the ability to do anything but wait for Blair's next move. He didn't have a long one; with a slow, steady push he was filled by his lover. There was burning, biting pain, but in its wake came soul-shaking pleasure. As Blair's thighs came to rest against the back of his, the cock inside Jim scraped over something. He shouted as a bolt of lust burned through him and out with his seed.
Behind him, Blair barely moved, surfing through the spasmodic caress of Jim's coming. Grimly he held onto his control, clearly wanting to be able to thrust gently when Jim finished. Instead of resting, Jim reared back onto Blair's cock, forcing it even deeper into himself.
"Oh, no, no, lover, no, no," Blair protested, even as he pulled out, then he rammed back into the tight passage, Jim meeting him with equal force. Holding Jim's hips, he drove in and out, hammering at the hungry hole.
"Stick it in me," Jim ground out, "Fuck me.. aaah.. yes!...oh, that's... yes!"
"So fucking good, can't believe we're this good," Blair whispered, "gotta cream in you, gotta fill you ...oh... give it to me.. yeah.. like that... yeah...oh, oh, ohmygodohmygod!" He plunged in one last time, and held it with bruising strength while he spilled into his partner.
When the last of his pleasure drained, he fell forward, twisting as he did. With easy grace, Jim twisted as well, catching Blair and putting him flat on his back. He went to his knees, bent over the shaking form, and gave Blair a lingering, loving kiss. Tossing the soiled pillow to the floor, he made Blair as comfortable as possible and positioned himself between his spread thighs. Smiling languidly at him, Blair peeked from under his lashes as Jim scooted forward, hooking Blair's legs over shoulders, until his bottom was in Jim's lap.
His smiled faded a bit when he saw the size of cock rising from that lap. Tuned to every nuance of his lover, Jim instantly covered it with one hand. "We don't have to," he said, pretending he wasn't hurting with want.
Awkwardly, Blair pried the shielding hand away and traced Jim's length with a careful touch. "Need it," he said simply. He groped at the floor, retrieved a small container, and dipped into it.
Recognizing the smell, this time, Jim chuckled. "Shaving gell, lover?"
"Hey, it was on hand. Speaking of which...." Blair slid the coated fingers into his own asshole, grunting a bit at the invasion. Staring at the working hand, Jim coated his own and then nudged the moving fingers aside. Stroking Blair's renewing arousal as he stretched and probed, Jim licked dry lips, barely holding himself in check. When the thrum of blood pulsing under his touch communicated too clearly to his cock, he set it to the dusky bud and pressed in.
Intent on moving carefully, he was lost as soon as Blair cried out his name in pleasure and want. He pumped evenly, but picking up speed and force as each stroke coaxed another cry from the man under him. Before long Blair was writhing into the thrusts, head tossing from side to side.
"So beautiful, lover," Jim breathed. "So fucking beautiful. I could come from just watching you. Just from smelling your arousal, my come in you. Just from hearing you beg with my name."
Digging into the cushions with his nails, Blair tightened every muscle in his body and silently climaxed. One hot splatter hit Jim's lips, he licked reflexively, and the taste crashed through him, sending him into the depths of Blair's ass to fill it with his semen. They held their tense pose, then melted into each other, each accommodating the other as if having done it forever. Haphazardly, Jim covered them, and both were asleep before the blanket settled.
***
"Incacha." Blair woke himself with the spoken sound of that name, and he started a bit at not finding the shaman standing in front of him. He blinked sleepily, looked around the loft, wondering what happened to the ancient temple, and woke all the way up when the man behind him made a tiny noise.
Blair stirred, carefully, not wanting to wake his lover, but being held so close that even a yawn might do just that. His head was pillowed on one of Jim's arms, and both forearms were crossed over Blair's chest, holding him tightly. Their legs were tangled together, and Jim actually had one ankle hooked over both Blair's feet. As secure as the embrace was, Blair had apparently wanted more, even in his sleep. His arms lay over Jim's, holding them in place, and their fingers were entwined.
With another small sound, Jim twitched in several places, then murmured, "Incacha," with such a grieving, sad voice that Blair felt the pinch of tears. Jim sighed deeply and asked, sounding awake, "Blair?"
"Yes."
"I was dreaming..."
"About Incacha. Speaking to me in an old, tumbled down temple in the jungle."
"I was patrolling the perimeter, watching out for both of you."
"Did you listen to our conversation?"
"Give me a break, Sandburg!"
That made Blair smile; Jim had sounded primly indignant. "He asked me, 'What do you want most?' and I said, 'To know.' He answered, 'Why?' and I couldn't say anything right away, but then admitted I just wanted to - it was like eating to me; something I needed. He smiled, and said I was born to be Shaman, even as you were born Sentinel."
"Then he said that as I chose to protect because of my power, you chose to help because of yours."
"You weren't listening?"
