"Why don't we ask him?" Jim looked down into the parking lot and into Incacha's upturned face. The Chopec was standing next to Jim's truck, stroking the hood, looking for all the world as if he seriously approved of the ride. Despite the circumstances, he couldn't help but return his old friend's smile, and he tapped Sandburg's arm. "Wait here. I'll bring him up."
"Sure," Blair agreed, his face saying that he understood Jim wanted a chance to greet the shaman privately.
Grateful - again - for his partner's perception, Jim hurriedly left, practically running down the stairs. Throwing open the door, he wasn't surprised to find Incacha standing on the other side of it, hands already up and welcoming. Latching onto the native's forearms as his own were gripped, Jim said in Quechua, "It is so good to see you, my friend. Very surprising, but very good."
"And I, you, Enquiri. I had not thought to find *you* during this long and strange journey," Incacha returned.
On impulse Jim abandoned formality and gathered his friend into a fierce hug. "I had thought never to meet you again at all."
Incacha returned the hug enthusiastically, then stepped back, his face becoming somber. "It must be the will of the gods, then, that we find each other now, when our tribe needs you so much." Jim accepted his duty to the Chopec with an inclination of his head and gestured toward the stairs. "Come, we have much to talk about, and I would like you to meet my companion, Blair."
At Incacha's sudden grin, Jim realized he had used a word to describe his partner that implied more than friendship, but he let it stand. That was how he felt, and he thought Sandburg was beginning to, as well. "The young man who stood beside you?" the shaman asked as they began to climb. Jim nodded, and the Chopec's grin grew wider. "I am glad you have found someone. You were always too much alone. And that one looks strong enough to be companion to a guardian."
"It surprises me constantly just how strong and resourceful he is," Jim admitted proudly. "For a time I forgot myself, and he was the one who helped me return to my path, though I fought doing so. I don't know if I could have existed here as a guardian - Blair calls me sentinel - if he didn't understand."
To Jim's ears, the English word sat oddly amidst the Quechua ones, but Incacha took it and gently twisted so that it fit. "He *named* you sentinel, and guides you in your gifts? You accept this power over you willingly?"
There was puzzlement in the Chopec's words, and Jim paused on a landing to study him. "Not at first," he said honestly. "But Blair knew the right of it, and I saw that. Eventually."
"Then your companion is a shaman?" Incacha's obvious confusion was growing, sending prickles of alarm over Jim's skin.
Since by Chopec definition Sandburg could well be considered that, Jim nodded and silently continued up the stairs, trying not to dwell on his reaction to the question. The native followed, moving slowly and obviously thinking. Then he stopped, catching Jim's arm gently. "Do you already share a bed with this young shaman, Enquiri? Or do you only court him?"
The prickles gathered at the base of Jim's spine, making him draw away from his friend to gradually straighten himself to his full height. "He shares my life, Incacha, as no other, not even you, ever has, but not yet my bed. We grow together, I think, learning the trust and faith we need to begin that part of our lives."
"Then he is forbidden to you, sentinel," Incacha said firmly, holding Jim's eyes with ancient authority. "It is not your right to claim him by word or deed."
Astounded, instinctively throwing out a hand to steady himself on the wall as he stumbled back, Jim inhaled sharply at the blow.
"Incacha...." he began, not sure if he was going to plead or argue.
"Listen to me, Enquiri," the Chopec broke in firmly. "The shaman's path is a very difficult one. It can blind and deafen us to all but the desperate cries of our people in need. We cannot help but answer, giving all we must to do what we can. The stronger the call, the more we give."
"You," Incacha lightly touched the center of Jim's chest, "needed and he came. That does not mean he is yours, Enquiri. Though you might be able to hold him to you for a time through the bonds of that need, though you might be able to satisfy his every physical delight and so capture him even longer, he is *not* yours.
"You must let the young shaman walk his own path, sentinel, not wander in the shadow of yours. To do so would destroy him. It may be that he will travel beside you, but if that is to happen, your Blair must be true to his own calling first."
Wanting, *needing*, to fight Incacha's decree, Jim opened his mouth only to snap it shut at the implacable expression on the Chopec's face. Unwillingly he confessed gruffly, "There is truth in your words. I've seen him struggle to reconcile his own life with mine too many times not to wonder what damage I've done. Or to worry that if he would do so much for a friend, how much more for a lover? And what harm that would cause him.
"But, Incacha, I need him as my friend, my guide. It is not within me to send him away."
"Nor must you," Incacha told him bluntly. "It is only that you must accept that he is *only* friend and guide, until he wishes otherwise. Swear to me, Enquiri. Swear that you will let the young shaman come to you in his own time."
Feeling as if he were trying to crush rock with his jaw, Jim sharply shook his head once. Compassion filled Incacha's eyes, and he carefully took Jim's shoulders between his hands. "If you were so sure before I spoke that you would be lovers, if you were already content to let it happen as it would, then your heart must be very full for him. Surely you believe that he cares, that he will want you, or you would not have been so patient. Can you not trust that, Enquiri?"
Above them the stairwell door popped open, and Blair called out worriedly, "Jim, man, you guys down there?"
"On our way, Sandburg," Jim answered automatically, looking up at his partner. The sight of his friend's relief and the huge smile sent his way inexpressibly reassured Jim, and he was able to say calmly to Incacha, "I know his heart beats with mine, shaman, even if he does not. Before your words, I waited for a moment when I could show him that with a touch. Now I wait for him to discover it on his own. It's not so different." Pausing, hand clenched over his equally clenched stomach, he added reluctantly, "I swear."
Wisely Incacha said nothing, but let Jim lead him the rest of the way into the loft. Later when the shaman slyly asked in Sandburg's hearing what the younger man's role was in Jim's life, the anthropologist's answer let Jim feel a little of the faith he had pretended. Though Blair's words were of mutual learning, his hands spoke of union, and Jim shared a knowing grin with Incacha, sure the Chopec saw that as well.
It wasn't until he and Blair were in the truck on the way to meet with Janet that he had his first pang of fear. Physically hurting, he couldn't reply in kind to his companion when Blair confessed his concerns for their partnership with Jim's sentinel abilities gone. Hiding the pain behind words he didn't even hear as they left his mouth, he changed the subject as quickly as he could, reminding himself strongly that he *knew* how to wait.
* * *
Lying on his bunk, feeling the prison settle into the muffled stillness that passed for night here, Jim anchored himself with the memory of his partner, then edged up the dials on his hearing. Eyes closed, he tried to filter out the background noises - water dripping, metal springs creaking, body noises from his cellmate - and mentally searched for meaning in what he heard.
Most of the fragments of words and conversations were useless to him, but he kept sifting, looking for something he could use.
"Please?"
Eyes flying open, Jim lost the word, shocked by the resemblance the speaker's voice had to Blair's. Without effort he locked onto the sound of the plea being softly repeated, so softly that Jim could hardly hear it clearly. "Please?"
"No, baby," a deeper voice rumbled, barely louder than the first. "I need it this way tonight."
"Let me suck you, instead," the first voice asked, this time the Latino heritage showing clearly in it. It became coaxing, seductive, loving, and it was the last that held Jim's attention against his will. "You know how much you love using my mouth, love the heat of it. Come on, beautiful, roll over and let me gobble you up."
"God, you slut, you know how to get what you want, don't you?" the second man ground out. "But not tonight." Taking his turn at cajoling, he went on, "Baby, don't make me beg here. I gotta feel you in me; I gotta."
Tentatively giving faces to the voices, Jim shuddered, understanding why the Latino was arguing. Being forced into bottoming at times was unavoidable here, and there was no particular stigma in getting nailed against your will if you didn't let it break you. But to like bottoming, to *want* it - if that was discovered, the best you could hope for was to be passed from rapist to rapist, no matter how hard you fought.
The Latino's partner was a huge, burly man who walked the walk with enough arrogance to have earned respect, and with it a certain amount of safety. He used that to shelter his smaller bunkmate, though the two of them treated each other with mutual belligerence outside their cell. If the other inmates ever suspected the big man turned over for his partner, their precarious security would vanish. Both were taking an incredible risk just talking about it.
"God, God, God, God," the Latino moaned. "How'm I supposed to say no to that ass, up in the air and beggin' like that?"
Dropping into huskier tones, the other man answered, "Don't, baby, don't. Just do me! Do me!"
There was a muttered curse, some rustlings of cloth and bed frame, then small noises told Jim they were beginning. Both were as silent as humans could manage, though to the sentinel they might as well have been performing for a porno movie.
Unbidden, his own cock raced to full hardness, throbbing in time to the furtive sliding rhythm of the two prisoners. Holding in his own sighs at the stifled ones that escaped the lovers, Jim forced himself to stay motionless, keeping his hands loosely at his sides. It didn't matter that he wouldn't touch himself. The thought of the forbidden, secret passion was almost enough by itself to trigger him.
He heard the big con come with a breathed, "... no... no," his lover following him with only a strangled inhale to betray his finish. Not permitting even that much, Jim finished as well, taking no pleasure in the bitter release.
When it faded, he grimaced at the mess in his clothes, resigning himself to not being able to clean up right away. His cellmate was still awake, and in the deadly ballet of dominance going on between them, he couldn't afford to let even the natural weakness of sexual need show.
Grimly he returned to his audio surveillance of the prison, but sentry duty took too little of his attention. The rest of his mind was stubbornly replaying the overheard lovemaking, featuring himself and Blair in place of the original participants.
