A Matter of Timing

"Jim," Blair said firmly, picking up the debris from the Wonder Burger lunch he had bought to smooth the way for this conversation with his sentinel, "You promised you would play nice this time. This guy is nothing like Charlie, personality-wise, or in how he uses his gifts, or even how he relates to my mom. There's no reason for you to avoid him."

Without taking his eyes off the file they'd been discussing through the meal, and in a voice designed to go no farther in the bullpen than Blair's ears, Jim said absently, "I'm not avoiding him; he's avoiding me."

That pulled Blair up short, and he mentally reran the last few weeks, since Naomi had blown into town, bubbling over with excitement about her newest friend. Standing taller than Simon and looking even taller than that because of his slender build, Malcolm Algood had impressed Blair from the first. Not only as being the real deal, as far as psychics went, but because he had a gallant, courtly manner toward Naomi. There was an incredible gentleness in the man, obvious in the storm gray eyes under an unruly shock of salt and pepper hair, and in the care in which he used his huge hands, that appealed to Blair as well.

In fact, Blair realized, frowning to himself, the only odd note that he could think of in his short acquaintance with the man was his reaction to Jim the first time they had met. Malcolm had invited them to join him and Naomi for dinner in the excellent restaurant attached to the hotel where they were staying - in separate rooms, another mark in Malcolm's favor in Blair's mind. Malcolm and Naomi had already been seated at the table when he and Jim had arrived a bit late, but Malcolm had stood right away and offered them his hand to shake during the introductions. His grip had been just right as far as Blair was concerned: no bone crunching to emphasize his masculinity, not limp in distaste, or damp in fear, or soft with pampering. It had been enough, Blair recognized in hind sight, to like him immediately, which wasn't exactly unusual for him, but worth noticing, though it could simply be part of Malcolm's gifts.

Conversely, when Malcolm had shaken Jim's hand, he'd suddenly paled and breathed, "Oh, my," in a way that had Naomi leaping up to ease him back into a chair, glowering at Jim all the while.

Malcolm had cemented Blair's initial impression of him by gently scolding her for it, explaining that Jim had a naturally strong aura, the strongest he had ever encountered in someone not gifted. He mollified the slight reprimand by adding that had to be the reason why Blair had connected so deeply with Jim.

"You didn't react," Blair murmured to himself, despite the fact that Jim would hear. Or maybe because of it; suddenly he wasn't sure. At Jim's stare over the top of the papers in his hand, Blair added, "When Malcolm said you had a strong aura. You didn't smirk, or snigger, or roll your eyes, or do any of the things you do when you run into anything that's outside of what you consider rational and scientifically reasonable."

"I'd already given you my promise," Jim said with deceptive mildness.

"Which wouldn't have stopped you from expressing your opinion, at least to me," Blair countered.

To his surprise, Jim shrugged. "I like him, too, and no, not because he said I have a good strength in me that fits together well with yours."

"Well, it's true." Blair grinned and threw away the nearly forgotten garbage. "It's also true that, despite frequent invitations and plans for get-togethers, you haven't spent more than two minutes in the man's company since."

Turning most of his attention back to the report, Jim said, "It's not like I asked Simon to give me that stake-out on the night we were scheduled to go out with them, or went looking for a perp to bust when I took down that ATM robbery the Saturday we rescheduled for." He glanced back up. "In fact, given he's the psychic, isn't it possible Malcolm knew I'd run into something to prevent me from being there? He did suggest both dates, and he or Naomi has been the one to call off any other plans we had."

Almost automatically, Blair said, "He calls himself a personal trouble-shooter, not a psychic. Most of what he does is watch with clear eyes as people go through their daily lives and add what he sees together with intuition."

Jim made a noncommittal sound that could have been translated as, 'if you say so, Chief.' Blair let him get away with it because he couldn't refute Jim's claim that Malcolm was the one doing the avoiding. At the same time, he couldn't help but feel that if Malcolm didn't, Jim would have, though Blair didn't have a single, solid reason to think so. During the brief moments they had spent in each other's presence, Jim had been friendly and pleasant instead of donning the aloof, unemotional facade he wore with people he had doubts about. And for some reason, Blair was sure Malcolm had nothing but sincere respect for Jim.

Picking up his own sheath of paperwork, Blair tried to dismiss the feeling he had that there was something going on between Malcolm and Jim, well below the surface of casual phone conversations and delayed social plans. Yet, the words on the sheets in front of him refused to take on meaning as his thoughts circled back again and again to the elaborate dance of avoidance he couldn't help but believe was going on.

Finally, with a long-suffering sigh, Jim reached over and tucked a finger under Blair's chin to raise his head. "I can hear your brain spinning from here; so could anybody else. Why don't you just ask them over for a home-cooked meal without telling them I'm the one cooking so you can get to the bottom of this? You could issue the invitation directly to Naomi over the phone. Give Malcolm less to work on if he is trying to stay out of my way for some reason. I've got court Friday morning, and was planning to take the afternoon off anyway, remember?"

"Electrician's coming to check out upgrading the breaker box," Blair confirmed. For a split second he soaked up the caring in those so-blue eyes and in the gentle touch unlike any he'd ever known. Common sense reasserted itself and he jokingly swatted Jim's hand away. "Leave it up to you to find a way to make your point and still keep your word."

Jim smirked at him, but said, "What do you want me to serve, Chief, besides a large sized helping of 'I told you so' for you if they cancel? Steak tartare? Barbeque ribs?"

Shooting him the look of exasperation he expected for suggesting serving two vegans meat, Blair started to give him an appropriate smart-alec retort, caught three words in a witness' statement that didn't jib with what he knew about the case, and side-tracked them both back to police work.

Though Blair didn't bring the topic back up again in the days before the dinner, he couldn't lay it to rest in his own mind. It didn't help that a few hours after Naomi accepted the invitation for both her and Malcolm, she called back and indirectly asked if Jim would be home that night. Nonplused, Blair told her the truth: Jim had plans already. He didn't volunteer that bit of information to his partner, either, already sure that Jim wouldn't be surprised by it.

Regardless, Blair was looking forward to the evening when he picked up Malcolm and Naomi at the hotel. Malcolm was good company and Naomi was positively ebullient under his attention, arranging it so she could sit in the front seat, back to the door, to talk easily to both him and Blair. The idea of marriage flitted by, and Blair squashed it thoroughly. Malcolm's method of attracting and keeping Naomi's interest was novel, but he had no doubt it wouldn't work in the long term. Not with his mom, anyway. Until they split, though, he could and would make the most of Malcolm's dry humor and unique perspective on the human condition.

Laughing at one of Naomi's travel stories, he pulled into his usual spot in front of 852 Prospect, surprised that Jim's truck wasn't there. To guess by the quick glance around and faint air of relief, Malcolm noticed that, too. Despite it, he was so uneasy that Naomi picked up on his discomfort, and looked around herself as if to find the cause.

With nothing obvious present, she reached back to lay a calming hand on Malcolm's arm. "Is your intuition warning you about something?"

Patting her hand before gently disengaging it, Malcolm said fondly, "Nothing so dramatic as a warning. Just a prickle of disquiet, as if I need to watch my step very closely for the next little while."

Frowning prettily, Naomi turned to Blair. "Sweetie, you're not involved in anything particularly dangerous with Jim right now?"

"Mom, we've had this discussion before," Blair said, torn between pacifying his mother and observing Malcolm. His own intuition, such as it was, was on alert, but Naomi had to take precedence. "Working as Jim's civilian partner is no more dangerous than being an anthropologist in the field. Less so, since he's an expert at protecting people and considers protecting me a top priority, aggravating as I find that sometimes."

Distantly, mind clearly far, far away, Malcolm said, "Jim will be the one to die, and for Blair's sake, through no fault on either side. Unless Blair accepts the truths blocking their path."

"Malcolm!" Blair gasped, echoed by Naomi.

With a small jerk, Malcolm came back to himself and cast his eyes down, unable to look at them. "There was no immediacy in that, thank goodness. And I have to say, I consider it a strong 'could be', not a 'prepare your self for'."

Swallowing hard, Blair looked up at the windows to the loft, and killed the panic trying to birth itself in his middle. "Thank you. It's not like I didn't know it was a possibility, but now I know it's a good one, I'll do what I can."

"Well, the obvious thing would be to leave," Naomi said brightly.

"No." This time it was Malcolm who echoed Blair.

Going on, Malcolm said, "It would be worse for both of them, and yes, I know you don't believe it, Naomi, but there are worse things for your baby boy than dying." With an obvious determined effort, he smiled and swept the air in front of him, as if to erase the last few moments. "What can be done has been done. The now is more important, and I believe I've been promised the famous Sandburg pasta primavera."

"No," Naomi started.

"Brightness," Malcolm broke in, serenity and cheerfulness pouring from him in nearly visible waves, "we are never allowed to do more than advise. You know that. And keep in mind it's possible the very reason you felt the impulse to shop Raymond's on that particular day at that particular time was so that we would meet, and Blair could receive the guidance he needed. It's been given; we have to trust to the Kindness that allowed me to deliver it."

Blair could see her fight his confident reassurance, but, bit by bit, she succumbed. By the time Malcolm finished speaking, she was smiling again, if faintly. "And Blair is strong enough to accept that it's Jim's choice, really."

She let herself out of the Volvo, standing to smooth her clothes and leaving Blair gaping after her.

Malcolm leaned forward to exit himself, but under cover of the movement, he whispered, "She's not nearly as oblivious as she wants to be. It's just hard for her to give up her motherly illusion that she raised a child to be exactly what she wants him to be."

Unfolding himself out of the car, Malcolm said something to Naomi too softly for Blair to hear, that made her laugh, and she took his arm to walk with him to the door. Blair let them go ahead, inexplicably fighting the urge to get the pair of them as far away from his home and his partner as possible. Suddenly worried that Jim had overheard their conversation, which was possible if he had parked elsewhere to allay Malcom's suspicions, and what Naomi would have to say about it to him, Blair popped out and raced to catch up with them.

Taking his presence for granted, Naomi wound her free arm through his, and babbled on about the beauty of living in the moment, and the various people she'd met who exemplified it. Blair let her go on during the elevator ride up, manically hatching schemes to sidetrack the whole stupid idea of springing Jim on them, and just as quickly shooting them down. Deciding that improvisation was his best bet just as they reached the loft, Blair opened his mouth to discover what he would say.

Before a word came out, Naomi took a key from her purse and opened the door with it. At Blair's strangled questioning sound, she said brightly, "I made a copy of the one you hid on the door frame. You really shouldn't do that, you know. It's not safe. I'm surprised Jim hasn't said something to you about it."

While Blair was mentally strangling himself, positive that Jim would do the same thing for real before very much longer, she went inside, Malcolm following her somewhat hesitantly. With the all too familiar feeling of a snowball becoming an avalanche, Blair went in right behind them, hastily throwing on his most cheerful and innocent persona.

Thankfully, the loft showed no signs of habitation, and Blair had an instant to hope that Jim had been the one doing the avoiding. In the long run, that would be much, much easier to deal with. Before he could appreciate the flash of relief, footsteps echoed from upstairs, and Jim ran lightly down the steps, shrugging into a shirt. Despite Malcolm's instant stiffening, Naomi's abrupt frown, and the sense of impending doom, Blair couldn't help admiring the glimpse of perfect chest first framed, then teasingly hid, by fabric.

"Hey, Naomi," Jim said, brushing a kiss near her cheek as he did buttons. He nodded to Malcolm with a welcoming smile in place, but went past him to stand in front of Blair. "Chief, I know you had plans for the evening, but I had out-of-town company drop in on me unexpectedly. Any chance you can swing an addition of two to your evening? I'll do the cooking."

Automatically protesting, Blair said, "If you have guests, I can take Mom and Malcolm out, no problem." To himself, he thought, //He's covering for me with Naomi; making sure he takes the blame if it all goes wrong.//

Oddly, though it was exactly the sort of thing Jim would do and, warmed by it like always, alarm bells jangled yet again for Blair, louder than ever. Annoyed with the damned things, with himself for brushing them off so many times lately, then with Naomi who slid a fast sidelong glance at Malcolm and happily seconded Blair's suggestion, Blair opened his mouth to obfuscate a reason to stay home. For the second time that day, he didn't get a chance to say word one.

The balcony doors opened, and a petite, curvaceous woman with a heart-shaped face accented by short, spiked blonde hair, stepped into the loft. The two things that Blair noticed about her immediately was her air of quiet confidence, not unlike a soldier's or experienced cop's, and that she was at least six months pregnant. When she pulled a heavy cable sweater closer around her shoulders, face distant and distracted, he added 'sad', though he couldn't really say why.

She looked up, saw Malcolm, then lit up, as if she'd just spotted heaven. "Yosef!"

Astonished, Blair swung his gaze to Malcolm, who had gone paler than pale. Eyes shut, he said tiredly, "Any background check that Jim ran on me was supposed to turn up clean."

Accusations already bubbling, Blair looked at his partner - and had to blink. For the tiniest of seconds, he was willing to swear that Jim was wearing his fatigues and Chopec paint, all Sentinel Warrior, standing in wait while judgment was passed by tribal elders. But though he stood, arms over chest, clearly blocking the door, it was just Jim, in chinos and a nice shirt. Only his expression fit the image Blair had summoned.

"He didn't run one," the unknown woman said gently, eyes still on Mal... Yosef, drawing Blair's attention back to her. "I was worried about you, you dumb galoot, so I made a few calls to find you. A mutual friend went to Jim, and he recognized you from the description."

Naomi broke in. "Malcolm, who is this woman!"

A variety of emotions flitted over Yosef's face: acceptance, relief, regret, sorrow. There was only love when he crossed to the blonde, though, pulling her into a tight hug before turning to face Naomi, arm still slung protectively over her shoulders. "This is my wife, Patricia."