"Well, he said my name, sort of," Jim hedged. "Then he began to fade, saying that the first thing a shaman must learn for himself is to listen with his heart. I don't think you have a problem there, Chief."
Trying to inch his way farther back into Jim's chest, Blair changed the subject completely. "Jim, that nightmare... do you think it might have been from Incacha somehow?"
Jim's answer was thoughtful, studied. "He passed the shaman's way on to you, through his own blood... oh, hell, Chief, I don't know. Ask me how close the nearest bird is and I can answer. Give me something concrete and I don't have a problem. But dreams, visions, portents - ask Naomi, maybe she knows."
Blair turned and worried the idea in his mind, absently enjoying the solid heat of his lover. "Shaman's way, why now? Because we're in danger? *Nothing* new there. Listen to my heart? About what?" The image from the first dream - Jim and he tied up, trying to get to each other, mixed with the memory of his unreasoning fear when away from Jim. Fear that vanished the instant they touched, were together again. Jim's new zone outs - tuning him out until he forced Jim to literally *feel* him - Blair added that to the morass, and something began to solidify. Patiently Blair waited for it, not trying to grasp it because it was too new and fragmented.
Behind him Jim cocked his head and tensed up, shattering the half-formed thought. Feeling him reach for his gun, Blair let the fragments spin away and focused on the other man. "The unit outside - Simon must have us staked - just got a message from dispatch. Your office at the U's been broken into; the janitor scared someone out of it a few minutes ago."
Sitting up, Blair swiped at his hair. "Jim, Brackett found out about you from my notes. I've been a lot more careful, but if Thompson notices my research materials and has been watching us..."
"He might put two and two together and decide I'm your sentinel. Shit! There goes what edge we might have." Jim ran his hand through his hand, and kneaded at his neck muscles. "We'd better get there, see if we can figure out what he was looking for. Someone will call in a minute... you take the shower and I'll start breakfast - something we can eat on the way."
"Be faster if we showered together, " Blair tried to tease.
Smiling briefly, Jim dropped a light kiss. "No it wouldn't. And neither of us have eaten since lunch yesterday. Move ass, Sandburg!"
***
Still swallowing a last bite of food, Blair ran down the stairs behind his partner, pulling out the keys to the rental as he did. "Jim, man, he's never broken into someone else's office before - he's breaking his pattern. Maybe he's on the edge of dropping us?"
Opening the car door and sitting, Jim started to answer, but broke off, adopting his intent, 'listening' look. Scanning the surrounding area even as he took his own seat, Blair looked for a clue to what triggered the sentinel, then turned back to his partner.
"I don't think so, Chief." Jim said with weary resignation. "I just sat on a bomb."
Blair reached for his cell phone, but froze when a cold voice ordered, "Don't." A gun was shoved into the open window and what Blair assumed was a detonating device was waved where he could see it. "It's pressure triggered. He tries to move, it goes off. Or I can blow it if he tries something."
Behind him, Blair heard the rear door open, and saw movement as Thompson got in, wearing a police uniform. That's how he got close. We saw the car and dismissed it. A quick glance in the rear view told him their attacker was settling behind him, and the cold touch of metal to the back of his head confirmed it. "I see you deserve that 'cop of the year' award, Ellison. How'd you know about the bomb - instinct?"
"Heard it arm," Jim replied shortly. "Shaped just to take out the passenger, right? Otherwise you wouldn't have gotten in here with us, and wouldn't feel the need for that gun."
"Oh, yeah! Definitely cop of the year material. Dr. Sandburg, start the car. We're going on a road trip, gentlemen."
Looking at the keys in his hand, feeling the now-familiar terror rise, Blair felt the fragments of earlier thoughts snap together, and knew what to do. Catching and holding Jim's eyes, he tossed the keys out his window then crawled into his lover's waiting arms.
"You have spares," Thompson said icily. "Get them."
Face in the curve of Jim's neck and shoulder, Blair answered shortly, "No way, man. You take him out, I go, too."
"Might as well put the gun down, Thompson. You fire at him, I try to go for a little walk." Jim put in.
"What the fuck do you heroes think you're doing!" Thompson demanded.
"Deriving you of your pleasure," Jim told him. "We know what you do, we've *seen* what you'll do to us."
"This is some stupid profiler's trick! You don't know anything!"
Coming out from the shelter of Jim's warmth, Blair turned to look into the back seat and the tortured eyes of Samuel Thompson. "So *tell* us," he ordered quietly. "If anybody should, if anybody *can* understand, who else besides someone like us?"
Thompson sagged back into the seat, staring open-mouthed. "A trick," he mumbled.
"No. Tell us, tell *me,* Samuel," Blair ordered again. "Tell us about Brian."
Trying to project all the compassion he was capable of, Blair waited, keeping all of his attention on the killer. Abruptly, Thompson spoke up. "He told me about a year after we started riding together. About being gay, I mean. Call it 'outing' don't they? Said it was only right I should know, 'cause it could come out the hard way, and he wanted me to have the choice. So I could protect myself from getting tarred with the same brush, if it happened.