Needing to stop the imagined voice of Blair saying, "No, lover, no, not like this, it's too dangerous. Please!" Jim made himself face the probability that his shaman would never want him.
It was his own fault, he knew. Though on the surface nothing had changed since Incacha's death, there was an undercurrent now that was steadily eroding their relationship. He had been trying to keep his companion close with one hand - belittling Blair's romantic involvements, criticizing his choice in women, even going to so far as to physically rein him in from the chase once or twice with a hand on the shoulder or forearm. And he was pushing Sandburg away with the other by stepping up his own pursuit of unwanted women though he had no idea what to do when he caught one.
It didn't help that since giving his word to Incacha not to approach Blair, Jim had veered between absolute belief that his partner loved him and total rage that he couldn't get the younger man to *see* that. Thankfully Sandburg had attributed the latter to stress, and Jim had gratefully fostered that notion.
Jim knew how much his recent behavior had upset Blair. In fact, Jim was confusing, worrying, frustrating, annoying, and downright angering his roommate. And couldn't *stop* himself because of his own state of mind.
With an inaudible snort, he admitted that whatever chance he had had to win Blair was long gone. All he could do now was try to salvage their friendship and that meant backing off, keeping his hands to himself, and giving his partner whatever he needed to do *his* job, not Jim's. Maybe Blair could learn to need *him* if he were there for his guide. Maybe he'd make a place for Jim in his life if he felt he could rely on Jim's support. Maybe Jim could even hope somehow, somewhere along the road, Blair would come to love him.
Maybe.
* * *
What good does it for a man to have ears that will hear for a thousand miles if he cannot listen to the whispers of his own heart?
Over and over Jim heard Gabriel's softly spoken words, as if the man claiming to be an angel stood at his elbow talking to him. Standing in his customary spot by the balcony doors, overlooking a city slowly filling with daylight and activity, Jim tried to dismiss the warning yet again. But could not. Could not.
Out there, in the unforgiving brightness of the morning sun, Sandburg was handing in the preliminary chapter of his thesis. Total strangers were reading impartial, remote words dissecting Jim's work, his habits, his life. Words that described him as a coward and bully, too fucked up to function without a keeper.
When he'd agreed to be Sandburg's research subject, he had expected only quantitative data to be used, or generalized comparisons between himself and the ancient sentinels Blair believed in. The last thing he had expected was for the anthropologist to hold him up to the scrutiny of passionless, remote academics who cared nothing for the real person behind the words. To them, he was only the object of a promising student's research. Apparently, to Blair as well.
All this time, all these *years,* he had thought they were beyond researcher and subject. Had thought they were friends, regardless of the recent strain between them.
Jim had mistakenly believed that the growing distance had been unavoidable. Not only part of Blair discovering who and what he truly was, but a side effect of Jim's trying not to need the other man so much. The undercover work at the insane asylum, championing Cassie and helping her with research, even standing up to Finkleman in Jim's defense - all were evidence to him that Blair was learning he walked the shaman's way, as Jim and Incacha had believed he would.
Even when Ray had died and Blair had shut him out, Jim had been sure his friend had only needed time to deal with the loss. That Blair would turn to him eventually for strength and comfort. But it had lasted and lasted, and finally Jim had taken off himself, claiming he needed the space, hoping to give Sandburg privacy to mourn and a chance to miss him.
Having Blair offer to move out instead should have warned Jim that something was seriously wrong between them. Having the damned dissertation rear its head again should have warned him. Hell, having Blair confess he could accept being less than number one in a woman's life, if he loved her, should have warned him. After all, better to be number two to a female, than to be the end all and be all of a man you had no respect for, right?
The bottom line was that Blair didn't love, couldn't love, had never loved him. How could a shaman with the kind of strength his guide had *ever* consider mating with an aged, frightened, unwanted, damaged fraud like himself, sentinel or not?
Gabriel was right. He should have listened to his heart long before. Today Sandburg had proven beyond a doubt Jim's midnight hopes were just so much vapor to be burned away in the heat of the sun. If he had listened, he wouldn't be standing here now, too in shock to feel the pain. Wouldn't have pathetically tried to back-pedal, sucking up to Sandburg like a whipped dog by okaying the chapter.
The hell of it was that it was good from a professional point of view. And it was Blair's life work, research that Jim had co-operated with and given permission to use. He had no right to blame the anthropologist for his own stubborn blindness to the facts of life. The only person who really deserved his fury was himself. He'd have to do a better job of apologizing to Sandburg for giving his partn...roommate the brunt of it, again.
Creakily he turned toward the interior of the loft, thinking to call and see if Sandburg was coming back to sleep part of the day. He was going to wait until night himself, when he could shelter unseen in the darkness. Maybe then he'd be able to face the shards of his life and begin to deal with it.
Before he could pick up the phone, it rang unexpectedly, making him take a step back. With superstitious dread he stared at it, then shook himself violently. Only coincidence. Snatching it up, he barked, "Yeah?"
Over the line, Simon told him tersely, "Easy there, detective. I haven't been to sleep yet either."
Rubbing his forehead, Jim answered more mildly, "Sorry, sir. Actually, I wasn't planning on it for a while. Caught me on the way to the gym." *Sort of.*
"Meet me at 413 Walnut Street, instead." His captain sounded more than tired, more than weary. "I'll give you the details when I get there because I'm looking for a fresh perspective on this, an unbiased eye to look past the obvious. Keep that in mind at the scene, okay?"
"An unbiased eye? Past the obvious?" Jim asked carefully, not willing to be dragged into what was beginning to sound like the sort of case that a smart cop would avoid.
"You'll see what I mean when you get there. And Jim, I need answers, or at least a few damned good questions as soon as possible."
"As soon as possible? Simon, why do I have the feeling the mayor is jerking our chain again?"
There was silence on the other end for a moment, then Banks replied slowly, "Much as I hate to admit it, he may have a point this time. I want Sandburg in on it, too, but you can brief him when he gets done at Rainier."
Puzzled, Jim left quickly, making the trip to Walnut in good time. The residence he pulled up in front of was in an upper-middle-class, bordering on wealthy neighborhood. In fact, it had a bit of a reputation for being home to extremely wealthy people who didn't want to go the mansion and limo routine. The money involved would explain how the mayor had gotten involved, but not why.
Ten minutes later, slowly surveying the bedroom of a typical teenager, Jim was no closer to an answer. The fully dressed body that lay peacefully in the center of the twin bed, head covered with a plastic bag, painted far too clear a picture of suicide for Major Crimes to be involved. On the off chance it was simply very well done staging, despite the note lying on the too-tidy desk, Jim focused on minutiae, trying to find something out of place.
There was a noise that nagged at him, and he focused on it only to find that it was the portable CD player on the nightstand. Though the headphones were carefully curled on top of it, it had not been turned off and the faint sound was music-by modern definitions, not Jim's. Weaving in and out of the discordant banging and squalling were real words, actually forming something resembling a song.
Simon's hand on his shoulder pulled him out of an incipient zone, and Jim tiredly turned to face him. "Why are we here, Simon? This couldn't be a more obvious suicide if we'd walked in at the start."
Glancing around to make sure they had a semi-private space, the captain softly told him, "It's the third in four weeks in this neighborhood. Two of them, including this one, hadn't shown any warning behavior at all, and, on the surface at least, had no reason to be that depressed."
"Parents thinking suicide pact?" Jim asked as quietly. "The chances of that are pretty slim. Kids might make those, but the healthy ones don't go through with it."
"They don't know what to think." At the skeptical look on Jim's face, Simon went on, "Yeah, yeah, I know, denial and all that, but Jim, I've already talked to the parents on this one. The kid was a good student, not great, but not in trouble by any means. Good social life, tight circle of friends and the other two suicides weren't in it, just part of the local crowd. Something *is* wrong about this."
Giving the room a last look, Jim said, "Nothing here to point to it, Simon. Want me to check out the other two scenes or talk to parents?"
"First one was a jumper at Taylor's Bluff; second was a gunshot done in her car. It's been impounded, so you'll find it on the lot. Let Sandburg handle the parents; he's better at that kind of thing."
The stab of pain was entirely unexpected, but Jim successfully hid it. Yeah, Blair was good with people; that was part of what a shaman did. And he was proud that Banks not only admitted it, but counted on it. I ought to know he's good, he thought bitterly, regardless. He's been handling me long enough. Forcefully he dismissed the feeling as petty, and returned to the matter at hand.
"He'll probably check in with me when he's done at the U," Jim said, more irritation than he wanted coming out and ignoring the flash of surprise because of it on Simon's face. "But I'll leave a message at his office to call you."
"Do that." Banks said hastily.
"Meantime, I'll look over the car." Without giving Simon a chance to reply, he took off, reluctantly taking out his cell to leave the promised message.
At the impound garage he found the old Mustang from the second suicide tucked away in one corner. Used to him coming down to do his thing, the staff didn't even give Jim a second look as he started slowly working over the car. After checking both the inside and outside, he covered the driver's seat in plastic and sat, comparing what he sensed here and at the house. Nothing consistent between the two, he decided.
On impulse he turned on the engine, immediately clapping his hands over his ears at the sound blasting from the speakers. Okay, nothing except that both kids had horrible taste in music! Fumbling at the unfamiliar console, he got the volume all the way down, though he could faintly hear music if he concentrated. More banging, he grumped.