"You never said you were married," Naomi said, aghast.

"You never asked." Yosef shrugged elegantly. "Nor did you care to know. All that mattered to you is how you perceived me."

It was, Blair painfully admitted, a simple truth about his mother, but that didn't stop him from going to Naomi, making it clear that he supported her. He caught a glint of approval from Jim as he did, and it occurred to him that if Jim was waiting for a verdict or decision of some sort, Blair was the one who would be making it. That didn't set well with him, but at the same time, it seemed to fit. Brushing away that insight, he waited for his mom to decide how she wanted to handle Yosef's deception.

Mouth working, clearly at a loss, Naomi gestured several times, sharply, as if that could convey precise meaning.

More or less ignoring her, Patricia caught Yosef by the ears and hauled his head down so that they were nose-to-nose. In direct contrast to her firm hold, her tone was loving and gentle. "Yosef, what kind of con are you trying to run here?"

"Con!" Naomi spluttered.

"No way," Blair blurted. "I've seen his abilities at work. They're genuine."

Not releasing her husband from her gaze or her grip, Patricia said absently, "Of course they are. That's why this has gone so wrong for him."

"I meant no harm," Yosef protested feebly.

"That does not mean harm was not done," Patricia said in stern tones that reminded Blair eerily of Jim. "You used your gift to engineer a meeting with Naomi for your own purposes, and then again to gain her confidence so that she would trust you. At the very least you intended to garner enough influence over her to accomplish some goal. Did you ever consider simply asking her for whatever it is you need?"

With a deep, heart-felt sigh, Yosef gently pulled away from his wife, looked around, found a kitchen chair and dropped into it. "That was not what I was hired to do."

That was too much for Naomi. She gave a short, piercing screech and threw herself onto the couch. "I'm letting this go, I'm letting this go."

Taking possession of Yosef's hand, Patricia said calmly, "Full disclosure. That's the only restitution you can make, right now."

Yosef lightly touched the curve of her tummy, and said to it, "We don't even have enough money to buy a crib, let alone provide all the things a baby needs, never mind what I want for him to have. When Billesbach offered me more than we make together in a year, just to meet Naomi and persuade her to attend one of his retreats with her son, I sincerely believed it was more or less honest money. That Naomi had already been warned about him, or sensed for herself how fundamentally twisted he is, or perhaps had had a run-in with him already, which was why he was resorting to a third party to convince her to come to his mansion. If she was that strong, then she had nothing to fear from Billesbach."

If the implied compliment mollified Naomi at all, it didn't show. She snorted inelegantly and turned her back on the couple.

"Edgar Billesbach?" Blair asked sharply. "I've heard about him; everyone who is into paranormal phenomena has. He bankrolls research, debunking, television specials, pro or con, he doesn't seem to care. Claims to be fascinated with the subject, but I've always heard that it's a serious case of envy. You weren't at all worried about what he might want from my mom?"

At a penetrating look from his wife, Yosef said, "At the time, I thought I knew. He wanted an opportunity to subjugate her abilities to his service, like he has so many other gifted people, for no other reason than to feed his ego, which sometimes seems to be his only occupation. I swear to you, if I had believed for a moment she'd succumb, I would have never gone through with it. I wouldn't take the first payment until I'd had a chance to assess if she was capable of dealing with him."

"Of course I can," Naomi snapped.

"Yes, yes, undoubtedly," Yosef agreed hastily, and seemed to be willing to let Naomi begin venting her anger with him just to get it over with.

For the first time since the confrontation began, Jim spoke. "Tell them all of it." The certainty in his voice left Blair wondering if it were sentinel senses or something more that allowed Jim to know not all the truth had been told.

Yosef glanced at him, managed to turn another shade paler, and went back to staring at the swell of his unborn child, as if that would give him strength. "After I met her, I had no qualms about taking the first payment. She's a Spielburgian wannabe. No true gift, just an everyday who's convinced herself that because of her lifestyle and devotion to pop philosophy that she's better than everyone else. Billesbach would have no use for her, once he discovered that."

Muttering something Blair wasn't sure he wanted to hear, Naomi sprang off the couch and went into the bathroom, contrarily shutting the door so carefully, the snick of the lock was painfully loud. It was a far more effective statement of anger than slamming would have been, in Blair's opinion, and he bit down hard on his own anger so that he could emulate her when he verbally flayed Yosef's skin from his backside. The misery in every line of the man's body pulled him up short, though, and he belatedly wondered why Yosef would be so cruel when he was already in so much trouble with everyone in the room.

"Now that you've driven her out, what don't you want her to hear?" Patricia asked, confirming Blair's suspicion.

"That it isn't her that Billesbach wants; it's her child." Yosef met Blair's eyes for the first time, a small smile of commiseration in place at the shock he caused. "You have a powerful, rare ability lying dormant within you that could be awakened under the right tutelage, the right need."

"Like I'm going to believe anything you say now," Blair muttered, mind rolling in turmoil.

"And you were still going to go through with it? Put him in a monster's hands?" The growl from Jim had so much menace in it that, for the first time, Patricia jerked her attention away from her husband.

"Back off," she said coldly. "Now."

Running a soothing hand over his wife's tummy, Yosef said to Jim, "Talent can't be coerced by force or blackmail or threat. Stress and fear shuts down that part of the mind needed for any special abilities to function, which Billesbach learned the hard, expensive way. He has to resort to seduction, bribery, indirect control. Unfortunately, he's a master of it, possibly because he enjoys corrupting a person as much as he does hurting them."

Jim growled again, this time without words, and Yosef added hastily, "Blair is immune to any attempt from Billsebach to ensnare him. He's found his Guardian, and you've obviously sworn yourself to him."

"Whoa. Stop there. That's enough." Blair took a deep breath to keep himself from shouting. "Please leave, now. Both of you."

"Blair," Yosef started pleadingly.

Patricia stopped him with a gentle slap to the shoulder. "No, he's reached saturation. The best thing we can do now is let him work it all out in his head."

Seemingly ready to continue to plea his case, Yosef surrendered when Jim opened the door and stood to one side, clearly expecting him to go through it. With a last glance at both Blair and Patricia, neither of whom relented in the slightest, he stood and made his way out. Patricia followed him, one hand in the small of the back, as if to both urge him on and to give comfort.

Dispassionately, Blair watched them go, a part of him startled that he had thrown them out, but equally confident that denying Yosef the opportunity to grovel and placate his conscience was the right thing to do. //Judgment given,// he thought, wondering again why he had been the one to make it, and why everyone, including Jim, had calmly accepted it.

He started to ask Jim exactly that, but Jim was following Patricia and Yosef out, shutting the door firmly behind himself. Only then did it occur to him that he had thrown a pregnant woman out on the streets, with no idea if she needed shelter, let alone protection. Waffling for a few minutes - his mom wouldn't stay in the bathroom forever, Patricia would have no doubt refused to stay behind if only her husband had been required to go - Blair kicked himself into gear when it occurred to him that Jim might have his own agenda with Yosef.

Calling to Naomi to let her know he'd be right back, he ran out, taking the stairs to street level rather than wait for the elevator. At the landing of the bottom floor, he heard Jim talking and pulled up short, waiting to see what his partner had in mind so that he could head him off if necessary. Fortunately the stairwell acted like a natural amplifier, making it easy to understand what was said.

Unsurprisingly, Jim was apparently ignoring Yosef all together, addressing himself only to Patricia. "Are you expecting trouble from this Billesbach?"

"Enough that we're dropping out of sight," Patricia said tiredly. "I already quit my job to come here, and I can cover my tracks easily enough. Don't worry, I know a safe place where he can't reach us, and his attention span for nuisances, which is all we are to him, generally isn't long enough that we'll have to stay low forever."

"You have enough money, or need a place to rest for the night?"

"You know, Marty was right about you," Patricia said, and Blair could almost see her wide, honest smile. "You are one of the good ones." Her tone turned serious, and she went on, "Look, when it comes to getting what he wants, Edgar Billesbach doesn't give up. He'll take another run at Blair, and soon. You need help, you contact Marty, okay?"

Fully expecting Jim to brush her warning off, Blair sat down heavily on the top stair when Jim said, "The moment Billesbach makes a move. I won't risk Blair to an enemy that I don't have the weapons to fight, even if I knew how to fight him."

She sighed, hard and deep. "If any good has come out of this, it's that you can be on the lookout now. Yosef might have faith in what you and Blair share being enough to protect him, but I know real life and filthy cunning can be enough to circumvent the closest of connections."

Emotions already too overloaded to react properly, Blair hung his head when Jim muttered, probably not loud enough for Patricia to hear over the opening and closing of the front door, "God knows I've already proved myself useless at keeping him safe from my own stupidity."

He stepped into the stairwell, and Blair could tell the moment he realized he wasn't alone, and who was waiting for him. His entire body tensed, and he straightened, head high, in a posture that Blair had seen him use with Simon many times when he was about to get royally chewed for doing what Jim was positive had to be done, though it broke the rules. The damnable thing was that frequently Jim was right, but regulations and discipline required that he be disciplined anyway.

Despite the numbness that settled over him, it hurt that Jim honestly felt Blair would think it necessary and justified to tear him a new one just for trying to take care of him. Not hiding that ache, he said, "I have no idea where to start with you."

"I don't know where to begin, either," Jim admitted.

"What's my mom doing?"

Jim listened intently, then said, "Taking a hot bath with your jungle music playing loud enough I'm surprised you don't hear it."

Waving at the step next to him, Blair said, "Might as well talk here."

Nodding, Jim sat on a riser lower than Blair's so that they were level with each other, back to the wall, though he hardly needed the support, his spine was so rigid. Blair nudged him with a knee, just to let him know he wasn't in that much trouble, but he didn't smile to tell him that he was off the hook entirely. Jim relaxed almost imperceptibly, and leaned his head back to study the ceiling.

They sat together comfortably in silence for several minutes, reassuring Jim more, before Blair grabbed the first thing at the top of his mind at the moment. "Just tell me it wasn't a trust thing to keep me out of the loop on your little sting operation up there."

With a jerk, Jim looked at him, so truly, completely appalled that Blair recanted and waved away the comment. "Okay, so why did it have to go down that way? I mean, you could have just directed Patricia to the hotel and let her deal with her husband on her own. They could have decamped, my mom none the wiser about the whole mess."

Going back to his perusal of the ceiling, Jim said, "Because I had to know what his game was, Chief. When Patricia arrived without warning this morning, she convinced me that unless she got brutal with him, Yosef would clam up in case he ever needed the con or the mark again, and she wasn't willing to do that without a good reason."

"Even if you didn't run a background check on him, you apparently suspected him from the first. You should have told me then," Blair argued.

"What was I supposed to say?" Jim asked, sounding more tired than anything else. "That I couldn't figure out why he was keeping company with your mother, because I couldn't sense any physical interest in her from him? That I could barely scent another woman on him, a pregnant one? Don't take this wrong, but Naomi is a great looking woman. There were only two reasons he wouldn't respond to that: either he was hard-wired gay or completely in love with someone else, and Naomi wasn't even a blip on the radar because of it."

More to himself than Jim, Blair muttered, "And money is out, because Naomi's very upfront that she can't touch her trust fund at all, not that she's ever needed to, the way men fall over themselves to give her what she wants or needs."

"Which left wanting information from her or using her to get to someone else, neither of which made sense to me."

"It could have been a purely intellectual relationship," Blair pointed out half-heartedly. "True friends, kindred souls. That does happen between men and women."

Jim scrubbed at his eyes. "Believe or not, I could see that as a possibility. Or that he was looking for companionship because he had just lost a spouse, or she was away, and Naomi's gender wasn't an issue because of how in love he was."

Uncharacteristically shifting, as if fighting the urge to brush off the rest of their conversation and leave, Jim went on, "There was no solid evidence that he was up to no good, and every reason to give him the benefit of the doubt because of how damn likeable he is. Even when Martin came to me a few days ago, all he said was that he was looking for him for his wife's sake. He didn't use names at all. I didn't learn what he was most likely up to until Patricia told me her suspicions about him setting up a mark."

Clasping his hands between his knees, Blair dropped his chin to his chest. "I really, really thought he was genuine."

Sounding surprised, Jim said, "He is, just like Patricia said. For years he used his abilities to run cons that always came off half-baked, netting him barely enough cash to stay fed. Got a record, according to Patricia, but nothing serious, but that could be why Billesbach hasn't tried to own him. Then they met, and she pulled him into a better use for his gifts. She is - was - a teacher in the juvenile detention system. He became a counselor, directing kids toward professions they could actually do and enjoy, helping them find ways to see the source of their anger and frustration and defuse it."

Jerking his head up, Blair blurted, "You, of all people, after catching him mid-sting with my mother, believe he's legit? After the way you acted about Charlie who didn't act half as unethically?"

"Charlie isn't gifted," Jim said shortly. "Maybe a glimmer or two, and a knack for insight. But he's not like Yosef or Incacha."

It was the tone as much as the words that caught Blair's notice, and he carefully considered the combined meaning until he asked softly, "Jim, are you telling me you can sense if some one has paranormal abilities?"

"No, not sense," Jim denied instantly. "I mean, there's nothing specific that I see or feel or anything. It's more like being able to tell that the weather's changing for good or bad." Jim hesitated, but admitted, "I've always been able to do it, though I didn't understand what I was picking up on until I met Incacha, who explained it to me. I've no idea if it's part of the sentinel thing or not."

With an effort, Blair kept his voice bland. "And it never once occurred to you to mention this to me?"

"It's not one of those things that come up in casual conversation." Jim sounded irritated, as he usually did when he was on the defensive. "And, damn it, even you had your doubts about whether or not I really saw Molly, or if it was the first symptom of schizophrenia."