"You know, I thought he was having me on, at first. Brian, he was gold and steel, no way he could be one of those perverted abominations. When it soaked in he was laying it on the line for me, I nearly walked. I nearly walked."
Thompson was silent, obviously looking back into the past, regretting it. "All while I was trying to get my mind around it, he never defended himself, or lied to me, or acted different or anything. Finally, I thought, maybe, maybe he's trying to save himself from it, and I could help. Be an example, help if he wanted to change. He was such a good man!
"So, I rode with him. You know how it is - you spend half your time bored out of your head, nothing to do but talk, and the other half trying to get the job done and counting on your buddy to make it possible. Pretty soon, I... I started thinking that being gay wasn't as vile as the minister made it sound. A sin, but a human one, like carnal thoughts, you know. Easily forgiven, God's judgment not man's. I don't know. I don't know.
"I just know when my marriage broke up, Brian held me together. When he got beat up coming out of the wrong bar, he came to me for medical help, to keep from reporting it. And I didn't. When my mom died, Brian arranged the funeral cause I was too broken up to do it." Defiantly, Thompson sat up straight. "There wasn't a better man on this earth, and what he did in the bedroom was nobody's business but his and God's."
"Then he died," Jim whispered, unexpectedly. "Died in front of you."
"Oh, Jesus, oh, dear, sweet Jesus," Thompson half sobbed. "Burned to death, awake and fighting to live for over five minutes. I was driving, he was in the back with a patient, the whole damn unit was turned upside down and he was pinned half in and half out the rear doors. I got tossed out, heard him shouting when the flames started, nobody helped! Nobody came close, and I crawled around to get to him, to pull him out, and I couldn't, I was too hurt, and couldn't get the gurney and body off him. He tried to make me leave, tried to yank his free hand away, but I wouldn't let him go. The fire got him, and he was hurting, trying not to scream, not wanting me to hear him scream, then a fireman got to me, was pulling me away, and I still wouldn't let go, and he said, he said, he.... said that he loved me, always had and couldn't bear it if I died with him. It would keep him from Eternal Peace if I did, let go, please, Sammy, please. Let go!"
Thompson wailed the last words, pounding on the car seat. "For him, I did," He half-shouted. Suddenly he brought up his gun, and put it point blank at Blair's head. "And for *him*" he told Jim, "You will. I want this car moving."
"Why?" Blair said gently. "To make him tell me he loves me? That's what you've been doing with all those people, isn't it, Sammy? Trying to making them say it? Because you never did? You don't have to with us. Jim and I are together."
"Liar!" Thompson roared into Blair's face. "I've watched you, been in your house. I know what to look for. I know what you need; I cleaned out Brian's house."
It took a split second, then Blair realized what Thompson was referring to and jerked around to face his partner. "Oh, shit, man. I didn't protect you! I forgot. I know you're clean, but, me... Shit, shit, shit... Jim..."
Taking Blair's chin between thumb and forefinger, Jim told him, "It doesn't matter, lover."
"Jim, I don't always..."
"It doesn't matter," Jim said firmly, and kissed Blair lightly. To Blair's surprise, when Jim broke it, he half-grinned at Thompson and shrugged, "Sometimes it's the only way to shut him up."
They stared at each other for long minutes, then Thompson backed away from the pair. "You're telling the truth," he said, slowly, wonderingly. "You're together. Because of me?"
"Yes," Blair said honestly. "That's why no supplies in the loft."
There was another pause as Thompson judged them, again, then he started to cry silently, tears slipping down his cheeks. "Thank you, Lord. Thank you. Oh, at last, at last..." He scrabbled for the door handle, and got out of the rental on Jim's side of the car, handing Blair the detonator as he did.
Blair craned his neck to see what his was doing, but Jim interposed a shoulder, shouting, "Wait! Thompson! That's not..."
There was the sound of a gunshot, and Jim cupped Blair's head and cradled it to him, swearing under his breath as he did. "Oh, my god," Blair moaned. "I killed him, I shouldn't have told him, I killed him!"
"No!" Jim, hugged him closer. "No. You gave him peace, Blair. The only peace he could have, after what he'd done."
"Jim, he shot himself because of what I said!"
"No!" Jim denied again, and Blair wondered at the surety of the word. "He executed himself because of the ones he killed, to make sure the system didn't let him get away with it. He was willing to let God make the final judgment on his actions."
Not convinced, morbidly curious to know if Thompson was really dead, Blair tried to see again, but Jim determinedly kept him still. Blair subsided, and reached for his cell phone to call Simon. As he did, Jim turned to look himself, absently petting the locks under his fingers. He said nothing while Blair filled in the Captain, then nuzzled his lover, saying in an undertone Blair barely understood, "There but for the grace of thee...."