On the unlikely chance there had been an unknown passenger with the young girl who had died, he closed his eyes to concentrate on scent. After all the time that had passed, it was unlikely he'd be able to pick any up that didn't belong to the impound crew, but it was all he could think of to try.
Nothing out of the ordinary there, either. Fast food -Wonderburger, he'd bet - cosmetics, several different perfumes, books, chalk, fabric softener.... Lulled by how ordinary the smells were, off guard because of his fatigue, Jim began to break each smell into basic components, becoming lost in the multitude of elements.
It was a single tear sliding from his jaw and dropping onto his chest that jolted him out of the zone. Automatically he dried off his face, turned off the CD player in mid verse -
- and left the car. Departing hurriedly for the next site, he didn't look around to see if anyone had noticed his lapse.
At Taylor's Bluff too much time and too much weather had passed for even a sentinel to find any evidence of the tragedy that had happened there.
Discouraged, he drove back into Cascade, heading for the gym rather than going back to the loft before the peace and solitude of dark. Nearing an intersection, he looked ahead to see his light change to red and an eighteen-wheeler moving through toward its green at a good pace. Almost as if he were merely a spectator, he watched his own vehicle keep going, never hesitating for the stop light. Analytically he decided he would collide about where the gas tank was on the big rig, and that everyone would think he'd fallen asleep at the wheel after a long shift.
He was less than twenty feet from the truck when the mule-stubborn, in-love-with-Blair part of himself kicked him in the head and made him react. Squealing tires and blasting horns accompanied him as he used every ounce of skill and training he had to maneuver around the other truck, not hit it. Clipping it with his bumper, he spun, got it under control, and yanked his Ford into a parking lot, braking it to a stop inches before side-swiping several vehicles.
Stupidly he sat and stared out the windshield, trying to fathom what had nearly happened. It made no sense, no sense at all. Yes, he was lost, more lost than he had ever been in his life. But for as long as he could remember, there had been no one that particularly cared if he lived or died, and he lived anyway. If no one else valued him - and Blair's face rose behind his unseeing eyes - he valued himself and knew, small as it was, he did good in a world that didn't have much in it. Damned if he was going to quit now. No. No. No.
Unaware that his chin was jutted out as if he were daring someone to hit him, he put the truck in gear and slowly, precisely returned to driving to the gym.
* * *
Sitting at his desk in the bullpen, Blair bent over his organizer and tried to figure out how to put a few more hours in the day. He'd thought once the grants had been taken care of, his chapter in, he'd have more free time. But he'd been getting four hours of sleep, if that much, since the day he'd met with his committee six weeks ago because Simon had dragged him in on the suicides.
Originally he'd only talked to parents, then Jim had discovered that Westerly High wasn't the only school with too high an incidence of suicides in Cascade. It was merely the only one whose parents were wealthy enough to get an important person's attention over it. Next thing Blair knew, he was acting as a University liaison as the psych department and PD helped set up counseling groups and awareness programs in the local schools. Which was only fair since it was his idea. Then he got roped into working with those groups because they were so short-staffed, and he didn't know how to say no to kids in need. All that was in addition to his university responsibilities and duties here at the station.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd sat down for a peaceful dinner and evening of mindless TV with Jim. Or had a conversation with his partner that lasted for more than ten minutes that wasn't work related. To his surprise, he missed that part of their lives; missed Jim, though he saw him for at least a few minutes nearly every day.
Absently he stroked the leather cover of the organizer, thinking of his roommate and friend. Jim had given it to him for the holidays last year, with important dates and parts of his schedules Jim knew already written in. At the time he'd laughed, making jokes about being too disorganized to use an organizer. But Jim had asked a question from it here, made a suggestion to add an appointment there, and next thing he knew he was reaching for it every time he made a commitment or thought of something that needed done. There were even scraps of research notes in it by now.
Not that different from keeping a journal, really. And for some obscure reason, he liked opening it and seeing his own hasty scrawls crashing into Jim's neat, precise handwriting. It was so like the other man to find a way to help Blair without making a big production of it. He should make a joke or two to Jim about the gift being to stop him from being late all the time so his partner would know he appreciated it. With a rueful grin, he thought about penciling in "Dinner, game on tube with Jim," so he actually could and went back to finding a free block of time for taking Lisa to that exhibit she was so interested in.
He was flipping back and forth, frustrated, when Connor cleared her throat noisily to get him to look up. "Hi, Megan," he said cheerfully. "Do you have a real hour or two that you could loan me so I can do something besides work?"
"I'd never get it back, Sandy," Megan laughed. "You're the most over-booked person I've ever known."
Going back to the organizer, Blair muttered, "Well, it was worth a try. Maybe if I don't sleep again on the...."
With another nervous sound, Megan said, "Actually, I was going to ask a favor, if you don't mind."
Waving at his cluttered desk, Blair answered distractedly, "Ask, but don't expect, okay?"
"Grab a coffee so we can speak privately?" Her voice was very serious, and Blair *looked* at her and saw that, laugh or no laugh, she was very agitated. "Sure," he agreed instantly, standing. She led him toward the break room, not talking at all the whole way. To his surprise, Joel, Rafe, Henri, Rhonda, Serena, Dan, and a couple of others from the department were in there already, standing around and looking even more upset.
"Hey, guys. What's up?" he said, proud of the calm he showed, though his stomach was diving for the lobby.
They all looked at each other, at the floor, then at Megan at his side as if she had just been nominated spokesperson by silent ballot. "Aw, hell," she muttered, then turned to face Blair directly. "Sandy, is there something we should know about Jim?"
For one heart-killing second, Blair thought that someone had found his chapter and put two and two together. They knew Jim was a sentinel and were pissed at being lied to for the past three years. But it wasn't anger that was on everyone's face, and Conner wouldn't have been so calm after being fooled by Jim's 'psychic' abilities. His momentary panic came out sounding like pure surprise, thank God. "About Jim? What about him?"
Unbidden, the idea that his partner had been hurt and they were trying to tell him in this strange way bounced into his head. "He's okay, right? I mean, you don't...."
"No, nothing like that, I swear," Joel broke in hastily. "It's just..." He hesitated, looking around at the other people. "We've all noticed," he went on slowly, "that, well, he isn't looking too good these days."
"And not acting like the Ellison we all know and love," Rhonda put in dryly.
"Huh?" Blair blurted, brilliantly. He lived with the man. Surely if something were wrong.... Of course, lately Jim either got in way after him or was in bed by the time he got home himself, so he rarely actually shared the loft for more than a few hours now. "I mean, I haven't noticed anything."
Very gently Megan touched his arm. "He's lost a lot of weight. Still damned good-looking, of course."
"But I've seen him working out," Rafe put in, "and it's a strain for him to do half of what he used to be able to do without breathing hard."
"Half the time the man used to walk around with junk food in his hand, and he was the donut girl's best customer. Now he takes a few bites of whatever he's supposed to be eating, makes a face, and puts it down." That was Rhonda again.
"Not working any over-time," Brown put in.
What? Blair thought dazedly, thinking of all the times he'd come home to a dark loft, but he didn't say anything as Henri kept talking.
"Not first on the scene in the field, holds back, lets other officers go first, or volunteers to be back-up. Like he doesn't want to risk getting hurt. Risk bleeding."
"That's not even half of it." Megan took over. "Couple of days ago he was questioning a suspect and the perp didn't like the way it was going. So he blows up, even throws a punch. Ellison didn't so much as blink. Held him down, expression never changing, until cuffs could be put on him, then went back to interrogating him as if there'd never been an interruption."
Numbly Blair groped for a chair and fell into it. "God." It was all he could think of to say. Hands going to his head, he scrunched up two fists full of hair as if that would help him think faster. He shot back up almost immediately. "Okay, you guys must have a theory or idea or something that I'm not going to like or you expect me to lie about, or you wouldn't be ganging up on me like this. What do you think is going on?"
Half expecting them to ask if it was possible Jim was on drugs, or had lost his nerve, he was completely caught off guard when Joel asked gently, "Blair, what's Jim's HIV status?"
Automatically he blurted, "Negative; got tested because of the Marco case, remember? Got scored by that bloody knife?" Everyone sighed, almost in unison, and Blair plopped back into the chair. A thought hit him hard, but he was too confused to do more than peer up at Megan. "Why think it's AIDS?" he wondered out loud.
At that she looked embarrassed, but not as much as some of the others in the room. There was an unhappy rumbling of voices for a second, some sounding distinctly pained, and Blair took pity on them. "Go on, get out. I'll clear things up with Megan and she'll pass it on. If I get pissed, she'll pass that on too, I'm sure." There were a few half-hearted chuckles, then everybody trooped out, each one taking a moment to pause by him for a word or quick punch/pat/touch.
"Have to blame me for that," she admitted after they had all left, sitting next to him. "Symptoms match: sudden weight loss, no appetite, being extra cautious so as not to get hurt and wind up bleeding all over everybody. Rumor has it he's bi. No reflection on you, Sandy."
"Rumors have been wrong before," he said, thinking Is bi, at his own admission. But he says he's not done much more than decide he could be. No reason to think that's changed. Absent or not, he'd find a way to let me know in case he brought someone home. Jim Ellison is too damned polite to spring a boyfriend on me without warning.
Apparently he was quiet too long for Connor's comfort and she giggled, a little uneasily. "True, true. I mean, look at what they say about you."