Inwardly cursing everyone who had had a hand in making Jim Ellison obsessively reticent and withdrawn, Blair tried not to answer anger with anger. "Not doubts, never doubts. Worries, concerns, issues, serious reservations, but not doubt."

As he'd hoped, that surprised a chuckle out of him, and Jim stood, drawing Blair with him. "Between those and the job, I'm surprised you sleep as well as you do. Speaking of which, you're not going to give me a hard time about sleeping at home until I find a way to neutralize Billesbach, are you?"

"You're treating him as a serious threat?"

Jim shot him a look that clearly questioned his sanity, but said mildly enough, "Yes."

"Maybe the best thing to do is to knock on his door and let him see for himself that I don't have anything he wants." Blair thought it was a perfectly reasonable suggestion, but Jim clouded up like a special-effect thunderstorm and shook his head. "Come on, man. Once he finds out that his intel on me is wrong, he might even be willing to tell us who gave it to him so we can go looking for that person and correct his misconception before he stirs up real trouble."

Cupping the side of Blair's face, Jim said very, very gently, "Are you so sure of that, Blair? That you don't have anything he wants?"

"Of course..." Blair started, then his brain kicked in, hard, adding it all up, and he verbally backtracked, nearly stuttering. "Hey, no way. Absolutely no, no, way. I mean, if I had some latent talent, don't you think it wouldn't be so latent by now? With everything's that happened in my life since we've started riding together? I mean, when I was a kid, I would have given anything to be like Doc Strange or Reed Richards or anybody special, you know. Especially when I noticed girls. You know how every male..."

Panic had risen with every word, and faint quivers deep in his muscles slowly worked their way up to full-blown trembling, and Blair couldn't have shut his mouth if his life depended on it. A frantic voice deep in his own mind, shouted, "Run! Run!" but his feet were glued to the floor. Only his hands could move with any semblance of control, and they had locked themselves, without any orders from him, into the front of Jim's shirt, claiming huge wads of fabric.

His voice trailed off, not because he had run out of inane things to say, but because he'd run out of air. Before he could gulp in more, Jim wrapped him softly, securely in a powerful hug and let Blair hide in the curve of his shoulder. He did breathe then, for a sharp, shaky second, and Jim filled the momentary silence with a whispered litany of, "It's okay, it's okay."

Somehow, some way, Blair believed him, and was able to take another breath, this one less like a stifled scream.

Rubbing small circles into the small of Blair's back and the back of his head, Jim said, "Would you really have given anything to be special? Wouldn't you have given much, much more to be like everybody else? To not be the new kid, the major geek, the short brainy guy who had to carve a new place for himself over and over and over?"

"I... I..."

Giving a little tug to the curls under his fingers, Jim said, "You're happy now, aren't you? With your life, with the way you are, what you do, how you live, all of it? It doesn't make any difference if you have an extra knack tucked away in that skull of yours. Just because a man has perfect pitch, he doesn't have to play a musical instrument, and not everybody over seven feet tall has to be on a basketball team."

It was exactly what Blair needed to hear, so much so that he instantly felt guilty. Telling himself that if anybody would know about the plus and negative sides of suddenly discovering a new part of himself, it would be Jim, Blair squashed the guilt and went for relief. The nagging voice in his head that wanted to run, sighed at the reprieve, but a new, quieter one whispered, though Blair uncharacteristically refused to hear it.

Instead, he muttered to himself, to it, to Jim, "I've fought so hard to get what I have, even had to fight you. I don't want to change any of it, now, and why should I? It's mine, won on brain power, hard work, and perseverance. And it's not just good, Jim, it's... it's way past that."

Wisely not commenting, Jim took on his 'listening' attitude, then urged Blair up. "Naomi's beginning to wonder what happened to everyone."

Pulling himself together almost automatically at the mention of his mother, Blair said, "Has she finished her personal form of spin doctoring yet? Earth Mother helping a man find his way back to his wife, or maybe back to the true calling of his gifts."

Arm slung companionably over Blair's shoulder, Jim climbed the stairs with him. "Then tomorrow she'll fly off to the Ganges or Mt. Kilimanjaro to reaffirm herself spiritually, and by the time she gets back, she'll hardly remember meeting Malcom, a.k.a Yosef, he was so unimportant to her life."

"In the grand scheme of things, he is," Blair said, not really defending his mother, since Jim was clearly working his way up to teasing mode. It was only right if he did, of course, since he was planning on taking a page from her book and forgetting as much of the past few hours as humanly possible. The only question was whether or not life would let him.

***

Within a few weeks of discovering Billesbach's interest in him, Blair opened his office door at the university to a girlfriend he hadn't seen since they had parted ways. "Amanda!" he said in genuine delight, giving her a quick hug and surprised at how stiff she was with it. Her gray eyes were red-rimmed, and her too-loose clothes rumpled and untidy. "Hey, you look like you could use a friend."

Her face twisted, and she sniffed back hard on tears, shoving oily tendrils of her dark brown hair behind her ears. "Yeah, you could say that."

Guiding her to a chair, Blair found a tissue in the clutter and gave it to her, then perched on the edge of a stack of books. "I think you could still put me in that category. Spill."

"I really hope you mean that, Blair," Amanda said, and there was a false note in her voice that sent prickles scurrying over his skin. Despite it, he held onto his friendly pose, and apparently encouraged by it, she blurted. "I'm pregnant. You're the father."

Though his brain froze in shock, Naomi's careful coaching on this particular subject paid off, and Blair said with just the right amount of warmth. "Can't be. Remember what I told you when we were together? I use condoms for your protection; otherwise they're not an issue for me. I didn't come right out and say I shoot blanks - you have no idea how hard it can be to accept something like that about yourself - but the implication was there."

It was a very carefully contrived statement that didn't have a single lie in it, though it couldn't exactly be said to be the pure truth either, and his mom had told him that the girl's reaction to it would tell him a great deal about her and her feelings about her pregnancy. When Amanda's jaw dropped, pure fear flashing through her eyes, Blair was sure he had more to worry about than her claims of his impending fatherhood. Following through with it, he said very, very sympathetically, "Have you been tested, yet? Are you sure it's not a false-positive?"

"Uh, yeah. I mean. I'm sure. I'm showing." Amanda waved at herself dispiritedly. "That's why I'm dressed like this."

"You're hiding such a wonderful thing! Is it because the baby's illegitimate? Trust me, as a born bastard, I can tell you that it's not easy, but holding your head high and proud is the better way to go. Friends will hang with you; anybody else can go hang themselves." Blair let his mouth run without supervision from him. Too much of his mind was taken up with cataloging her reaction and planning responses to it in a calm, calculating way that would have appalled him any other time.

Clearly confused and growing more so, Amanda said as if rehearsed, "My parents will kill me."

"That's right; you told me they were a little intense in the religion department. I take it the baby is enough to make you rethink your position of relegating their opinion of you to their favorite fiery location for everybody who isn't as narrow-minded and bigoted as they are."

Blair took both her hands in his. "There are some fantastic support groups here on campus, one to fit just about any decision you make."

He deliberately hesitated, then asked with what he hoped was the right amount of friendly interest. "The other guy that could be the dad - would he help? At least financially, if you need it?"

Weakly, Amanda protested, "There wasn't anybody else when we were together."

"Didn't think there was, but you broke up with me because someone else had caught your eye. I told you at the time I appreciated the honesty." Blair made himself sound a little angry on her behalf. "If this guy has brushed you off already, there are legal steps you can take. You know I work with the P.D., right? It would be easy for me to find out what legal options you have to prove paternity. It'll mean a DNA test on the baby, but they can draw amniotic fluid to do that these days. Not as much waiting time, and I have friends in the lab who would expedite it for me."

A quiet knock on the door scared Amanda into jumping to her feet, but Blair said, "Relax; I'll get rid of them. I'm here for you until you get a grip on this whole pregnancy thing."

He couldn't decide if she was panicked or angry or even if she knew herself, but he pretended not to notice her agitation as he answered the knock. "Jim!" he said with pleasure, but oddly, no surprise. "Just the cop to have on hand. Come on in; I've got a friend here who has a few questions for you." As Jim came in, Blair gestured toward Amanda. "She's expecting and..."

Breaking in with his best no-nonsense detective voice, Jim said, "Didn't you tell me that you couldn't contribute to the world's population problem?"

On cue, Blair said, "Not me, man, and we need you because..."

With an inarticulate noise, Amanda rushed from the room, leaving shreds of tissue in her wake like some bizarre snow storm. Jim hastily moved to one side to let her go, then peered out enough to watch her race down the hallway. When Blair would have spoken, Jim shushed him with a quick, affectionate tap to his upper lip, taking on the abstract expression that meant he was using his senses.

"Someone waiting for her... boyfriend from the sound of it... not happy to see her back so fast... she's repeating your claim to infertility." Jim's expression turned to disgust. "He's got a few choice things to say about her, the baby she's carrying, and what she can expect their life to be like without the money the 'rich dude' was going to give them for claiming the baby was yours."

"Billesbach."

Everything in Jim softened fractionally and he agreed, "Billesbach."

"Why this kind of attack?" Blair asked mechanically, busily stuffing things back into their mental box whether they wanted to go or not.

"No idea." Jim went back to being a cop. "They're getting ready to take off. I'm going to follow them, see if they lead me back to their contact. That conversation might have some of our answers."

With a brush of thumb over cheek, he was gone, leaving Blair standing in the middle of his office, thanking every deity he'd ever heard of and a few that should exist just for the occasion. Once he ran out of them, he sat back down at his desk with the intent of burying Amanda's visit under the mountain of paper work waiting for him there. It wasn't until he picked up his red marker that he realized that Jim's timing had been a bit too good.

//He's standing guard over me,// Blair thought, not sure if he was angry or touched. After all, he'd been dealing with the situation well enough. On the other hand, who knew how much Jim would learn by being close by so that he could tail Amanda? In the end, because Jim's guardianship felt like a warm coat dropped over chilled shoulders, something his partner had actually done once or twice for him, Blair let it go and doggedly went back to work.

Over the next few days he tried to be more vigilant, though he didn't know exactly what he was on the look out for. Paranoia was not something Blair did well, and eventually he got angry with himself for even trying. His best bet was to rely on what had always served him best: improvisation and fast thinking when trouble actually reared its head.

Despite that, he couldn't actually say he was surprised when a walking mountain in the shape of a man abruptly blocked his path when he was on his way to his car one evening after picking up groceries. Considerably startled, yes, but Blair was more annoyed than anything else, and on a level that wasn't studying the behemoth to see what it would do next, he had to wonder if that was because he was that sure of Jim's protection. The notion irked him, and he resolved to handle this confrontation on his own, taking his lumps if necessary.

Apparently not sure how to deal with a victim that didn't immediately blanch and apologize for being anywhere near him, the Behemoth said in an amazingly little-girlish voice, "You're in my way, pretty boy."

"That's possible," Blair admitted, and spun on one heel, only to find the Behemoth's twin blocking a retreat.

"Wouldja look at the faggot," It said.

Turning so that he could keep an eye on both of them, and trying to inch backwards toward the nearest car to have some cover for his back, Blair said calmly, "You can't come up with lines more original than that?"

Both hulks frowned at that, clearly at a loss at what to do with someone who had more dialogue options than they had. Unfortunately, their motto appeared to be, 'when in doubt, pound something', because instead of finishing the ritual verbal harassment, they moved in what had to be a well-practiced maneuver. Behemoth A swooped from the waist and snatched Blair up in a bear hug from behind, trapping his arms against his sides and making him drop his grocery bags. He lifted to immobilize him more completely, and Behemoth B came in for the kill, huge fist swinging in for a roundhouse blow.

Using the slabs of meat around him for a brace, Blair swung his knees up to his chest and kicked out with everything he had, aiming for the face. The impact was enough to make his attacker stagger back a step, missing his shot, and while he recovered, Blair put his feet against the legs of the man holding him and did the last thing he expected - shoved straight up. The top of Blair's head hit Behemoth A in the nose, breaking it from the sound of things, and the shock of pain made him drop Blair.

Blair went all the way down into a crouch, fingers on the tarmac of the parking lot for balance, ducking under a wild swipe from Behemoth B. For a split second he was evenly torn between scuttling under a car and making them dig him out, or ducking a few more punches in hopes for a large enough gap between them to make a run for it. In the distance he heard, "Hey, what's going on over there?" Good, the Behemoths were attracting attention.

At almost the same time, Blair heard Joel Taggart shout, "Freeze! Cascade P.D!" Both Behemoths spun toward Taggart - no doubt a conditioned reflex - and just stood there.

"Not supposed to be here," one of them rumbled, clearly not the first one to judge by voices.

"Tough," Taggart said, lifting his gun just slightly to make it clear he had it out and was ready to use it. "You know what to do next, I'm sure."

Blair could almost see the ponderous thoughts of both men as they considered their chances against one lone cop, armed or not. Before they could decide that anything less than a cannon probably wouldn't make much of an impression on them, sirens sounded in the distance, making up their mind for them. They both turned, put their hands on a car hood, making it protest with metallic creaks, and spread their legs.

Not too much later Joel turned them over to the uniforms, and walked back to where Blair was sitting in his Volvo, door open. "You head on home; I'll be behind you until you get there. Unless you'd rather not drive?"

"No, I'm good to drive, no problem." Blair gave him his best smile. "Thanks for the intervention, man. I wasn't sure I was going to be able to get away without taking enough abuse for hospital time."

"You were handling them pretty well, from what I saw," Joel said dismissively.

"Handling probably isn't the best description. Frantically dodging does, though." He paused for Joel's snort of laughter, then changed his tone entirely. "Seriously, your timing was beautiful."