Forcing himself to pay attention, he grinned. "Oh, I know. Let's see if I can deny them all at once. I'm not gay or bi and having an affair with Jim. I'm not blackmailing Jim into letting me live with him. I am not the illegitimate son of the mayor being babysat by the department to keep me out of trouble. I'm not the heir to a minor European country buying my way into playing cop. And I'm not trying to write a best-seller based on the cases in Major Crimes. Did I miss one?"
By the time he'd finished listing the rumors he'd heard himself, Connor was laughing and shaking her head. "Hadn't heard the one about being an heir," she gasped at last. "Heavens, Sandy, why don't you just tell them you're Ellison's spiritual advisor?"
That was too much; despite the circumstances, Blair laughed, too. "Can you *imagine* how that would go over with American cops! They'd rather think he was gay!"
"Oh, my," and she laughed harder. "Dead on!"
They shared their amusement for several minutes, and Blair was standing to leave when she caught his hand. "Seriously, what is wrong with Jim? He doesn't look good."
Unsettled, Blair lost all traces of humor and shrugged uncomfortably. "It's been a hard year for him, Megan. I can't go into details, but there's been a couple of deaths that hit him really bad, and some family problems I'd hoped were going to get better, but got worse. Now he's constantly dealing with all these dead kids, and suicide is just so against everything he believes in, you know?"
With a shudder that should have been melodramatic but came off as truly how she felt, Connor nodded. "I can't even imagine what he feels when he walks into another room filled with a lost spirit. It'd put anybody off, let alone someone as sensitive as your partner."
You have no idea, Megan. You have no idea. Blair gallantly bowed over her hand and kissed it. "Thanks for worrying about him. I appreciate it even if he wouldn't. Please tell the others that Jim's working through some burnout, but it's not serious, will you? As cops they'll understand that and leave him alone. And I'll make a point of taking better care of him, okay?"
"Can do, Sandy. Let him know we're all behind him." She pecked him once on the cheek, mischievously, and left looking very satisfied with herself.
Once alone, he bent over, letting his hair hide his face. Some partner I am if Jim has a problem and everybody knows but me. I haven't been that busy, that involved. Have I? And why the hell didn't he come to me? Am I the cause? I thought we'd worked the whole thing with the diss out. I know I haven't been in his face too much.
Abruptly he stood, heading straight for his desk. Whatever was on the calendar for the rest of the day was going to have to wait; he needed to talk to Jim.
The loft was dark and quiet when he arrived, with no signs Jim had been home since morning: coat hook and basket empty, no truck in its usual spot, no smells of dinner. Disgruntled, Blair put his own things away and settled in for the wait. He was going to stay up as long as it took, but he was going to talk with his roomie tonight.
It wasn't until the alarm went off upstairs that it occurred to Blair his all-nighter had been wasted, mountains of finished paperwork aside. With its familiar sound came equally well-known ones. Jim getting up for work. He'd been home all along, and must have parked his truck a distance away to keep that fact from Blair, the way he'd been hiding other things. But why?
His astonishment hadn't worn off by the time Jim padded down the stairs, shoes, jacket, and keys in hand. "Morning, Chief. Had breakfast yet?" His tone was normal, casual.
Mutely Blair simply stared at him, not sure how to bring up yesterday's conversation in the bullpen or his partner's seeming avoidance of him.
"Chief?"
A theory pulled itself together from the corners of his mind, plausible but without enough evidence for him to be sure. Belatedly he answered, "No, no breakfast." With a visible shake, he brought himself back. "Sorry; running on fumes right now."
Giving him one of his half grins, Jim told him, "So I see. Hope you're going to get to bed soon or you're going to walk right into a wall, you're so out of it."
Stirring himself, Blair waved off his partner. "I'm a grad student; I'm used to it. Not up to cooking, though. You planning on grabbing something?"
"That was the plan. Got time to join me?" Jim sat on the stairs to put on his shoes.
"Sure. Give me five to freshen up." With that Blair darted for his room, the beginning of a plan already forming.
For the rest of the morning he stuck to Jim like they were both on an invisible tether. At breakfast Jim pushed the food around on his plate, not taking more than a bite or two of it, complaining about the cooking. At work he kept his head down and worked hard, methodically, and without the least bit of interest or imagination in what he was doing. Never offering opinions or producing theories or saying one word more than necessary in a conversation, he kept his interaction with the rest of the department to a minimum. He found a reason not to eat lunch, and blew off an invitation from the guys to go out that evening with the excuse he had a date.
And he never once smiled or laughed, even when Blair had the whole bullpen in stitches over a story involving twin sisters, a tropical island, and a weird custom concerning goats.
By the time Blair left for an afternoon appointment he couldn't delay, he was fairly sure he knew what was wrong with his roomie. In his mind, getting Jim to admit it would be the hard part, and the best way to convince a cop is to have incontrovertible evidence. With that as his motivation, he backtracked to the station, waited for Jim to leave - three minutes before his shift ended - and followed him.
Blair wasn't surprised when Jim went straight to the loft, though it did worry him that he didn't spot that he had a tail. Maybe Blair had learned a thing or two about following someone during the past few years, but even before his sentinel abilities kicked in, Jim would have picked up on the most professional shadow.
Parking a few blocks away from the loft, Jim walked the rest of the way home and went inside the building. Blair positioned himself where he could see their home, half-expecting Jim to appear at his usual place on the balcony. But the lights never came on, and there was no flicker of motion at the French doors. After a half-hour, cold and frustrated, imagining Jim's reasonable, calm explanations for his behavior completely obliterating any notions Blair might have, he went in himself.
Again, there was no coat, no keys, no signs of dinner having been cooked. Just the still, gloomy, quiet loft pretending no one was home. Not trying to be stealthy, Blair climbed the stairs to find a massive lump of blankets in the middle of Jim's bed, snoring softly. At 7 pm on a Friday night, Jim Ellison was sound asleep. That was why he was hiding when he got home; so Blair wouldn't know how much time he was spending in bed.
For a minute he considered waking him and demanding to know what was going on. Then his common sense kicked in, reminding him *he* hadn't had that much sleep lately, either, and getting Jim to talk to him was going to be one long up-hill battle. Wearily he went back downstairs, seeking his own bed.
His alarm went off obscenely early for a Saturday morning, especially for one when he wasn't going fishing. Getting up wasn't hard, though, and he did so, grumbling at how *damned* obscenely early he'd gone to bed. By habit he started his Saturday chores, and the morning was mostly gone when he realized Jim hadn't given any sign of waking.
Afraid he'd slept through Jim sneaking out, he retraced his steps of the evening before. The lump was still there, giving every impression of having not moved at all during the night. Truly worried, he sat on the edge of the bed and gave it a wary shove. "Jim, man, you gonna sleep the day away?"
A noise suspiciously like a snarl was his answer, and a heave away from him. After a pause, Blair tried again. "Jim? Come on. It's Saturday." Well, duh. You can think of something better than that. He couldn't, though, and was reaching out for another shake when Jim's head emerged from one end of the cocoon.
"Is there some law I don't know about against sleeping in?" Jim snapped.
"Uh, no, but I was hoping we could drive up to Kayson's Preserve and hike for a few hours. Get out of the city? Maybe take the makings, build a fire, have lunch out there?" Blair improvised.
Rubbing at his hair, Jim sat up, obviously trying to organize his thoughts. "Your latest cancel on you, Chief?"
"No, nothing like that. Look, I've been running my ass ragged for weeks too long, looking at way too many bodies and talking to way too many unhappy kids. I wanted some peace and a chance to recharge, and weird as it may sound, taking along my best friend for some decent, quiet, experienced-in-the-woods company seemed like a good idea at the time." The anger in his own words surprised Blair, but he stuck to it, standing suddenly as if he were going to stomp off.
"Hey," Jim said softly, reaching out to catch Blair's wrist. "I didn't mean for it to sound like that. Look, you *haven't* had time to do much more than breathe lately, and usually you have a girlfriend that you need to make that up to, that's all."
As reasonable as it sounded, there was a false note in Jim's explanation that Blair wasn't sure he heard. Mollified anyway, he sneaked a small smile at his friend. "Yeah, well, let's not mention our outing to Lisa, okay?"
With a snort, Jim released him and began unwinding himself from his blankets. "Done. Let me get some coffee and toast, then we can head for the Reserve."
"Great!" Blair raced back downstairs and began hastily pulling together his pack for a day of hiking. Experienced in knowing what was needed, it didn't take him very long to get ready.
Taking it into the kitchen to add groceries, he saw out of the corner of his eye Jim reach for his cup, reading the newspaper held in his other hand. Nothing strange or out of the ordinary; he'd seen his partner sitting in the exact same spot doing the exact same thing a thousand times. The difference this time was in the hand picking up the coffee.
It was so slender as to be nearly fragile, and it trembled slightly.
Moving on impulse, Blair dropped the pack on the floor and caught Jim's hand in both his own. Staring at it, he abandoned his plan to talk during their hike and said slowly, "For weeks I've been handing out these sheets of paper with lists of warning signs on them. Going over each of those signs with parents, teachers, kids. Change in appetite, change in sleeping habits such as sleeping excessively, losing interest in normal pursuits...."
"Persistent feelings of sadness or worthlessness. I know, Chief, I know. Classic symptoms of clinical depression. Been fighting it over a month now." Jim's tone was matter-of-fact, but he never looked up from their joined hands, either. A
stounded, Blair blurted, "You... a month!... Jim?!"
With a genuine smile, Jim said, "Even when you're speechless, you're not, are you, Sandburg?" Silently he continued to study where they touched, then went on. "There's not a whole hell of a lot I can do about it, is there? If I go to a shrink, he'll want to give me meds. Can you imagine what that sort of drug could do to me? Personally, I'd rather not find out. If he'll let me get away with counseling sessions alone, there's nothing he can tell me I don't already know. And no way I'm going to open up to some support group, much as that might help lots of other people.
"All I can do is what I've been doing. Keep to my normal routines as much as possible, try to go on like always, deliberately look for what's good."
Not sure what to say, prepared for a battle he apparently wasn't going to be fighting, Blair did what came naturally and used their linked hands to tug Jim close. Wrapping both arms around the sitting man and restlessly petting the short, dark hair so close to his chest, he mentally fumbled for an approach to take that wouldn't sound like a platitude. Or an accusation.
"You didn't want to worry me or add to my load, I know that, Jim," he said finally. "But you should have told me. Not hidden it."
Shrugging fractionally, Jim pulled away, face calm. "So you could do what? Suffer along with me? The best thing you can do for me is what you always do - be there, be yourself, and you didn't need to know to do that." He tried to smile again. "One of us hurting is plenty, Chief."
"I can do way more than that, man. There are other approaches we could take. Natural herbs, for instance, like St. John's Wort, or special meditations. Acupuncture! What about acupuncture; ever thought about that?"
The sour expression Jim pulled was obviously acting, and he made an effort to banter. "Sandburg, I thought the idea here was to make me feel better. Care to tell me how getting stuck with a thousand needles is going to do that?"
Aloud Blair shot back in offended tones. "Thousands? Hardly. Do you know *anything* about acupuncture, Jim?" Inside he thought, *Whatever* it takes, if I have to drag you bodily out of the loft to a fraternity party or offer virgin sacrifices up to ancient gods, the one thing you're going to be sure of is that you're *not* alone.
* * *
Heart in mouth, Blair raced up the stairs of their apartment building, too anxious to wait for the elevator. Earlier Jim and he had been at the scene of the latest teen death, and it had not gone well. Blank-faced, beyond remote, his partner had paced around the body of the young lady sitting peacefully against a tree in one of Cascade's many parks, empty pill bottle still in hand. Around them the normal sounds of a busy park on a typical day had made a surreal contrast to Jim's utter silence as he worked.
Then, with a sharp shake of his head to tell Blair and Simon that nothing had been found, he'd simply walked away. Keeping the promise he'd made to himself over three weeks earlier, Blair had followed as quickly as he could, but wasn't fast enough to get to the truck before Jim left. Cursing, planning on brow-beating him into mush when he caught up, Blair had talked Simon into giving him a ride.
They were delayed by the beginning of the daily allotment of rain, which for some reason the locals were treating with more respect than it deserved. Barely containing himself, Blair couldn't come up with a reason why he felt a need to hurry, but he didn't question it and kept urging Simon to step on it. Without waiting for the car to fully stop, he'd waved the captain on, and ran.
At the landing to their floor, he slowed down to breathe deeply and calm himself, and the pause let him see that the access door to the roof was open. Jim's shoes and coat were neatly piled just inside, away from the rain, looking abandoned.
Losing the bit of control he'd garnered, he ran out onto the roof himself, blinking against the raindrops pelting down. A quick scan showed him that Jim was at the farthest corner, standing on top of the safety wall, hands at his side and head tilted back to the sky.
Alarmed - no, scared if he wanted to be honest with himself - Blair strolled as casually as he could muster toward his friend. Though Jim *had* to know he was there, he gave no sign of it, and Blair was at a loss for what to do next. He stood there in the rain, steadfastly refusing to look down, and churned through his thoughts for a clue.
In the long run honesty had always worked best with Jim, and in the end, that was what Blair opted for. "Jim, man, you are really making me nervous standing up there like that. You know how I am about heights."
Eyes closed, toes curling almost prehensilely over the very edge of the wall, Jim answered, seemingly from left field. "I can tell the difference, you know. In the rain, I mean. In the jungle, it feels almost alive, it's so warm and filled with organic things. Once, when I was in Arizona, I stood out in a rare desert rainstorm, and that felt, well, nourishing, I guess. Life-giving. Go into the wilderness around here, and it feels refreshing, cleansing.
"But here? In Cascade? It feels dirty, Chief. No matter how it pure it starts, way up with the clouds, on the way down it picks up every filthy bit of pollution a city can blow into the sky. I can even tell the difference in it between being up here and down on the street."
Exasperated, sincerely upset with Jim, Blair snapped, "I don't care if you can count the individual molecules, as long as you do it on terra firma. Jim, get *down* from there!"
To his surprise, Jim immediately pivoted on one foot and did precisely that. "Sorry, Chief. If you're not reaching for your research notes, then I must really be bugging you." For the first time he took a hard look at the Blair and chuckled, half-sympathetically. "Come on. Let's get you downstairs and dried off."
Suddenly aware that his teeth were chattering, Blair let Jim commandeer his elbow to steer him toward the door. "M... m... man, *good* idea. Hot shower sounds better."
Stopping to scoop up his things, Jim shot his partner a guilty look. "No hot water, remember? They're working on the water main until six today."
"Ahhhhhh, fuck!" The obscenity was out before Blair knew it, but he was glad. It released a lot of his frustration, and Jim didn't have to know it wasn't due to being cold.
"Hey, we can start a fire and get some tea going. Between that and some dry clothes, you'll be warm again in no time."
"Ssss... sounds good," he agreed shortly.
In less than five minutes he stepped out of the bathroom, leaving his wet clothes behind, dressed in dry sweats and a towel half obscuring his head. He could hear and smell the fire, but joined Jim in the kitchen first for the promised cup of hot tea.
Dressed only in sweatpants, Jim gingerly handed him the steaming cup, then picked up a towel that was draped over the front of the hot oven. "Here, this'll help, too." Toasty warm from its former position on the appliance, the fabric was heavenly to Blair, and he sighed in pleasure as Jim tucked it around his shoulders and neck.
Expecting his roommate to step away, he was surprised when Jim took the towel from his hair instead, and began to squeeze dry the sopping ends of the madly curling locks. Conversationally, Jim announced, "I wasn't going to jump. There was a part of me that wanted to, but I wouldn't."
He was quiet for a second, and Blair encouraged him by looking over his shoulder, eye-brows up. "The chopper crash in Peru? I should have died in that. Incacha," Jim's voice wavered as he continued, but picked back up instantly, "said it was because I wasn't thinking of dying. And he was right. Even as the chopper was going down, I was trying to figure some way to survive. Better to be in the craft or dive out at the last second? Water close by?
"If I give up, let myself die, then it's like all the battles I fought to stay alive were a waste of time: futile, pointless. All the men I've killed in war or self-defense were murdered, since their lives were at the cost of mine. All the people I've helped get through a bad time, helped to find justice for, I would have been lying to them when I told them it all mattered. It'd make my whole life wrong, and all the people who called me freak, or tried to warp me into what I wasn't, right.
"I can't do that, Chief. I can't surrender, can't stop living."
Putting aside his cup, Blair turned and circled Jim's waist with his arms and held on tight. "But you're thinking about it," he whispered painfully.
Jim didn't say anything at first, but went on toweling Blair's hair. Eventually, he put aside the soaked material and loosely hugged back. "So many kids... It's been two weeks since the last one, and I was hoping maybe the epidemic was over. This last one - all I could think of was that if someone so young and pretty believed she had nothing to live for, that there was nothing of value possible in all the years she had ahead of her, what the hell was *I* hanging on for?"
"'Cause if you don't, James Ellison," Blair laughed shakily, wanting to coax his friend back from this mental ledge, too, "I'll kill you! I'll dig up your moldering corpse and kick it all the way to hell to claim your ratty soul, just for the privilege of doing it, too!"
Chuckling, Jim tightened his hold and rocked them both gently. "Well, I wouldn't want you to go to all that trouble, though it might be worth it to hear you argue with the devil! Seriously, Chief, I couldn't, I won't. I promise."
Burrowing into the embrace, Blair sighed. "Jim, I want to trust that, but depression...."
Breaking in, Jim said sharply, "Have you ever known me to break a promise, Blair? And one made to my... you is not going to be the first."
"Okay, okay." Realizing that, for the moment, he was going to have to be content with Jim's assurances, Blair let himself enjoy the contact with his friend. Wanting to imprint the sound of the heart under his ear onto his own, the warm, clean scent, the feel of Jim's skin into his - to be a sentinel so he could know Jim as well as the other man knew him - he relaxed and took a deep, cleansing breath to release his worry.
Since Jim seemed to be in no hurry to break off the hug, Blair wasn't either. It was oddly pleasurable to be half hidden against his partner, snug and secure, and Blair couldn't honestly remember the last time he'd felt that way.
His mouth began to sort of tingle, as if it expected or wanted something; what, Blair couldn't tell, making him very aware of that part of his body. There was a yearning there he couldn't identify, a need he didn't understand, and he lost himself in contemplating this new feeling. It might have gone on indefinitely if Jim hadn't stirred restlessly, then begun to draw away with a final tightening of his arms.
Scooping up his own cup, Jim went to the living room and settled on the couch, bare feet under him. With a sigh, he picked up the files waiting there for him, obviously readying to try to fit the newest victim into a pattern with the others.