Sobering instantly, Joel said, "It wasn't timing. Jim told me that a nutcase has fixated on you, and that his usual m.o. is to gain a meeting and the trust of his victims by coming to their rescue, one way or another. He got called for a last minute meeting with the D.A. on the Peterson case, and asked me to keep an eye on you from a distance until you were home."

"The Peterson case? That one's..." Blair shut his mouth over the rest. Obviously Jim had been called away for bogus reasons because Billesbach had noticed his vigilance. Changing gears, he said, "I still owe you one. How 'bout a pot of my ostrich chili, made at your request."

Joel brightened. "You know I'd fill in for Jim for no reason at all, but I'll take that chili next poker night."

"Deal! In the meantime, my own dinner is calling. Take care and thanks again."

Waving him off, Joel went to his own car, and Blair saw his headlights in the rear view mirror all the way home. He idled by the curb until Blair went inside 852, gave a honk of goodbye, and drove off. Blair didn't watch him go; he had too much on his mind. Once home, he put away the groceries with teeth-gritted determination, then paced madly, waiting for Jim to get home. He ran to the door when he heard the key in the lock, bouncing from foot to foot until Jim was inside.

"Martin finally got back to you?" Blair blurted.

"About four hours ago, and I didn't have a chance to contact you," Jim confirmed. He took Blair by the arm and pulled him along with him to the kitchen and got out two beers. "I suspected something was up when I got the call from the D.A. Got there and found it was an A.D.A using his boss' name in vain. He finally told me that he'd gotten an anonymous tip that my testimony was bogus for the case, then I took off to find you."

Opening the bottle Jim handed him, Blair took a long drink, acknowledging the bad case of jitters he had only when the beer began to smooth them out. "You missed all the fun."

"Didn't miss Billesbach." Jim took a swig of his own drink, probably to hide a smug grin. "He was there, watching his goons to rough you up. Unfortunately, watching is all he did, so unless one of his hired guns rolls over on him, we can't charge him with anything. Which worries me; he wanted serious blood, to judge by who he sent after you. I'd have to say he's more than a little peeved that you've side-stepped his traps."

Despite it, Blair couldn't help an evil chortle. "Bet he's more than peeved now."

Completely serious, Jim said, "Yes, and that makes him dangerous. He can't make up his mind if you're so thoroughly entrenched with the department that you're protected 24/7 or if your gift is to deflect threats or danger to you."'

Blair tensed, but Jim just urged the hand with the beer up toward Blair's mouth with a careful nudge from his own bottle. "The next attack will be vicious, and, unfortunately, we're going to have to wait it out and hope that we see it coming, too. I've got feelers out with the law in his home state, to see if he's got them paid off or if they know he's not an upstanding citizen. Martin is asking around to find out who else has eluded Billesbach and how they did it."

"We are going to take the battle to him?" Blair asked, not sure what answer he wanted to hear.

"Chief, I don't see how we can avoid it if we can't find a way to cool him off."

Taking another drink, Blair inwardly sighed. "Thanks to my mom, I've got some connections with people who have an interest in the paranormal. I'll do some asking of my own, see if they know of a weak spot."

"There you go." Jim gave Blair a mock punch to the upper arm. "Start thinking offense, here." He opened the fridge and stuck his head in, and said, "Speaking of which, last Tuesday's Thai is starting to do its best in the offend department."

Blair went along with the not so subtle change of subject, more than willing to get back to the chores and conversations of a normal evening at home.

It was an attitude they both used for the next weeks, both perfectly aware of the undercurrents of frustration and worry, and just as aware that waiting was their best option. The data they accumulated on Billesbach convinced them that he wasn't used to not getting what he wanted, and usually without much effort on his part. Jim wasn't sure that didn't make him more dangerous, pointing out that even children have been known to do more damage than they wanted or expected when they threw their temper tantrum in the first place. Firmly reining in his imagination, Blair didn't try to consider what form Billesbach's tantrum could take.

He was on edge enough, though, that when he noticed an amazingly lovely lady - leggy, long straight brown hair, incredible gray eyes - noticing him, Blair didn't immediately turn on the charm and begin pursuit. Instead he kept his distance, but just in case she was who and what she seemed, made it obvious he was taking note of her. When she didn't turn more aggressive, becoming prettily confused by his behavior, he relaxed enough to arrange to have an acquaintance 'bump' into her, then introduce Blair on the fly.

Melody - as the lady's name turned out to be - was one of the most unsophisticated and plain-spoken women Blair had ever met, and so refreshingly different, he found it impossible to believe that she had anything to do with Billesbach. Relaxed and happy in her company, he found it easier to maintain his pretense of having nothing wrong in his life. That didn't stop him from telling Jim he was seeing her and letting him do a background check. After the prerequisite teasing, Jim reported a clean record, and Blair happily planned an intimate evening with her, since so far they had only gone to the movies with a group or met with other friends at a coffee shop.

Happily anticipating a first kiss with her, Blair took her for a stroll through the harbor-side park close to the loft during an arts and crafts festival, buying her cotton candy from a vendor and encouraging her to watch the mimes and sleight-of-hand artists. As the sun was romantically setting, somehow highlighting the voices of children playing nearby and the quiet slap of the water against the shore, he got her alone on a bench a little way away from the crowd. Melody beamed at him, at the location, at everything, making him sure that he was going to get lucky tonight.

The very last thing Blair wanted to see was his partner, advancing toward them, accompanied by an older couple, both looking distraught. Melody saw that his gaze had strayed, turned to look in the same direction, and murmured in a mixture of pain and shock, "Gramma? Grampa?"

Chin tremulous, the older woman said, "Hello, Melody. I know you're still angry with us, but could we visit? For just a few minutes, please?"

Tearing up, Melody whispered again, "Gramma, Grampa!" That was all it took, and she was swept into their arms, hugging and babbling to each other.

A gentle hand on Blair's arm pulled him away into the deep shadows of a stand of trees. He went willingly enough, but once they could speak privately, he turned on Jim, angrier than he had ever been with him. "This is the fourth time you kept me in the dark until the last possible moment, and I bought it, I mean I honestly believed, each and every time before this, that it was all circumstances beyond your control. But you know, a paranoid Ranger cop kinda guy once told me that once is an accident, twice is a coincidence, and the third time is enemy action. What is the fourth? Pure stupidity on my part?"

Jaw tightening, Jim's eyes flashed, but he beat down his anger with obvious will. "You can think what you like about the other times, but in this instance, I had no choice. This is the first time Melody's been far enough from her keepers for her grandparents to have a chance to speak to her. Billesbach's men would have stepped in and taken her before if they could, otherwise. And I couldn't ask you to go through the charade of dating her if you knew the truth."

"Her... her keepers?" Blair said, rage instantly derailed by the implications of Jim's information.

Though his fury visibly increased, Jim forced his tone to stay level and calm. "A few days ago, I made a point of getting a really good look at her, Yosef's comment that a background check should have turned up clean playing in the back of my head. I wanted to make sure she hadn't had plastic surgery or changed her appearance." He swallowed hard, eyes shutting for a second. "I realized right away that checking for a police record, running fingerprints, hadn't been the way to go. Missing children reports was. Blair, she's fourteen years old."

Knees giving out, Blair would have fallen if Jim hadn't snatched him close. Lips next to his ear, Jim went on, "I contacted her grandparents from the information on the report. They told me her mom had bone cancer, and when traditional methods didn't help, she started seeing faith healers, including one Phillip Francois Duchampres which, weirdly enough, is his real name. They became romantically involved, and when she passed, he took her daughter and vanished. I think he's been telling her that her grandparents were grieving too much for her mom to worry about her. I'm positive he's been grooming her to Billesbach's specifications, though I have no idea to what end. I got that much from eavesdropping while I was tailing the men in Billesbach's pay, once I spotted them keeping tabs on her. Billesbach is majorly unhappy that he had to use her to get to you."

"Oh, my, god, oh, my, god." That was all the response Blair had time for. Melody suddenly shoved between them, pushing Blair away from Jim.

"You're hurting him!" she shouted, and stood in front of Blair protectively.

Amazingly, Jim said, "I know, Melody."

With a deft move, Blair reversed their positions, facing her, hands on her shoulders. "It's not his fault; he had bad news for me. This is my roomie, Jim."

"The cop," Melody said in disgust.

It wasn't the first time he'd gotten that kind of reaction when introducing Jim to a friend, but this was one occasion when Blair couldn't and wouldn't put up with it. "My cop," he said firmly. Taking a leap of intuition based on the strong possibility Duchampres might want her afraid of policemen, he added, "Not all cops are in it for a power play or to find a way to get rich off of other people's misery. Or to take little girls away from the people who love them because some social worker thinks she knows what's better for them."

Blair said the last gently, and scored a direct hit on her fears. Turning into the comfort of her grandparents, Melody said, "But he's the one I'm supposed to save you from."

"Save me?" Blair didn't want to ask. He already had an unpleasant idea he knew the answer, but he had to do what he could to help free Melody from the brainwashing her 'guardian' had subjected her to.

"Philip told me that like all cops, your... Jim... only wanted you for what he could get from you; that he hurt you all the time and didn't care." She looked directly at Jim, a deep frown of confusion marring her beauty. "But you're hurting, too, for Blair." From the safety of her grandparents' arms, she reached out and lightly touched Jim in the center of the forehead and then the breastbone. "Why did Phillip tell me that I should do anything Blair wanted, give him anything he wanted, because it would release him from you?"

Wanting very much to resume his litany of 'oh, my, god', Blair summoned enough composure to do what had to be done. "I couldn't use you like that, ever. What you have to offer is too precious not to be given to someone who loves you deeply and wants nothing but what's right for you. I'm not more important than you are, Melody."

"But..." She cut herself off short, took a deep breath and composed herself. "Philip can explain it better than I can. Someone must have misled him about what you need and want. He was only trying to help you, through me. Helping others - that's what he does."

As stony-faced as Blair had ever seen him, Jim said, "Now's his opportunity; he's on his way over here."

Glancing in the direction Jim was staring, Blair saw a very well dressed, slight man with silvery, close-cropped hair walking across the park. Acting as if he were furious but trying to put a social front on it, he stalked almost prissily toward them, hands clenched at his side. As soon as he was close, he said loudly, "Here, now, Sandburg, just what do you think you're doing?"

"Phillip," Melody said, stepping away from her grandparents, but not beyond their reach.

Suddenly Phillip's body language changed and Blair knew without questioning that he had caught sight of exactly who was with Melody. Somehow Jim had contrived to keep him from discovering that, though Blair wasn't sure why. He had his answer a moment later.

Turning neatly on his heel, Phillip broke into a run and, with a soft cry, Melody ran after him. She quickly caught up, only to be shoved away with a snarl that Jim quietly translated so Blair would know what was said. "Stupid bitch! I have years invested in you; you were going to fund my retirement!"

Collapsing to the grass with a wail that could have come from a two year old, Melody broke into wild sobbing, struggling away from her grandparents when they rushed to comfort her. Resigning himself to supporting Melody through the shock of being abandoned by the one person she thought loved her most, Blair stubbornly promised himself that he and Jim would talk that evening.

It took hours, but eventually Melody was mildly sedated and ensconced with her grandparents in a safe-house. Duchampres was in a holding cell, slightly battered from his attempt to get away. The hired men who had been keeping surveillance over Melody were released on bail from the minor charges Jim had been able to bring against them for the illegal equipment they had been caught using. The only reason they'd been charged at all was to stop them from warning Dumchapres when Melody's grandparents arrived. The mutual consensus was that the wrath of Billesbach would be worse for the bit players than small fines or jail time.

Once back at the loft, they collapsed onto the couch and for a long while did nothing but sit and stare blankly at a television that had been turned on just to have an excuse to be sitting without moving. Bit by bit the psychological horror of the evening faded to temporarily tolerable levels for Blair, and other problems began to rise to the top of his mind. The program on the set changed, and he picked up the remote to turn it off, twisting in his seat to be able to look directly at Jim.

"This has to stop. Now."

Without hesitation, Jim said, "Yes."

"Go for his support network, like we've been thinking?"

Turning to face Blair, Jim said, "I'm pretty sure it's his Achilles heel - he was born rich and has a whole entourage taking care of life's messy little details for him. He doesn't pay any attention to his finances, his daily necessities, and can't conceive of needing to."

Blair tugged at his hair with both hands, looking inward. "It isn't a satisfying solution; I'd rather see him in a cell with his face squashed into a wall and a line of cons waiting for their turn at him."

"Being broke and reduced to scrambling for a living like most people will probably be worse for him," Jim said mildly.

For a second Blair stared at him, then couldn't help breaking into a short, sharp laugh. "Talk about role reversals..."

"Part of being partners, isn't it? To balance each other out? If I were cleaning my gun with the idea of paying him a personal visit, you'd be the one doing the voice of reason thing. And yes, I've thought about that a time or two, especially when I found out who Melody was."

Jim straightened from his slump, putting his forearms on his knees and studying the space between his feet. "He's covered his tracks too carefully to press charges against him and the people he's hired are willing to take the fall because he promises them a hell of a lot more than a job when they get out. And he thinks he's so well protected, he'd laugh off a physical threat."

"Or any other kind of threat," Blair muttered, growing angry all over again.

That reminded him that he was supposed to still be angry with Jim, but he didn't seem to have the emotional room for that. He stood, intending to go to bed and said to the loft in general, "You played me right with Melody. I couldn't have, uh, acted like I was romantically interested in her once I knew how old she was."

"I wouldn't have let you do something you'd be ashamed of when it was over, but I couldn't see any other way to take Duchampres that would make her see him for what he was," Jim said instantly, as if waiting for the opportunity to make that clear.

Gingerly, as if he were afraid he no longer had the privilege, he caught one of Blair's hands in his, thumbs massaging carefully over the back of it. "It's not your fault, none of it. Billesbach is like a rapist, using friends and family as tools to hurt his victim. He wants you to give in to protect them from him and, sometimes, that's the way to go, I know. To just take it and fight to survive the trauma. But not this time."

"'Cause he'll never stop," Blair agreed softly. "I'm more than another acquisition, now. I dared to challenge him and he'll want to find a way to punish me and everyone I love for it."

Tightening his hand in Jim's, he added, "All those times I was held hostage against you, I thought I knew what you were going through, intellectually accepted it was bad, crazy-making for you." Blair laughed bitterly. "I had no clue, because I can't imagine what I'll do if Billesbach tries to use you against me."

"You'll do what is right," Jim said with such quiet confidence that Blair had to finally look at him. "Like you told Melody - 'I'm not more important than you are'. You'll tell Billesbach to go fuck himself, because it's what I'd want, because we can't let him beat us, because it is right. You just hang onto the fact that: NONE. OF. IT. IS. YOUR. FAULT."

Quietly, Blair said, "It doesn't feel that way." He made his escape to his bedroom, aware that Jim believed he meant he would blame himself if Jim was hurt. //You are more important than me,// he thought deep in the privacy of his mind, where even his sentinel couldn't hear him, certain how Jim would react if he could. //At least, as far as I'm concerned.//
***

Never had Blair awakened to such wonderful, bone deep comfort and pleasure. Though naked, he was warm through and through, swathed in the softest satin imaginable, and so relaxed every muscle was pliant and, paradoxically, he was completely erect. Prying apart eyelashes that seemed to weigh tons, he managed a peek at his surroundings, hazily impressed before they drifted shut again.

He was in a room lit by huge red tapers in black iron wall scones and empty save for the huge bed of red satin cradling him. More red satin padded the walls and ceiling, but he couldn't muster enough curiosity or motive to move from his slightly curled position to see what the floor was like. Music played in the background, something with guitars and other stringed instruments, and the air was perfumed ever so lightly with patchouli. Only taste had been neglected and, as if someone had picked up on that nearly random observation, he was given a light kiss tinged with honey.

Licking his lips, he enjoyed the subtle flavor, idly wondering which of his girlfriends would go to so much trouble to create such a sensual setting for a date. He wasn't seeing anyone special at the moment because, because, because... Blair struggled to capture the fleeting thought, only to be distracted by a flow of memories that were unconnected to each other or, in an odd way, to him, though they were all his.

//Drugged, I'm drugged,// he said to himself, recognizing the sensations at last. That should have scared the hell out of him, but he was too detached from his emotions to do more than vaguely worry. Blair tried to take a deep breath to clear his mind and concentrate only on the movement of his chest and the air filling his lungs, ignoring the growing complaints of his hard-on. He lost track of what he was doing, forgot why he needed to do it, though he was positive that there was something he had to do besides drift in warm bliss, idly stroking himself.

It wasn't until he was kissed again, this time with more serious intent, that Blair jarred back to the wrongness. The kiss hadn't been unpleasant, but it hadn't been right either. The paradox of that made him frown and he squirmed away from the person he felt kneeling on the floor next to the bed. Despite that, another kiss was pressed on his mouth and a strong hand held him in place for the intrusion.

"Hey, no," Blair blurted the second he could.

"Yes," a man's voice said laughingly. "You promised me so much earlier. And you obviously want me."

"No, I don't," Blair said, voice slurring slightly and trying to move away. "Don't touch me."

"Blair," the other man said coaxingly.

"I don't know you, don't want you, don't want to be here. Where's Jim? Where's my Jim?" Ugly images of times when Jim had been shot, bleeding, beaten, swarmed over Blair and he restlessly threw out a hand as if to find Jim in the big bed with him. "Jim? Man, where are you? JIM!"

"Blair, I'm Jim," the stranger said, getting into bed with him and gathering him into his arms. "What's wrong, Chief? Why don't you know me?"

Out and out fighting to get away, Blair said, "Not Jim. Can't lie to me. Voice is wrong, scent is wrong, hands are wrong. Not Jim. Not my Jim."

"I am Jim," the man said with such flat insistence in his voice that Blair thought only an idiot wouldn't hear the lie for what it was. "Chief, please, please, don't struggle like this. You promised to let me make love to you, to be one with you. Don't back out now, love, please, please, please."

Bucking wildly, not caring that the grip on him had tightened brutally, not caring if he was hurt, Blair shouted, "No. Not Jim. Jim, man, where are you? Where are you?" He kicked and elbowed to get free, finally succeeding because he hit the man in the groin.

"Fuck this shit. You said he would be cooperative, dreamy," the stranger said, getting out of the bed.

Blair didn't watch him go, but balled up on himself, trying to find his breathing again to fight off the drugs. He listened though, clinging to the meaning in the language with dogged need.

"He should be," another man said. "Hell, it's not as if I haven't done this before. Are you sure he hasn't imprinted on the cop yet?"

"Positive. They sleep in separate bedrooms, both date women exclusively and there are absolutely no physical signs of sex between them. My men watched their every move for weeks to be sure."

Silence met the comment, and then the man who had tried to convince Blair he was Jim said icily, "Hirelings have been known to make mistakes." He opened a door, and said sharply to someone outside it, "Bring him."

Hard hands grabbed at Blair, pulling him roughly from the bed. "Be careful, you louts. He's too valuable to seriously damage."

Light changed to eye-piercing brightness and Blair was manhandled down a short corridor, then tossed onto the floor of another room, this one as white and stark as the last one had been luxurious. The white was coldly painful, beating at him from every direction and he bit his lip to keep from whimpering his discomfort.

"Chief?" This time the voice was real, the voice was Jim's sounding worried and unhappy.

Levering himself up, Blair blinked at the brilliance blinding him, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. "Jim? Jim?"

There was a pause, and Blair thought he heard Jim groan in pure need and want, but he couldn't have because Jim said in a completely normal tone, "Blair, listen to me. I'm handcuffed and can't come to you. You're going to have to come to me. Can you do that for me? Just home right in on my voice, like you taught me to home in on yours, okay?"

Flopping back down, Blair rubbed at his face. Jim wanted him to come to him? Yeah, he could do that. That was a snap, something he'd want to do no matter what. He hitched forward on his side in the direction he'd thought Jim's voice had come from.

"That's it, Chief. Head right this way."

Jim made the oddest sound, almost like a sob of fear mixed with pure agony and Blair decided that anybody who made a sound like that needed solace, right now. He redoubled his efforts to get to his sentinel, coaxed along every inch of the way with quiet words of encouragement from Jim. Some small eternity later, he bumped into a shoe-clad foot, felt his way up a muscular calf, digging his fingers into the slacks covering it.

"Jim?" Not that Blair wasn't already sure, but he sensed that he had to do more than hug the man's feet. He wanted him to keep talking so that he would know he stayed Jim and wasn't substituted by the fake one again. He didn't want the fake Jim, no matter how hard he was.

"That's great, Chief. Fantastic, you made it all the way over here. You ready for the next thing?"

"See," Blair said sleepily to the ankle against his cheek. "I knew there would be more. He's a demanding asshole, but he's my demanding asshole."

"Can't argue with you on that one," and Jim's voice sounded funny again with hidden pain and fear. "But there's definitely something in it for you this time. You're cold right? I can feel the shivers in you. You get up here with me, and I'll get you warm, I promise."

"Thanks for reminding me." Blair shuddered; he'd managed to push away the cold while concentrating on progress across the icy tiled floor. Looking up, grateful he could see the shapes and planes that made up his partner, even if they wouldn't resolve together into a person. "Okay, up, now. I know up. It's that way." Relieved, he closed his eyes and kept them that way.

It took several tries to get his knees curled under him so that he could kneel up, clinging to Jim's legs as he did. Dizzy, Blair leaned into that support for a moment, soaking up the heat pouring off Jim. "Hey, I have a thought. If you're this warm down here, you must be absolutely toasty up there."

"Come on up and find out," Jim said, the faintest hint of frazzled humor in his words. "There's a wall behind you - feel it? Use that for leverage."

"I can do that," Blair said with more confidence than he felt. Still, with Jim pressing into him to help hold him in place, he made it to his feet in short order, locking his arms around Jim's waist to stabilize himself. "Whoa. I was right, much warmer. It would help if you'd hug me, though."

"I can't."

There was more than a little frustration in those two words and Blair gave seeing another shot to find out why Jim couldn't. "Oh. Handcuffs. That's right." He felt along Jim's upraised arms, finding a pipe at just about shoulder height for his partner and the chain between the bracelets looped over it, keeping Jim's hands tight to his chest. "How'd this happen?"

"What's the last thing you remember?"

"Huh?" Blair fought the drug again, and asked hesitantly, "That big party for your dad at his country club?"

"That's right," Jim said with some relief.

"Wait. Oh, wait. You collapsed! We had to call an ambulance!" Blair patted Jim all over, reassuring himself that he wasn't hurt or sick.

"Drugged, like you, Chief. I felt a sting as a waiter passed me, but couldn't react before I dropped. I swam in and out of consciousness for hours; that's how I know the ambulance wasn't legit. They drugged you while you were taking care of me." He sniffed delicately at Blair's ear, then nuzzled down into the curls at the base of his neck. "Smells like you've been given a cocktail of Golden, Ecstasy and Viagra. Apparently Billesbach wants you horny and out of your mind."

Shivering, this time not from the cold, Blair muttered, "Got the first part right, no question and too damn close to the second." He banged his head against Jim's sternum, as if the pain might clear his mind.

Jim didn't respond right away, not that Blair really cared. Nor did he care about the thousand and one questions that he should have been asking; none of them would stay still long enough for him to be able to pick one to start with. Aching dick or not, he was actually pretty comfortable right where he was and he was willing to just, well, sort of hang around until something changed.

Limited though his range of motion was because of the cuffs, Jim managed to cup Blair's head between his hands, fingertips gently massaging the back of his skull. It felt wonderful and if Jim hadn't had him pinned to the wall with his body, Blair would have melted right into the floor. He tightened his hold on Jim, digging his nose into the curve of his shoulder and breathing deeply of the scent that meant home, safety, love and so many other things to him.

"Chief?"

"mmmm?"

"I know I haven't given you much reason to, but I need you to trust me here."

Too content and out of it to argue that he did trust him, Blair snuggled in closer. "Okay."

Stroking his cheek over Blair's temple and brushing a hint of a kiss in its wake, Jim murmured, "Bring that beautiful face out of hiding. Please?"

Obeying automatically, Blair belatedly processed the request and grinned blearily. "Beautiful is so not the operative word, unless, of course, we're talking about you."

With a faint smile, Jim stroked his thumb along Blair's jaw. "You are beautiful, and I need to taste you. Give me your mouth, Blair."

"What?"

Jim bent his head, his intent clear in his action, and Blair stretched up to meet him with a breathy, "Oh!"

Jim's lips touched his, tenderly, reverently, as if they were a precious gift. If he meant the caress to stay innocent, Blair's response was anything but. With a shaky sigh, Blair opened to him, just enough to request, not demand. Making a tiny, needy noise, Jim answered, dipping just the tip of his tongue in with surprising shyness. He broke away, gasped for breath and darted back to Blair, this time settling surely into a deep, hungry kiss.

Blair's body swayed on its own with the rhythm of that kiss, pressing into Jim and creating a deliciously light friction on Blair's cock, nipples and, when Jim slipped a powerful thigh between Blair's, on the ultra-sensitive flesh between his balls and opening. It was a completely, totally, magnificently erotic embrace and the only thing he needed for it to be better would be for Jim to thrust back. He didn't. Instead he held himself motionless, effortlessly absorbing the impact of Blair's rocking, yet encouraging it by echoing the motion as he kneaded Blair's scalp.

The first dim stirrings of his climax tangled through his lower gut and Blair reluctantly pulled away from Jim, not wanting to spill all over him simply from kissing. Peeking though his lashes, he had one moment of crystal clarity, looking into the incredible blue of Jim's eyes and finding everything that he had ever suspected or guessed or reasoned about what his sentinel thought, felt, believed. It exhilarated him how right he'd been about so much, and awed him that Jim had let him in that deeply when intimacy had never, ever meant anything but loss to him.

It was so good, so right, to know that Jim loved him as much as Blair loved him in return, then Jim blinked, shutters going back up as he realized how much Blair could see in that instant. Praying that he would be able to hold onto the memory of that, if nothing else, when the drugs were gone from his system, he deliberately bumped his hard-on into Jim's to let them both pretend Blair hadn't gotten that peek into Jim's heart. "Look what I found," he said playfully.

Staring down at Blair's cock, Jim murmured, "I want that. The taste of it, the feel of it..." He shuddered hard. "Want you so bad."

With a muffled whimper, Blair wrapped his arms around Jim's neck and gave a jump to lock his legs solidly around lean hips. It put his shoulder directly into the same pipe Jim was cuffed to, but it also put him face to face with his sentinel. "No way we can manage that right now," he nearly purred. "But this will be good, too."

Leaning back to put some of his weight on the wall, Blair worked a hand down to himself, jacking the shaft to bring a bead of moisture to the crown. Not even breathing, Jim watched intently until Blair brought that drop up to Jim's lips, then hurriedly licked it off Blair's thumb. Clearly savoring the flavor, he moaned softly before drawing the entire thumb into his mouth to suckle.

Unable to take his eyes off the sight as his flesh vanished into slick, wet heat and aching to have more than this imitation of sex, Blair continued to masturbate himself in time to Jim's nursing. He would have been content to finish them both - and he had no doubt that Jim would climax when he did - but instinct demanded that he thrust and that lost him his precarious balance. When he started to slide, he let gravity have its way and rubbed himself all the way down Jim's torso until he could bury his face in Jim's crotch.

"My turn to taste," Blair murmured, breathing into the fabric covering the ridge of Jim's cock. "Going to suck you dry."