Sitting on the floor to be closer to the fire - and not at all surprised to find a padding of towels there waiting for him - Blair took a sip of his tea. "She wasn't with any of the groups, as far as I know," he offered, helpfully. "And I've been keeping a list compiled by the counselors of at-risk kids; not on that one either."
Not looking up from the paper, Jim muttered, "I don't know why we're bothering. So far the only connection, half-assed as it is, is a song I've heard three or four times at different scenes. A couple of the teens were part of the local music crowd, too. But none of those had any relationship with any of the others, and then I started hearing the song everywhere, even over the radio, and decided it was just popular. Heard it at the park today on somebody's boom box, for pete's sake."
Ears perking up, Blair asked, "Song?"
"By the Reavers," Jim replied absently, mind obviously on the paper in front of him. "Called 'Pain.'"
"Oh, yeah right, wow," Blair enthused, and hummed a bar or two before breaking off. "That one's a major break-out song for a local group, getting them national attention. It's been spreading like an epidemic, even some suburban types...."
At the word epidemic, Jim's head shot up, and almost instantly Blair remembered his roommate using the same word in conjunction with the suicides. "You don't think..." he interrupted himself.
Already picking up the phone to dial police departments in neighboring towns, Jim answered, "It can't hurt to check."
"Oh, man!"
* * *
"... so Ellison calls Thompsonville, Springfield, and Townsend, and after a lot of b.s. - right Sandburg? - convinces the locals to send him the files on any suicides for thirteen to eighteen age group that have happened since we started getting 'em. A little legwork later...."
"More like a *lot* of legwork for over a week," Blair butted in, grinning.
"... he finds out all of 'em can be traced directly back to Cascade one way or another."
Blair blinked at the waft of alcoholic fumes from Rafe, surreptitiously guiding the drunken detective toward one of the bedrooms in Henri Brown's house. On the other side, Joel was making the appropriate 'um, hmm' sounds to keep him talking and distracted so the toasted cop wouldn't notice he was being manhandled.
"And that means," he went on loudly, cheerfully, "and that means... what does that mean, Sandburg?"
"That there has to be something more going on here than just a fad for death," Blair supplied helpfully.
Around them Henri's birthday party milled happily, with his wife, Susanne, as the center of attention, much to the birthday boy's joy. Their first child was rounding out her body enormously, and they both delighted in showing off her tummy, which was a major source of the partygoers' good mood.
"Which means, which means..." Rafe lost his train of thought, blinking owlishly, sleepily. "Oh yeah, means that he shingle handedly jushified all the *shit* we've been going through for the pash few months. Banksh, er, Banks shez even t' *mayor* is getting off our ashes." His voice had gotten drunker and sleepier as he spoke, and he was practically nodding off, nothing holding him up but the good will of his friends.
"For a change," Joel agreed. He swung open the spare bedroom's door, dumped the semi-conscious man on the bed, then grinned at Sandburg. "The hell of it is, this guy doesn't get hangovers, so he never learns his lesson about over-doing it."
"Not good, man, not good." Blair draped a spare blanket over the well-dressed form, and shot a look of mischief at the police captain. "Does he remember anything when he gets in this state?"
"Not well," Joel answered suspiciously. "Blair, what do you have going on in that over-worked head of yours?"
"Nothing," Blair told him, innocently. A heartbeat later, he added, "Yet."
Laughing, the two of them exited, Blair peeling off to find Susanne. Mrs. Brown was completely unabashed about letting people feel her stomach for the baby as it kicked, and he wanted a chance. As it turned out, he didn't even need to ask; she took one look at his face and laughingly turned up her maternity top to show off the tiny foot currently shown in bas-relief on her stomach.
"Go ahead, Blair," she invited, smiling widely.
Eagerly, Blair did as told and sat crossed-legged in front of her, hand cautiously over the miniature appendage. "Oh, wow." It was all he could think of to say; he knew he was looking positively goofy, but he couldn't help himself. The baby did what felt like an elegant ballet move, and he looked up at Henri. "Oh, wow!"
"Sandburg, considering where you're touching my wife, it's a good thing I trust you!" Brown grinned.
Abruptly noticing that in following the baby, he'd gone lower than usually permissible, Blair shrugged and grinned back. "Hey, anything to make a beautiful lady glow!"
Growling, Brown punched him. Laughing, Blair dodged, automatically looking up for his partner to make sure Jim wasn't misunderstanding their mock aggressive by-play.
A few feet away, Jim was standing with his back to the wall, one foot propped on it, face studiously neutral as he watched. To Blair's surprise he didn't make any comments about dogs and table chairs, or make a move to intercede. In fact, now that Blair thought about it, Jim had not done either for a long time now. It was as thought he'd given up on the blessed protector thing, and Blair was dismayingly uncertain as to whether or not he liked that.
Mentally book-marking his observations for later discussion, he waved his friend over. "Jim, have you done this? It's so, so, so... *cosmic.*"
"Sandburg, for once I have to agree with that new-aged vocabulary of yours," Jim told him, folding up on the floor next to him, small half-smile in place. He looked up at Susanne and his smile turned real. "With the lady's permission?"
At her nod, he gingerly placed his fingers on the top of her mounded stomach, stroking once all the way to the bottom swell. She sat up straighter, one hand going to the arm of her chair in surprise. Snatching his hand away, Jim started to rise, an apology already forming on his lips. "No, Jim, it's okay. Really. Has anybody ever told you that you have the most fantastic touch?!"
Blair could have sworn his friend had a hint of red around his neck and ear-tips, but Jim gave her his biggest 'aw shucks' grin. "It's been mentioned a time or two, Suz. Maybe I should carry a warning label?"
"Maybe!" She snatched up his hand and pressed it back onto her belly. "There! Feel her kick?"
Face intent, taking on the expression Blair associated with Jim's use of his sentinel gifts, Jim asked, "Her?"
"So says the sonogram."
"But they can be wrong," Brown put in.
"There's a man wishing for his firstborn to be a son." She smacked her husband, smiling. "No such luck."
"Hey, it ain't over 'til it's over."
Apparently ignoring the conversation above him, the chatter and music around him, Jim inched closer to her, lowering his head until it was inches from the mound of life he was examining. And to Blair's discerning eye, he *was* examining, fingers probing with marked intent. His lids were half-closed in concentration, and for no obvious reason Blair felt a shiver of warning.
"Jim," he whispered only to his friend. "Jim, are you sensing something there?"
Small as the sound was, it was enough to bring Jim into a more normal position. With a glance at Blair, he waited for Susanne and Henri to pause in their playful bickering so that he could say calmly, "Bet you don't have much longer to wait to settle that fight for good."
"Oh, no" Lisa shook her head, "the o.b. says not this week, probably. The baby hasn't even engaged, yet."
"I don't know about that." Jim stood slowly, holding her eyes, but smiling reassuringly. "I was a medic in the army and took some EMT classes a few years back, when I first joined the department. Not that I've ever actually delivered a baby, of course. But she feels like she's in position, and there was a tenseness in your abdomen that might have been an early contraction."
"You think? Suze?" Henri asked excitedly.
"Well, I didn't feel anything, and I saw the doctor only a day or two ago." Her good mood was fading, Blair saw, and she deliberately dropped her smock back down.
"Couldn't hurt to check in with him tomorrow," Jim said casually, but Blair had had years of studying the man and wasn't fooled. "How long could it take?"
"Too long by the time you add in the wait at the office. No way, I've got too much to do before she's born," she said firmly. "My due date isn't for two weeks yet, Jim, and I'd be the first to know if I had a contraction. Trust me on that." She rubbed reflexively at the top of the mountain in her middle. "I've had a few Braxton-Hicks that had me running to the doctor. From everything I've heard those practice contractions are mild, comparatively, so a real one should have me screaming at Henri to use the siren and lights."
It looked as if Jim was going to argue, but with her husband's help, she hauled herself out of her chair. "In the meantime, there's a bowl of clam dip over there calling my name."
As briskly as possible for a woman in her condition, she waddled off. Behind her, face becoming un-naturally blank, Jim watched her go. Then he spun on his heel and left the room. Not expecting his exit and still sitting to one side of Susanne's chair, Blair scrambled to follow, but his partner eluded him.
A quick search showed he was no longer in the house, and getting worried, Blair looked outside for the truck, not sure if Jim would leave him behind. It was parked where they'd left it, and with dread growing astronomically in his gut, Blair circled the outside of the house, hunting for signs of his missing partner.
Finally, standing in the middle of the street, he hit his thigh once in frustration, looking back and forth. Think, think! Running around blindly isn't the answer here! Put yourself in Jim's head.
He spun, facing the road they had traveled earlier to get to Henri's house at the outskirts of Cascade. There had been a bridge out, closed for repairs, not too far from this street. And the last time Jim walked out on me without warning, he was, oh, God, he was considering jumping.
Leaping into the truck, Blair drove madly for the construction site, barely remembering to turn the engine off when he arrived. At the opposite end of the bridge he could dimly see Jim standing far too close to the railing for Blair's peace of mind. He pounded up the walkway himself, expecting his partner to turn and look at who was coming, but Jim didn't.
When he got close enough, he could hear him saying over and over in an agonized voice, "I can't, I can't, I can't..." Hands locked onto the railing so tightly that even from a distance Blair could see the white of the knuckles, Jim was half bent over his arms, head down, feet as far away from the edge as he could place them and still keep his grip.
Without thinking, Blair charged into him, using his shoulder to knock Jim along the walkway. Stunned or distracted, Blair didn't know which, Jim reeled back, arms flailing. Not giving him a chance to recover, he shoved again, sending the sentinel back several more feet.