To his surprise, Jim backed away as much as he could. "No, Chief. No."

Incredibly hurt by the rejection, Blair jerked back, thudding into the wall. "What..."

In a thick, rough voice that held a wealth of anguish, Jim said, "Not here. Not like this. When I can't touch you, or..." He choked and hung his head, fumbling for self-control. "What we were doing was good. Can we finish like that?"

Pillowing his head on Jim's thigh, Blair sighed, still quivering from the near miss and reminded far too clearly that words were hard to come by for Jim and too easy for Blair to leap over. Yet another of the four thousand reasons why he had never crossed the boundaries he'd set for himself in their relationship. Well, now he was across them, big time, so ready to have Jim any way possible, that exploding from frustration was a realistic possibility in his mind.

"Gotta come, Jim," Blair mumbled, touching himself again. He burrowed his face into the crease between Jim's balls and leg, soaking in the musky scent of him. Breathing into the dress slacks covering Jim's hard-on, he licked at the damp spot he found, hand moving faster on himself, almost where he had to be. Jim was close, too, so close; he could tell by the minute tremors in his legs and his harsh breathing. God, it was so good it was starting to hurt and wasn't he ever going to finish?

Punishing hands dug into Blair's upper arms, pulling him to his feet and slammed him into the wall, face first. A hard mass shoved into him, driving the air out of his lungs, and held him there. "Foreplay is over, Chief. Time to put out, you little cock tease. I've been patient enough all these years."

Fake Jim again, Blair thought through a haze of discomfort and short-circuited passion. Twisting his head to one side to avoid lips trying to claim his, he blinked fiercely several times, willing his vision to clear. He caught a brief glimpse of two men holding Jim between them, despite his furious struggles, one trying to strap a ball gag in place and the other tugging hard on a choke chain, both with the intent of silencing him.

Groping Blair's cock and balls, Fake Jim tunneled toward his center. "Are you tight, Chief? Have you been saving this fine ass of yours just for me all the time we've lived together, worked together, just waiting and wanting me?"

"You're not Jim," Blair said coldly. "So stop wasting my time pretending you are, Billesbach. If you're going to rape me, go for it, not that you're going to enjoy it much, I promise."

Edgar Billesbach jerked away and Blair crumpled to the floor, still too disoriented to stand. "Shit. This isn't possible. You're at the edge, at the very edge. You shouldn't be able to do anything but writhe and beg.

"You're that revolting," Blair said without thinking.

With a roar, Billesbach threw himself down to take him, but Blair was ready for him this time. Swirling away in a flurry of kicks and punches intended only to keep Billesbach away from him, he instinctively aimed himself at Jim. To guess by the obscenities and scuffling he heard, Jim was making a move of his own, and apparently successfully. In short order Blair was sheltering behind him again, this time squeezed into the corner where the pipe vanished into the wall.

Short of shooting Jim, the thugs and Billesbach couldn't get close enough to take Blair away and Billesbach finally said, "If you don't come to me right now, I'll have your so-called partner beaten to death."

"Anyone lays a finger on him," Blair said with more controlled venom than he had thought himself capable of, "and I'll unravel the threads of your life like a child pulling a cat's cradle into a single string. I'll undo everything you are, until you won't be any more."

Blair had no idea where that line of bullshit came from, but it pulled Billesbach up short. "That's what Ariana said. 'Threads of my life.' Knitted together into something strong and powerful, the way you knitted Ellison's, improving every element of his existence."

"Not going to do it for you, not now, not ever," Blair swore. "You tried to cheat, you did me a harm, and if you don't want to be sorry you ever heard my name, you'll let us go and get the hell as far away from me as a plane can carry you."

"You won't hurt me," Billesbach said cockily, reaching past Jim to try to grab Blair. "Go against your precious principals and you'll lose your abilities, your luck, maybe even your mind."

"Hurt Jim, and I'll have nothing to lose," Blair snapped, not too stoned to see the irony of a naked man threatening one with access to guns and hired muscle. Somewhere in the building he heard shouts and pounding footsteps and realized with relief that he didn't have to keep up his charade much longer. Laughing, he added, "It's already begun, just for daring to take us. You'll be left with nothing."

Hearing the growing disturbance for himself, Billesbach made a last attempt to get around Jim, but Jim grabbed him by the throat with one hand, handcuff bracelet dangling off it. Snatching a gun from a thug at the same time, using the other hand, he aimed it at the center of Billesbach's forehead.

"Back off, now!" Blair ordered, but he couldn't see if the other two obeyed. By now it was obvious that their boss' plans had gone wrong and, if they were smart, they'd bolt to get away while they could. Before he could repeat himself, they did and ran straight into Simon and several SWAT officers.

In short order, Billesbach and his thugs were hauled off and Blair was sitting on the edge of an ambulance with a warm blanket wrapped around him. Under that he wore a shirt Jim had peeled off for him to use until the blanket could be found and that was warmer to him than the blanket. Blood had been drawn, the minor bruising Blair had sustained had been documented and all that was left was convincing the EMT's that home was the best place for him. Simon had paced in front of Jim and Blair the entire time they were being checked out, wanting very much to hear exactly what had gone down - and not the official version.

Finally Simon exploded. "Does anybody have any clue why Billesbach would go to this much trouble to take a man who doesn't just live with a cop, work with a cop, but has an entire department of them on his side?"

"Hubris," Blair muttered. "Mostly."

"And a very subtle bit of manipulation, I think, from what I overheard while I was waiting for you," Jim put in. "He has a woman on his staff - Ariana Hantover. You need to find her and have a long, long talk about hell having no fury."

Tugging the blanket tighter around himself, Blair gawked at his partner. "Ariana Hantover? I know a, I mean my mom knows a Ariana Hantover. I was just a kid when we lived at the commune with her."

"Which explains how she knows you and to go through Naomi to get you," Jim said softly. "From what I heard, she convinced Billesbach that bringing you into his fold, winning you away right out from under the protection surrounding you, would be the ultimate test of his personal power. And that means everything to him, egotistical as he is."

"In that case, I don't get why he was trying to convince Blair that he was you, going so far as to steal some of your clothes to help create the illusion," Simon snapped. "There is a passing resemblance, of course and, with Blair drugged, it would made it believable I guess. But why?"

"To destroy our friendship, hopefully forcing Sandburg away from what safety I provided," Jim said tiredly. "How long do you think he'd stay in the loft if he thought I'd raped him? And Billesbach would be there, under an alias most likely, since we were onto his attempts to entrap Blair, to offer comfort and protection while Blair was confused and hurting."

That was a truth, Blair realized, but not all of the truth, mentally wandering away from their conversation. He was still muzzy from drugs and adrenaline, but not so much that he couldn't tell that Jim wasn't saying all he knew. Nothing new for his partner, of course, but Blair couldn't help but feel that this time he really, really needed to hear what Jim was thinking. It was going to have to wait until they were in private, though, and with more will than he wanted to use, he focused back on Simon, mid-rant.

"...thought you were being overly cautious when you had me requisition those tracking devices," Simon said, stopping to wave his unlit cigar at Blair. "Gave me a bad moment or two when yours didn't activate the same time Jim's did."

"Man!" Blair exploded, tongue going to his upper left cheek to find the transmitter gone. "I'd forgotten all about that, let alone that I needed to move the two pieces together and swallow them to activate them."

"Thought that might be the case," Jim said mildly, obliquely establishing a reason for the kisses if Billesbach tried to use that against them. Again, Blair was positive there was more under the surface of the statement. "Turned out to be the right move, too. First thing Billesbach's head honcho did was run a check over me to make sure I wasn't wired in any way. With the transmitters dormant, his equipment couldn't pick them up. Sandburg's lag the reason you held back so long?"

"I was worried he had the two of you in different locations, but if it had taken much longer, I would have come in and counted on you being able to find him." Simon didn't sound happy about that, but at the same time, there was an underlying confidence that Jim would have been able to find Blair.

One that he shared, Blair realized, and that was one thing too many for the night. With a sigh, he canted toward the left to rest against the frame of the ambulance, but Jim was there, saving him from cold, cold metal. "Looks like I better get Sandburg home," Jim said. "You need anything before we take off?"

"Official reports and whatever can wait until tomorrow," Simon said dismissively. He gave Blair a considering look, then added, "Take my car. I'll be the one to ride back with the uniforms; give you a chance to sleep in peace for the two hours it'll take to get back to the loft."

Not needing a second invitation, Blair wobbled to his feet and made for Simon's car, Jim subtly both steering him and helping him stay upright. Once Jim had him seatbelted in, he curled into himself to conserve warmth, and not incidentally avoiding the opportunity for conversation. Not that he didn't want one, a long, detailed, pointed one with Jim, but, damnit, he wanted a clear head when that little talk took place.

Though he hoped for sleep, it wouldn't come, mostly because he hadn't climaxed, and he needed to, badly. It felt like he had been hard forever; his balls were way past blue, heading into the indigo stage. His hand crept down to his cock without permission, but he didn't pull it away. It felt too good. Giving into necessity and stroking himself, Blair sighed and it was matched by a groan from his partner.

His eyes flew open to meet Jim's, and Blair picked up the pace on himself at the hunger in them. "I have to!"

"I know, I know. Do what you need to do, Chief. It's okay." Jim didn't sound okay. He sounded as if he wanted to crawl on top of Blair and give him the fucking of his life, which sounded pretty damn good to Blair, too. Regardless of Jim's tone, though, it was permission and Blair dropped the back of his seat and put his feet up on the dashboard. Working himself almost roughly, he put the first two fingers of his free hand in his mouth to wet them.

"Let me." Jim captured Blair's hand before he could use it, thoroughly laving the damp fingers to total wetness before setting them back on their journey. Despite that, Blair froze.

"Tomorrow..." He stopped himself, swallowed hard and tried again. "Tomorrow, are you going to pretend nothing happened? Or that you picked up enough drugs from that kiss to make you want me?"

Looking completely baffled, Jim said, "I've wanted you forever - almost from the start. I never made a secret of that."

For some reason Blair wanted to deny it, but he couldn't, not really. He had just parked his awareness of Jim's interest in him where he didn't see it, let alone think about it. "Uh, I mean..." He couldn't stop himself from slipping his fingers into his pucker, hips lifting to meet the penetration, though he stubbornly tried to finish his thought. "I mean..."

Distantly he felt the car breaking to a sudden stop and heard Jim mutter, "Damn, he looks so hot like that. So fucking hot."

//He's going to take me now,// Blair thought, unexpected panic trying to pierce his lust. If it had been possible, he would have stopped jacking himself, tried to reason with his partner, but his finish was almost there, commanding his body and allowing no other emotion or concern to derail it.

Brushing damp curls away from Blair's forehead with the back of his knuckles, Jim whispered, "I'll do either of those, if you want. Nothing's going to change, if that's what you're worried about. And I'm not going to rage at you or cut you cold because I'm frustrated. I'm done with that, I swear." He kissed where his touch had been. "You can come now. Go for it."

Relief strong enough to bring him near tears swept through Blair, then his orgasm was on him, ripping its way out in pleasure too intense to bear. Screaming, hands moving fast and hard, he was overwhelmed by sensation, writhing as spurt after spurt of his seed emptied from him. Just as it seemed inevitable for ecstasy to give way to pain, he was enfolded in loving arms that absorbed the lingering shocks of his release. Jim murmured nonsensical reassurances against the top of his head, and Blair believed them, clinging to the promise like a rock in a turbulent stream until he collapsed into sleep.

***

The first thing Blair saw when he woke up was a glass of orange juice, moisture just beginning to bead on it from the warm day, sitting on chair pulled close so that it would be the first thing he saw. Smiling, because it was such a Jim thing to do, he leaned up on one elbow and eagerly drank the juice. Dry throat and empty stomach singing hosannas, he emptied the glass, betting himself that Jim would be in to check on him before he finished the last swallow. He lost the bet by two breaths and a setting down of the glass, but he suspected that was because Jim had been hovering outside his door waiting to gauge his condition before Blair could think to mask it.

Given the witches' brew that he'd been sleeping off, that probably wasn't a bad idea, Blair had to concede. Answering the unspoken question in Jim's expression, he said, "I feel pretty good, all things considered."

Fingers finding his pulse as he knelt beside him, Jim startled Blair by holding his head immobile with a strong grip on his chin and staring deep into his eyes. Before Blair could jerk away, angry words bubbling uncalled for to his lips, Jim asked, "How's your vision? Between the side-effects the Viagra and the Golden have on sight, you had me worried when you couldn't focus and tried to keep your eyes closed."

The anger instantly evaporated under bewilderment that it had been there in the first place, but Blair concentrated on the intent scrutiny Jim was still giving him. "Man, you're checking my retinas, aren't you? That is unbelievable. Do you think you could learn to identify someone by them? Oh, and did you know that it's possible to make some medical diagnosis by the condition the retinas are in? You should do some reading on that; it's fascinating."

Smirking, Jim sat back on his heels. "I got the idea to check that out myself when the doc mentioned it when I was blind on Golden. Haven't had much reason to use it before now. How's the mood? Ecstasy messes with brain chemistry, causing depression and edginess."

Grateful for an excuse for his bizarre mix of emotions, Blair nodded. "One reason I stayed away from it, and would even if it were legal. A friend I trusted told me the down wasn't worth the high."

"Smart move on your part," Jim said, standing up and brushing off the knees of his slacks. "Things get out of hand, you tell me, you hear?"

Blair made shooing motions. "Cluck, cluck, cluck." His stomach growled loudly and they both burst out laughing.

"All that from just the hint of food, huh, Sandburg? Well, you've been out for over twelve hours and we hadn't gotten to the meal before they took us."

Standing cautiously and not at all ashamed he was glad Jim was nearby in case his head wasn't ready for him to be perpendicular yet, Blair said, "Anybody ever mention having a ravenous appetite as a side effect?"

Chuckling, Jim waved toward the door. "Go clean up; you need it. In the meantime, I'll fix breakfast. A big one."

Blair's stomach answered for him and, laughing, he made his way to the bathroom. The hot water from the shower was heaven - until it hit the raw spots on his dick from his over-enthusiastic masturbation the night before. Yelping, he protected it from the spray, examining the red, chafed places with ginger fingertips. Well, he had been rough on himself, and he certainly hadn't had any problems at the time. Nor was it the worse he'd done to himself, he admitted ruefully, thinking of a session with one lovely lady that should have ended several hours earlier than it had and then only because neither of them were able to go on any longer.

Pleasantly diverted by that memory, Blair managed to take his shower with a minimum of discomfort. Reaching for a towel as he pulled aside the curtain, he blinked and blessed his partner's thoughtfulness. Along with a pair of ultra-soft sweat pants and his robe, the new jar of aloe that Blair had bought for scrapes and minor burns was sitting on the lid of the toilet.

Hurriedly dying off before he could get too cold, Blair opened the jar, then stood staring at it. He turned the cold glass over and over, confirming for himself that it was the new one that he had bought, the first time he'd bought this brand, and that only after using a sample to make sure it was sentinel-safe. Yet there was a clear depression in the middle of the cream and he hadn't needed to exert any extra force to get the top off.

Someone had used it first. "Well, duh," he muttered to himself. "We got knocked around more than a bit last night. Jim must have treated the worst of my injuries before going to bed. That's all."

He wanted to believe that. He really wanted to believe that, could come up with very plausible reasons for the excuse. But he hadn't washed any cream away in the shower, and Jim had essentially been unharmed except for the odd bruise. In his mind's eye he could see Jim using the cream for the exact same reason Blair had intended to use it.

It was a small thing to get hung up on; a totally ridiculous reason to feel ready to hyperventilate over. Yet he flopped onto the edge of the tub, making himself take regular breaths. "Why is this bothering me?" Blair whispered so softly that not even Jim would hear him. "So Jim got turned on last night. He's human and I was all over him. So he took care of himself the same way I did."

Hearing the lie in his own words, he winced. "Okay, not the same way. He was alone in his bed, and I had him beside me, encouraging me, treating it like it was no big deal so I wouldn't be ashamed of what Billesbach had done to me. It's not my fault I was out of it and not there to help him. I would have. I would have."

The lie was much, much clearer and Blair carefully set the jar down before he could drop it from shaking hands. There was a question he had to ask himself and he didn't want to ask it, let alone hear the answer. He could blow it off, he knew. Just use the cream, breeze out the door, eat his breakfast and never think about any of it again. He could do exactly that because Jim would let him. Jim had promised him that nothing would change and Jim always kept his promises.

Why had Jim known he needed to hear that particular one?

That was too close to the question Blair didn't want to ask, but the answer came too quickly to stop, almost against his will. "Because he loves you, and he has for a long time.

"Well, duh again," Blair muttered, getting annoyed with himself. He knew that Jim loved him; he loved him back. That was basic, like knowing Jim didn't like pineapple.

So why weren't they lovers? It wasn't as if Blair hadn't tried a thing or two with guys along the way. It just hadn't been good enough to go through the whole gay thing, which pretty much summed up Jim's opinion of it the only time they'd really discussed it. Of course, Jim had added that maybe with the right person it would be worth it, clearly insinuating that Blair might be that person.

Not only had Blair ignored that, he'd talked Jim into going out trolling for women with him the very next night. He'd done something like that every time Jim had hinted that he was interested in more than friendly pats and hugs, hadn't he? Even set him up with Margaret the time Blair had been the one seriously thinking about wrapping his sentinel in his arms and keeping him there forever. Why had he done that?

"Because, because, because..." Blair jumped to his feet, ready to run, God knew where, but any place where he couldn't have this stupid, pointless, irritating conversation with himself.

Jim knocked on the door, scaring Blair so badly he scooped up the jar again to use it for a weapon. "Hey, in there. You want to eat or not?"

"Give me a minute," Blair said.

"Chief..."

"Look, just..." Blair killed angry words because they were only to hide his fear. "I've got a flashback thing going on here. Let me deal! Please!"

There was a dead silence from the other side of the door and he could all but feel Jim weighing Blair's right to privacy against his own need to protect and nurture. After a moment, though, Jim said, "It's better not to deal with that on your own; solitude just magnifies all the absurdities of your own mind. Believe me, I know."

Blowing out a puff of exasperation, Blair said, "Yeah, you're right. Give me a minute anyway. If I don't come out after that, you can come in and do your mother hen impression again. Deal?"

"Deal. And I'll hold you to it, Sandburg."

Jim walked away, slowly, from the sound of things, and Blair sat back down, panting as if he'd had a close call.

"It's just Jim, just doing his protective thing, that's all," Blair reassured himself, but instead of reassuring, the word 'protective' rang in his head like a warning gong.

He listened to the warning and bolted out of the bathroom, right into Jim's arms. For the briefest of moments, Blair thought he would self-destruct, tear himself into small pieces, because one part of him wanted to cling to Jim and beg to be taken. An equally powerful part wanted to shove Jim away and run.

Before either over-riding impulse could gain the upper hand, Jim cupped Blair's face in both hands. "What would you say to a friend who was in the middle of a bad trip, Sandburg?"

"To go with the flow, don't fight it, because none of it's real. Focus on what your heart knows is real and breathe."

"So think about how good your breakfast is going to taste and breathe already." Jim patted Blair's cheeks like an old Yiddish grandmother getting her point across and went back to the kitchen to take a stack of pancakes out of the oven.

Blair couldn't help but goggle after him, then he laughed, his world tilting back to normal.

Despite that, he was pensive as he put away the blueberry pancakes, eggs over easy and bacon, hardly tasting them as his thoughts skittered this way and that, not able or willing to settle on any one subject. Thankfully, Jim took his silence for granted, and made his own inroads on breakfast, reading an article out of a magazine as he did. Matters were, Blair realized as he reached for another glass of juice, bizarre in their normalcy. There should be some outfall from last night, if only because Billesbach was no longer a consideration in their lives.

"Billesbach," Blair murmured.

"Isn't going to see daylight for a long time and even if he does, we've done enough damage to his little empire that he'll never be a serious threat to anyone again," Jim said in an uncompromising tone. "Imagine how shocked he'll be when the very goons he paid to take the fall come gunning for him because we took away all their side bennies and privileges in prison."

"And all the people he paid off won't stay paid off after his cash flow was diverted for a while," Blair said in absent agreement. "Amazing what kind of damage you can do by changing passwords in a few key places."

More pancakes appeared on his plate, along with a few strips of bacon, and his stomach prompted him to eat them before his brain had a chance to protest that it was an unheard of second helping.

Despite that, the food was nearly gone before Blair resurfaced from the simple mechanics of chewing. Fork suspended in mid air, he asked, not sure why he did even as the words formed, "Jim, is Billesbach gifted?"

Jim looked up at him through his lashes as if loathe to give up on his reading. "No. In fact, I'd say his whole obsession with the paranormal is strictly dog in manger. If I can't do it, then I'll screw up anybody who can. All the people who got away from him did it by convincing him that their 'little parlor tricks' weren't worth his trouble."

Making a sound of acknowledgement around another mouthful, Blair swallowed, then said, "This thing you do - can you tell specifically what a person's talent is? I mean, do you know what Martin's gift is?"

"Everybody who served with Martin knows his knack, as he called it," Jim said dismissively.

"Served? Father Martin Sevrenson was a Ranger?" Blair asked in astonishment.

Giving up on reading, Jim waved his fork, small grin in place. "Major 'Lucky Sevens' Sevrenson was one of the best C.O's I've heard of, let alone met. He had what he called his 'two minute' warning. About two minutes before anything bad went down, his skin would start crawling and he'd start looking for a way out or in or around or whatever the circumstances called for."

"Past tense?" Blair asked, curiosity rising.

On the pretense of going back to his article, Jim looked away and said, "You'll have to ask him about it, Chief. All I can say without breaking his confidence is that he lost someone and it damned near destroyed him. When he dragged himself back into the light, he'd lost his knack."

That made sense to Blair. From all that he'd heard and read, trauma could awaken gifts - or destroy them. Not always though, and he was shocked to hear himself ask, "And Incacha's gift?"

Jim's head shot up and his jaw clenched. "Location. Think about it. A primitive from the rain forest made his way from Peru to Cascade Washington, then managed to find me among its how many million people?"

"Useful in the rainforest," Blair said so mildly that Jim lost most of the defensive ire that mentioning his Chopec friend could bring.

Pretending to be intent on his plate, Blair said quietly, "So you can't tell except by observation? Well, detective, what is my gift? Like your senses, it's there and must sneak out once in a while."

Fists clenching, not as if he wanted to hit, but as if he wanted to give forbidden comfort, Jim said flatly, "Don't do this to yourself. You think faster on your feet than anybody I know and so far outside the box, you don't even know one exists. If you start second guessing yourself, start over-thinking everything you do, you'll lose that. Shortly thereafter you'll be taken down by a perp that you would have been able to outsmart easily if you had just trusted your instincts."

Inwardly squirming with shame at the relief he felt at Jim's refusal to answer that question, Blair took the last bite of pancake, washed it down with juice and stood to go get ready for the day. "I guess I can't really argue with you on that. I mean, for all Mom's devotion to the belief in the paranormal, I don't have much experience with it myself." With no attempt at finesse, he changed the subject. "You called in for my classes for me?"

"Chief, it's Sunday."

"Oh." Blair fidgeted, uncertain what he should do next. "Seems like we were gone longer than that. Or that we should have been or something."

Jim said, too casually, "It might be a good idea to hang around here today and relax. We could rent some videos, maybe. Or go to the Farmer's Market and stock up the freezer some."

Neither idea held any appeal, but no suggestions of his own came to mind, either. Twitchy, uneasy for reasons he couldn't look at too closely, Blair just stood where he was, hugging himself and trying to talk himself into a rational frame of mind. It didn't work and when he thought he might start beating his head into the wall to get away from himself, Jim stepped up behind him and cupped Blair's shoulders in careful palms.

"If nothing sounds good, at least take a walk with me," Jim said. "Moving around will get the drugs out of your system that much quicker and your life will get back to normal that much faster."

Blair couldn't stop himself tilting his head back onto Jim's chest. "I can't walk away from what's rattling around in my skull."

Hands immeasurably gentling, Jim stroked up and down the outside of Blair's arms, as if to warm him. "You can't listen to it, either. At least if you're on the move, you'll have that to focus on."

Resisting the idea of going out, Blair caught himself before he could roughly dismiss the suggestion, then snorted at himself in amusement. "You're trying so hard to take care of me, and I'm trying so hard to take care of myself. One of us needs to give in before I implode, man."

Jim moved away and Blair could feel the pain in it; didn't need to see his expression to understand how much willpower it took. And his heart bled because he knew Jim did it out of love for him and that he would hurt himself even worse if it gave Blair what he needed. His throat grew tight with tears, but he willed them back.

"Guess it better be me, then, Chief," Jim said in a remarkable imitation of his normal voice. "I'll head off to the gym, then."

Blair didn't need to ask why Jim wouldn't stay around, despite what had to be a nearly overwhelming urge to keep an eye on him. Frustration at not being able to help would gnaw at him until he was as edgy and irritable as Blair; sooner or later, he would say or do something to vent. More likely than not, Blair would be in the path of it - a habit Jim had been doing his damnedest to break.

Laughing without humor, Blair said to himself, "Protecting me even from yourself, huh, Jim?"

Despite how softly he'd spoken, the words sounded huge, loud, echoing through the quiet of the loft, as if he had shouted them at the top of his lungs. The reverberations shattered Blair, shattered the willful blindness and stubborn self-obfuscation he had used to protect himself from reaching for the one thing he needed most: Jim's love. And clearly reveled why he had done it.

With honest eyes and heart, Blair looked at all the evidence he'd been ignoring. Billesbach had been certain that Blair hadn't been imprinted because Blair and Jim weren't lovers, then tried to substitute himself as Jim. Patricia and Yosef were married, clearly deeply in love, and Yosef had gained strength, control, a life when they had become lovers. Marty had chosen a celibate life of normalcy after he'd lost 'the one' of his life. Jim's too-casual dismissal of the vision they had shared, especially after Blair had invited his 'brother' to join him.

His own panic every time he thought of making love to him.

"Oh, god," Blair moaned. "Oh, god." He knotted his fingers in his hair and yanked, harder and harder, welcoming the pain. Powerful hands caught his by the wrist before he could literally rip his curls out and noises that he could no longer translate into speech tore at his hearing. Jerking free of his captor, he swung wildly, connected in a glancing blow, then swung again, harder. Pushing, shoving, slapping, kicking - Blair put more and more strength into his violent outburst, not caring who the target was, not caring if there was a target.

Mercifully, he couldn't weep and fight at the same time; he didn't have enough lung power for it. Before long he was flailing ineffectually, still combative, but with no real force behind his blows. He sank to his knees, struggled upright, fell again, this time into familiar softness. Rolling into a ball, he pawed at the mattress of his futon until he found a good grip and cried until darkness claimed him.

***

The sunlight streaming into his bedroom told Blair that he couldn't have been out long, but he had the groggy, too thick feeling that came with sleeping too much. His face felt like he was wearing a too-tight mask and his curls were sticking damply to his forehead and the nape of his neck. Weirdly, he couldn't imagine why he was in his bed, wrapped snugly in a blanket in the middle of the day.