With pushes and body checks, Blair got them off the bridge and safely onto solid ground. Giving him one more blow and shouting incoherently, intending only to get Jim to respond to him this time, Blair lost his footing and started to fall.
A strong arm swept him up, but Jim's strength hadn't returned despite the recent care he'd been receiving. They both tumbled, sliding down the steep embankment, coming to rest by one of the abutments. As soon as they were steady, Jim broke away, scrabbling backwards into the dark overhang of the bridge.
Determined not to let him get away, Blair pounced, pinning Jim in a seated position, back against the concrete support. "You are *not* going to jump," he shouted. "Not now, not ever! YOU HEAR ME? YOU ARE NOT GOING TO HURT YOURSELF!" Panting harshly, sitting astride Jim's hips, Blair punched painfully into his partner's shoulder with each word.
"I have to!" Jim yelled back, capturing the pummeling fists. "I. Have. TO!"
"No you don't! You do what *I* tell you!" Desperately searching for an authority that reached beyond their friendship or partnership, Blair was hit with the image of Incacha's bloody hand clutching him. Leaning close enough to feel the moist breeze of Jim's breath on his cheeks, Blair said firmly, "Incacha passed the way on to *me,* made *me* the Shaman of the Great City. The duty you owed him is owed me, now, and I'm telling you that you *have* to live."
Jim was motionless and tense under him, but he was staring into Blair's eyes, his own unfathomable. Certain that any other argument would dilute the impact of his claim, Blair waited silently, meeting that devastating gaze evenly. Then, with a huge, agonizing shudder that Blair felt, Jim sagged, letting his head fall to Blair's shoulder.
"I obey," the sentinel acknowledged in Quechua.
"Oh, God," Blair murmured, grateful he'd spent the time to study the language. "Good!"
They were both quiet after that, neither willing to move and take up the threads of the life that had hurled them to this point. Under his clenched hands, Blair could feel Jim begin to regulate his breathing, taking slow measures of each exhale and inhale. For his own part, he was too jazzed by adrenaline to do that; he settled for snuggling close and waiting to calm down himself.
It was very dark where they were, with only a street lamp nearly a block away to provide illumination. A hundred feet below a river ran by nearly silently; its liquid babbling was almost lost in the faint echo of faraway traffic. Under them the ground was sandy and soft, cushioning them, and for once the air was warm.
It was a very peaceful place, and, last of his fear ebbing, Blair became lethargic, almost drowsy in reaction. Absently he nuzzled the side of Jim's face with his own whiskery jaw. The sentinel returned the half-caress with one of his own and relinquished Blair's wrists, leaving the smaller man's hands between them and resting his own on the his partner's hips.
Unbidden, the phantom sensation Blair had felt the last time he'd cradled his friend returned, fierce and demanding along his nerves. Nor was it only his mouth, like before; now his entire body ached and thrummed, wanting something he had no name for. In his chest was a tightness he couldn't explain, but his guts felt loose and shaky with what felt very much like anticipation or fear.
It grew so overwhelming that he made himself pull away, afraid Jim would perceive it and ask for explanations he didn't have.
Taking that as a cue that it was time to go, Jim made as if to stand, but they were both still a bit wobbly. They ended up leaning on each other to get up and to climb the embankment. Once there, Jim picked a path in the middle of the road to cross the bridge, arm companionably over Blair's shoulder.
It wasn't until they were at the truck that he finally spoke. "Blair, I know you were just trying to reach me, but you really shouldn't invoke the shaman's way unless you're willing to take responsibility for being a shaman. It's..." He hesitated, obviously searching for the right words. "It's disrespectful, both to the Chopec culture and to Incacha."
"Hey, you're talking to an anthropologist, remember?" Blair said with a trace of heat. "I'd never claim an important role like that, not in any culture." After a thought, he added carefully, "Unless my life depended on it, of course. Besides, I didn't say anything that wasn't the truth. Incacha did pass on his status to me, and I can make a good case for you being obliged to respect that. In certain circumstances, I mean." He added the last words hastily, in case Jim took offense.
"I hope it's more than his authority you're willing to use, at least for tonight," Jim said seriously. "If you can't be as persuasive as a shaman can be, a baby is going to die."
That rocked Blair back on his heels, reminding him nastily of what had brought them out into the night. "Susanne's in trouble?"
Jim nodded and said very grimly, "Her baby *has* dropped all the way down for delivery, and I think the umbilical cord is in front of the head in the birth canal. I could feel it.
"And she is in labor. If she's feeling her contractions as a backache, she might not know that. Every time there's a contraction, I can hear the whoosh of blood in the umbilical slow, feel a lessening of heat from it. If the cord is in the birth canal or is delivered first, the baby could die or be retarded from lack of oxygen during the delivery from having the blood supply pinched off."
Open-mouthed, Blair stared at his friend, then made himself shut his trap. Jim *had* tried to convince Susanne once already, and had been blown off. Defensively, Jim answered his partner's unspoken accusations. "I know, I know, I should have worked harder at convincing her, or at least told you right away so you could have a go at it. But it was suddenly so *hopeless.*
The echo of that was all it took for Blair to spring to Jim's defense. "That's why it's called depression, Jim, and we haven't been away so long there's been time for serious harm to have happened. Were the contractions very powerful? I've been told a woman can be in mild labor for days."
Thinking, reviewing his sense memory, Jim shook his head. "No. Not strong at all." Getting in the truck, he waited for Blair and added, "We do whatever we have to get her to a hospital. A doctor may not be able to hear the lag yet, but an ultrasound will show if I'm right. And that means telling her what I am, if we have to, Chief."
"Trust me, Jim, I don't think it'll come to that. All we have to do is convince Henri that she should have one done, and he *will* use the siren and lights to get her to the hospital. Your rep is good enough with him that he'll listen to us."
Stopping in the middle of turning the ignition key, it was Jim's turn to stare. "Shit. Shit. Shit. Why didn't I think of that?"
"Ugh, you sentinel, me shaman. Shaman's job to think," Blair blurted, his sense of humor reasserting itself unexpectedly. "Sentinel's job is to listen to shaman."
"And listen and listen and listen..." Jim grumbled, but his lips were warming with a smile at last.
"No, sentinel's job is to stand around and look strong and protective," Blair corrected himself, tilting his head to one side to invite Jim to insult him back.
The agony that sped over Jim's features was unbelievable, and it took an instant for Blair *to* believe it. "About all I am good for," his friend replied softly, looking away and starting the truck.
"Stop that! Stop putting yourself down!" Blair ordered sharply, then apologized for his tone with a quick pat to Jim's forearm. "Look, as hard as it is for me to say this, I think we're in this way over our heads," he admitted slowly. "You said you had to jump; not that you wanted to or needed to, but *had* to, like you were being compelled. Damn, this is getting to feel more and more like an X-Files episode but I'm wondering if that's what happened to all those kids, too."
"You're reaching here, Chief," Jim said tiredly.
"Maybe, but it's not reaching for me to think it's time for professional help for us."
Putting the Ford in gear, Jim began the drive back to Brown's. "For us, Chief?"
"For us." Blair said solidly, stubbornly. "I might not be able to go into the sessions with you, but we're going to have to convince the doctor to at least listen to me. Use your drug sensitivities, maybe; they're part of your record."
He let him think about his suggestion for the rest of the short ride, and Jim conceded as they pulled up. "How about that post-doc who's been helping you coordinate between the U and the schools? She's been about ready to pull her hair out because she refuses to believe a couple of the victims would ever commit suicide."
"Tara? Yeah!" Blair bounced out of the truck, but waited for Jim to join him before starting up the sidewalk. "Very open-minded lady; working with her will be a pleasure."
There was another glimpse of hurt in Jim's eyes, but he agreed dully, "I'm sure it will be, Chief." He trudged up the sidewalk, leaving Blair behind to stare in confusion at his retreating back.
* * *
Forcing himself to move un-hurriedly, Blair turned the kettle off, filled the cup, and sniffed deeply at the peppermint scent rising from it. From down the hallway he could hear the gagging, gasping noises a man made when he was trying desperately hard *not* to throw up, but within minutes Jim lost the battle again. While his roommate emptied his stomach, Blair took out the tea bag and sweetened the liquid with honey. Lots of it.
When Jim walked into the kitchen a few minutes later, pale but composed, he took the beverage without question and began to sip slowly, taking time to inhale the scent as well.
Silently Blair watched until a bit of color came back into the other man's cheeks, then said bluntly, "She's wrong."
"Correct me if I'm mistaken, Sandburg," Jim retorted calmly, "but you told me Tara was open-minded and progressive. If she thinks I'm throwing up the pills so I can keep on punishing myself, she probably knows what she's talking about."
Bullshit," Blair shot back. "Your sentinel body is rejecting a toxin before it can affect your senses. I've been way too careful the last couple of doses about sneaking the meds into you. If anybody can hide a taste from you, I can, so I'm the only one who knows when you've taken them. And the only time you throw up is when I've given you the dose."
Pacing around the loft, hands expressing his frustration, Blair went on. "She may know psychiatry, but I know you and I'm telling you right now she is way off on this. Anger that kids are still dying, yes, you would do that. You might even turn it inward on yourself, I've seen you do that. But you react by driving yourself and everyone else around you harder and harder to find a solution."