Even more weirdly, it seemed like a good idea to go back to sleep instead of getting up and taking the cool shower that would kick his brain back in gear. Blair debated it for a moment or two and when his eyelids drifted back down, he came down on the side of more sleep. Rolling to his side to get more comfortable, he bumped into a large, solid object.

The large lump snorted once, quietly, shifted position, and Blair could see it had a familiar face.

//Jim?// Blair thought. //In bed with me?// He reached out to see if he was dreaming, tracing one worry line on Jim's forehead.

Asleep, Jim's face lost none of the tension that filled it during the day, as if, even in rest, he had to work to control his senses. More than once Blair had ached for his sentinel, sad that he couldn't even enjoy his dreams like any body else. It didn't seem fair that he had to be miles away from humanity to let his sensory defenses down and relax. In fact, it seemed there wasn't much fair about what Jim had to live with - including him.

Hesitantly, but unable to resist, Blair limned the line of Jim's jaw, then cradled it in his palm. Blue eyes popped open to lock with his and he said sadly, "I have loved you for so long..."

"And I don't know what to do about it," Jim finished for him, and for himself, admitting his own heart.

Sighing so deeply it hurt, Blair said, "If we make love, it'll awaken my gifts, won't it? That's way you never pushed for us to take the next step. Defenses are down so much during sex, especially when you and your partner are in love and there's the trust and safety factor."

"Along with the need to be as close to them as possible that you open parts of yourself you never even realized were closed," Jim said tiredly.

Thumb caressing Jim's cheek, Blair hitched closer. "I have looked for you all my life, you know. But somewhere along the way, I stopped thinking about you as a person; you became an ideal, a goal. I found a word for you - sentinel - and a logical, sensible reason to be obsessed with you because I need the foundation of science and academia the same way my mom needs the freedom of New Age beliefs and possibilities. It was so hard to give up the nice, safe distance of my dissertation and see you as a friend, roommate, partner."

"And I pushed you so hard so you wouldn't see me as a subject, a lab rat," Jim murmured.

"Which is exactly what you should have done," Blair assured him, urging him forward a tiny bit. "You are more to me than that. But I just couldn't cross that last line. I had a million reasons why not, most of them good, practical ones, but they're really just excuses."

"I can't - don't! - blame you." This time, Jim was the one who sighed and pressed a kiss into the palm of the hand still holding him. "You gave so much of yourself to the sentinel thing; too damned much. I brought so many other changes to your life."

Blair drifted in close to him, so they were chest to chest and sharing the same pillow. "That's just it, Jim, I had all the choices, all along the way. Every time a gun was held on me or I was hit or you lost your temper with me because your senses were out of control, I chose to stay with you. I could have walked away any time, but I didn't."

"Could you really?" Jim asked so flatly it was obvious that he didn't think so. "If you could have given me up, abandoned me to my senses, could you have given up the diss? I don't think so; not and remain true to who you are and, Blair, I"ve never met anyone who was more sure of that than you."

Blair gently bumped his forehead into Jim's. "Which is probably why I suppressed any gifts I might have. 'Me' was what I clung to when everything else in my life was subject to the whims of Mom's boyfriends and her restless nature. It's even one of the reasons I love anthropology. I'm supposed to maintain my sense of self while studying other cultures."

Inhaling as if to fill himself with Blair's scent, Jim said, "You're not going to lose anything of who you are, you know. Just... add to it in an unexpected way. A good way, maybe."

"I guess I'm going to find out," Blair said and he gave into the need, ignoring the flutter of anxiety under his breastbone. It made the kiss soft, tentative, but Jim trembled from it, hardly daring to breathe. Blair pulled away, stared at the naked longing in Jim's expression and drifted back to kiss him again more surely but just as lightly. Again he drew back, awed at the surge of hunger resonating between them. Then Jim came to him, as timidly as a school girl taking her first kiss.

Blair opened to him and with a murmur of delight and surprise, Jim delved into his mouth, tongue diffidently reintroducing itself to Blair's. As they met and danced, fingertips ghosted over Blair's face, the barely tangible touch amazingly erotic. Almost in slow motion, Jim broke away, and took his turn at staring and Blair wished he knew what he was looking for so that he could promise it to him.

They moved together, meeting halfway, no doubts or worries left to overshadow the joy of lips on lips, eager and giving. Jim ran delicate trails over Blair's throat and into his curls, enticing him into pressing closer and closer, until the blanket became an intolerable barrier. Fighting with the restraining fabric, he tore himself away from Jim's kiss and tugged at the blanket with his free hand.

"Jim! Get me out of this!"

With quick, efficient moves, Jim released him, pulling off his sweat pants in the process. Apparently the robe had been lost sometime during Blair's outbreak, though he had no memory of that happening. Jim undressed hurriedly, then he lay on top of Blair, dragging his chest over Blair's, a heavenly sweep of satin over strength, before settling down on him.

As if freeing Blair had freed his passion, Jim took Blair's head between his hands, his weight on his forearms, and took command of Blair's mouth, exploring it deeply and urgently. Blair gave back as good as he got, tangling his legs around Jim's to hold him closer and hugging as tightly as he could. It brought their hard-ons together and he rocked up, only to jerk away, hissing with enough pain to break through the sensual haze.

Lifting away enough to look down between them, Jim muttered, "Damn. We're not going to be able to do much with those in that condition."

The raw patches on their erections were red and enflamed and Blair slapped the bed in aggravation. "I do not need a repeat of last night."

"That. Makes. Two. Of. Us." Jim punctuated each word with a kiss, each farther down Blair's body until he was nuzzling at the base of Blair's cock.

Wantonly spreading his legs wide and entwining his fingers with Jim's on one hand, Blair moaned, "Please."

"Yes." Licking daintily at Blair's balls, Jim added, "Your skin is so incredible here. Soft, downy, warm, fragrant, tasty."

Instinctively thrusting into the air in a futile bid for relief, Blair clawed at the mattress. "You can talk now of all times?"

"You like it," Jim said matter of factly, nosing at the crease between Blair's thighs.

"Oh."

"I like what it does to you," Jim said, then took a long, lazy swipe along Blair"s perineum. "Your heart and breathing give this tiny kick that I don't think you're even aware of and you get hotter down here."

"Yeah?" Blair tried to sound scientifically curious, just to tease Jim the way he was being teased, but it came out too breathlessly to be truly effective.

Despite that, Jim caught his eyes and very deliberately said, "I'm going to tongue-fuck your hole."

The dirty words did shivery things to Blair's libido and he hoisted his legs up onto Jim's shoulders, raising himself up to have his pucker ravished. "OH, yeah!"

Jim murmured, "Definitely love the naughty talk, don't you, Chief?"

"Do it, please, just do it, now, please, please, please."

He did, drilling into the tight folds with hard jabs that were too good, no, past too good. It brought Blair unbearably close to climax and held him there, whimpering and begging until Jim dug two fingers into him and fastened his mouth over the crown of Blair's cock. Helpless, Blair came, spurting out his load in time to the waves of pleasure that crashed him into an euphoria that sex had never given him before.

Dazed, almost completely blitzed out, he lay bonelessly under Jim while he was tidied with a few last licks, then Jim knelt up, showing his seriously engorged dick. On impulse, Blair scooted down and between his legs. "Your turn. Let go, Jim. Let your senses have what they want."

Taking a deep breath, muscles hard as stone, Jim must have done what he was told because Blair barely had time to lock his lips around the head of his cock before he was happily drinking Jim's come. Jim's strength gave out as the last drops trickled out and he slowly collapsed to his side, pulling Blair up to nestle beside him.

He listened to Jim's pounding heart as it slowed back to a normal pace, idly wondering if Jim was listening to his as well. Probably, he decided, to make sure, now the passion was sated, hormones ebbing, that Blair was okay with what had just happened. The question was, was he?

"I don't feel any different," Blair mused aloud. "I mean, I'm not suddenly seeing the world through Technicolor auras or hearing voices I shouldn't."

Sweeping a single comforting stroke along Blair spine, Jim said, "I don't think it's like when the senses came on for me - sudden, with spikes and lulls that came and went. For you, it should be a gradual thing; an erosion of the denial and disbelief you put around what you can do."

Pressing a kiss into the hollow of Jim's collarbone, Blair considered that. "You do know what my knack is, don't you?"

"Blair..."

"All things considered, you might as well tell me," he countered before Jim could repeat his arguments from earlier. "In a way, I still don't believe there's anything special about me, so I'm not likely to count on it when I'm in trouble or try to push for it when I should be relying on what I know and trust best." He looked up through his lashes at Jim and added roguishly, "You."

Jim snorted. "Like you ever." Much more seriously, he added, "And I don't want that to change. You can count on me for backup, but I expect you to be trying to save your own backside every step of the way."

It was Blair's turn to snort. "Like either of us know any other way to be and don't try to change the subject."

"Not change it; more like trying to work my way into it so it makes sense to you." Jim was quiet for several long moments, but Blair could almost feel him sifting through his thoughts, trying to get them in order.

Finally Jim said, "How long had you been back in Cascade when you got that fax about a patient complaining about his senses?"

Curious at the track Jim was taking, Blair answered, "Not long. I got back in town at the start of that semester; I'd just spent ten months working with Stoddard on his preliminary research for his trip to Borneo."

"I'd more or less given up on a medical approach to the problems I was having," Jim confessed quietly. "If one more doctor had told me that nothing was wrong with me, I was going leave that week. Take a medical leave of absence from the department - Switchman case or not - and go to a cabin I know about in the mountains. I really thought I might be going crazy, Blair. The last thing I wanted was to end up in an asylum. I guess I hoped that being alone would help me find a way to cope or work through it or whatever."

Horrified, Blair leaned up on one elbow and thumped him on the chest. "How long do you think you would have lasted up there alone? Between zones and sensory spikes, you could have easily gotten yourself killed."

"I know that. I knew that. It seemed better than being in an institution." Jim pulled Blair back down. "Then this energetic, enthusiastic imposture held out the tiniest bit of hope and I went after it, despite not trusting him at all."

He had to grin at that, but before he could ask what that had to do with anything, Jim went on.

"Not too much longer after that, I brought you in to the department to get you your observer's pass and on the exact same day I needed to convince Simon that you had to ride with me, at least for a while, Kincaid takes over the place. You impressed more than one person that day, but most importantly, you impressed Simon enough that we got the one cop we had to have on board for the sentinel thing willing to give us a chance."

Puzzled because he had no clue where Jim was heading, Blair said, "You can usually find something good that came out of the bad. Convincing Simon that you had a real asset to bring to Major Crimes if you had a chance to develop it doesn't outweigh the lives lost that day, but it certainly saved more in the long run."

Clearly stifling a sigh, Jim said, "So, not much longer after that, I come over to your place for no particular reason and that's the night your place blows up. You didn't get hurt, maybe because I was there, you didn't get swept up as being part of the meth lab, which could have very easily happened but didn't because I was there, and you moved in with me, where we both very shortly realized you belonged."

Dismissively, Blair said, "So you've got a good sense of timing. I don't see what that's got to do with my initial question. Will you get to the point, please?"

"It's not my sense of timing, it's yours."

Sitting bolt upright, Blair pivoted on one hip and stared at his sentinel.

"Think about it," Jim urged. "You go out to a movie, find a lost girl running from people who want anything but good for her. You get on an elevator with the one thing you need to save everyone and the torch didn't even belong to the guy! He was taking it to a friend. I can think of a dozen examples off the top of my head, but those two always pop up first."

"I... I..."

"I have no idea if this has been a pattern your entire life. The way you fought accepting it, I thought maybe not, but you seem so oblivious to just how well things have a way of working out around you," Jim went on doggedly. "So I went with what you wanted because in good conscience I couldn't do anything else."

"You have got to be wrong about this," Blair blurted. "I mean, I've gotten shot, kidnapped, hijacked and that's just been in the past couple of years!"

Regretfully tracing the dimpled scar in Blair's leg left by Quinn's bullet, Jim said, "You're human. You can be distracted, focused on the wrong thing, dragged off course by someone more determined than you. For instance, Janet? If I hadn't insisted on looking for Incacha, if we had done what you wanted, we would have been in time. You've never let me take the blame for her death; it belongs on me."

"We share it and you're trying to get off topic again," Blair said, despite being more than a little sidetracked by the whirlwind rearranging his entire mental backdrop.

Coaxing him into lying back down, snug against his chest, Jim said, "Guilty as charged."

Content to cuddle close and go back to listening to Jim's heartbeat, Blair said, almost disinterestedly, "You really think my gift led me to you when your senses kicked in?"

"Or my senses kicked in because you were there," Jim answered drowsily. "Timing's a subtle thing, Chief. All I know is that the Switchman case wasn't the first time I'd spent roughing it far away from civilization since leaving the Army."

"Hmmm." Blair placed a tiny, licking kiss in the hollow of Jim's collar bone, losing interest in talking, but not quite ready to move onto other things. "So why not bring us together earlier?"

"Hmm? You know you have an absolutely wicked mouth, right?"

Nipping him to say 'yes, indeed, he did know', Blair slid on top of Jim and tasted the other side.

Catching his chin under a forefinger, Jim lifted Blair's head to meet his gaze. "If you spent your life looking for me, I spent mine needing something with no idea what it was. I tried on different roles, trying to make them mine to fill that need - rebellious teen, soldier, cop, husband - and none of them were right. Maybe I had to learn that the traditional, conventional stuff wasn't right for me before I could accept that I needed to be Sentinel to your Shaman, shield to your trials."

For the first time since he'd known him, Jim's expression was completely open and at peace, the way Blair had expected it to be in sleep. Silently vowing that he would spend the rest of his life putting that look there, Blair kissed him lovingly, making that and a dozen other promises. "Or maybe I needed to remember that I was looking for a real, live person before I could be Shaman to your Sentinel, shelter to your storm. Either way, I think it's a case of perfect timing. finis