Passively Jim followed the energetic rambling with his eyes, sipping at his cup occasionally. Finally Blair threw himself on the couch and ended his tirade with, "No more meds, Jim. They're not doing you any good. Are the counseling sessions?"
With a shrug Jim put aside the tea. "As much as you'd expect for me. She asks me dumb questions to get me started talking, I answer them too shortly for her taste, and she starts prodding at me to open up." With a sigh, he ruffled his own hair and changed the subject. "I know it's early, but I'm really wrung out. I'm going to shower and go to bed, okay?"
"Actually, I'm kinda glad you're heading up. Would it bother you if I meditate?"
Already halfway back down the hall, Jim waved a negligent hand. "Use headphones."
Stifling the urge to chase after the big man and enclose him in a full-body hug, Blair went into his room to find his candles. Recently it'd been hard for him to keep his hands off Jim. Though it didn't seem to make a difference to his roomie at all, he found physical contact comforting as hell.
And it was nearly the only reassurance he'd had lately. Jim wasn't improving at all, not even putting back the weight he'd lost, no matter how hard he struggled. Or how much help he'd been getting.
In fact, the last time he'd seen his partner look like his old self was when Henri had gently put Mikayla Josephine Brown, all of two hours old, in Jim's arms a week ago. He was the first besides Henri and Susanne to hold her, and it was an honor Jim had been given in thanks for saving her life.
At Jim's suggestion, when they'd returned to the party that night they had gone straight to Simon to tell him about her danger. Then the three of them had found Henri, cornered him away from his wife, and set to work convincing him to take her to the hospital.
Megan, who had just been being nosy and listening in on the conversation, joined forces with the men. Poor Suze had never had a chance. A quick trip to the ER, then a quicker trip to obstetric surgery for a Caesarian, and little Mikayla made her debut a bit earlier than expected, and with much more excitement than anybody could have anticipated.
Most of the party had followed Susanne and the others to the hospital, and had made the waiting room an interesting place to be while they waited for news. Jim and Blair had used the noise and confusion of the transplanted celebration to tell Simon the latest theory Blair had about the deaths - and where it came from.
Remembering Simon's busy gnawing on his cigar, Blair decided with a small snort that the police captain smoked the things to spare his teeth, since it was obvious he would have been grinding them into dust, otherwise, just like Jim.
Gruffly he backed their decision to handle things their way, with a side promise to Jim that if he tried to take another dive off anything high, Simon was going to catch him just so he could pound him through the pavement personally. Before Jim could do more than snort a laugh, Henri had come out with the good news.
Most everyone else had left after the usual round of good wishes and hugs, but the parents specifically asked Jim to wait so they could introduce him to their daughter.
God, his face was so sweet, so gentle, Blair thought, calling the image to mind of the big cop cradling that tiny scrap of life. He's a good man; he doesn't deserve to suffer like this. Ah, hell, no one deserves to suffer like this, but this is *Jim* and it's killing me.
Picking up the CD a student had given him - a selection of his own favorites, the young man had said - Blair put it in his portable, then arranged and lit his candles. Reaching for the right frame of mind, he kicked off his shoes and sat comfortably in front of the flickering lights and closed his eyes.
It was an exercise in frustration. No matter how he tried to let go of his worry and aggravation, no matter how he much he concentrated on processing away his fear, all his problems sat right there in front of him, sticking out their collective tongues at him in defiance.
That thought made him grin, and he decided since all he was doing was listening to music, anyway, he might as well enjoy himself. Oddly, once he actually paid attention to the lyrics and tune, much of his stress *did* fade. One thing you have to give a hard, mind-bending beat, he thought, is that it does a good job of expressing nervous energy.
The words to "Pain" wove through the power of the drums, and Blair unconsciously began to rock to it. The simplicity of the lyrics - basically the same verse repeated over and over with increasing defiance and fury - was why it was good, he thought. It was the complexity of the music that made it memorable, though.
Halfway through the second repetition an inhuman roar shocked Blair into yanking off the headset, looking around frantically for the source. That proved a wise move. Jim, still voicing that awful noise, grabbed up the CD player, earphones and all, and hurled it against the wall near the fireplace.
It shattered loudly, and both of them stared at the fragments stupidly for a split second. Then, apparently liking the results, Jim picked up one of the lamps and sent it after the player, screaming incoherently. That set off an orgy of destruction that astounded Blair even as he cowered away from it in speechless terror.
Not that he needed to; Jim had made him the center of the storm, always hurling the furnishings away from him. By the time he was done, there wasn't a single item in that part of the loft that hadn't met with Jim's anger. Even the couch and chair had been stripped of their cushions and overturned, sent toward the corner with bellowing outrage.
Whether it was because he ran out of things to throw or strength to throw them, Jim did finally wind down, looking around wildly and breathing hard. The emotion fueling his outbreak drained as Blair watched, though reason didn't entirely return to the frantically roving eyes.
They stopped on him, and Jim rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth hard. "It's lies. Lies. Lies," he muttered thickly. "You hear me, Sandburg! It's lies." Looking around wildly, as if not sure whether to find something else to destroy, he abruptly dropped to his knees and crawled into the stack of cushions and furniture, like an animal burrowing into a den.
Un-hesitantly, Blair followed him, refusing to let his partner hide and deal with his deeds alone. Grateful that he wasn't claustrophobic, he tunneled through the mess behind Jim, surprised at how well-padded and comfortable it was. He wondered if a deep part of the sentinel's mind had directed the construction of this place amidst the chaotic whirlwind earlier, and was only vaguely surprised to find a small clear spot where the couch frame met the corner of the room.
Jim was there, loosely curled, face pressing against the wall with punishing force. Again moving without pausing, Blair huddled against the broad back and began patiently inching his way over to Jim's front, not regretting long minutes it took. Though he eventually got to the point where he could wrap his arms around the corded neck and throw a leg over a too-slender hip, Jim remained silent and immovable the entire time, yielding to Blair's nudges and prods woodenly.
Not knowing what else he could do, Blair cuddled as close as possible, petting and stroking the bare skin wherever he could reach. When his hands at long last found Jim's face, and he cupped it tenderly, using his thumbs to trace its planes and angles.
Unlike the other times when his odd yearning had come over him rapidly, the sensations of it crept in over the many hours he held his sentinel, with nothing to mark the transition from comforting to something else. And he at last knew the name of the feeling, could not help but know it by the tingling along his spine that slowly worked its way into his penis. Powerless to stop it, his erection grew and his body heated, though not just from desire.
Embarrassment at how Jim would react burned his cheeks and stopped his caresses. It didn't help that reason began coloring Jim's eyes, sharpening his gaze as he met Blair's helpless stare. Unknowingly, Blair lifted his head, coming nearer to the hard line of lips that were softening even as he approached. That single sign of willingness undid Blair; his mind shut down, his need took over.
He claimed Jim's mouth. Not gently, not persuasively: took it as if it were his to take. And Jim opened to him, returning the kiss with a devastating skill. For all Blair's experience, he might as well have been a virgin before Jim's kiss. It burned in and through him as if he'd never had the pleasure of one before, waking appetites that he'd never known. He absorbed the pleasure in startled surprise, only breaking away when lack of oxygen threatened to do it for him.
Tentative touches were feathered over his brow, nose, cheeks as he recovered enough to face his partner. He did so reluctantly, twisting his neck to kiss Jim's palm to let him know he was ready to talk.
"Why?" Jim asked softly.
The answer to that was life-altering, even if he chose not to answer it fully. Though he did not understand it himself, Blair admitted bluntly, "I need you."
It had never occurred to him that he would see Jim Ellison loving and passionate, let alone have that love and passion directed at him, and they burned through him as fiercely as Jim's kiss had. "All right, then," Jim murmured, and made his own claim.
A tiny, rattled, fevered part of Blair's mind reminded him a moment too late that the only time better than the first is the second. The second time you get to forget that you haven't done it before and just *enjoy.* Except, of course, mere enjoyment had as much relationship to the tidal force hitting Blair as matches do to a super nova.
Everything in the whole damned universe left but for what was happening to his mouth, and his mouth was his whole damned universe. Jim pulled away, and Blair made a despairing sound, blindly seeking to find him again.
"Wait, wait," Jim growled.
"Can't! Oh, we gotta do something, please, please." With wild gyrations, he tried again to take what he wanted.
"Ah... ah, wait! Blair! God!" Somehow Blair managed to find Jim's crotch with his own, and dug his jeans-covered erection into its partner weeping impatiently under silk boxers. Slight as the pressure was, it set Blair off, making him hump violently on his new lover, fingernails digging into Jim's back to hold him. With inarticulate noises Jim rearranged them so that he could lie on top, taking care to keep most of his weight on his elbows.
Wailing, bucking up at the wonderful mass of that hard body, Blair was so close to coming he couldn't stop. Didn't want to stop.
"Blair!" Jim ground out, then stiffened. The jerking pulses of his cock clearly communicated themselves to Blair's, and he went stiff and silent with his own release. Intense beyond comparison, the orgasm went on and on, leaving him unable to so much as blink when the blast finally faded.
Understanding that, Jim controlled his quivering muscles somehow and settled both of them on their sides. Exhausted, Blair nibbled a thanks, found a good spot on Jim's arm for a pillow, and went to sleep.
The first thought that worked through his muzzy mind when he woke the next morning was that he really shouldn't have fallen asleep right away like that. A little while later, he wondered why, because sleeping next to Jim was fantastic. Though his partner was a few inches away, he was generating more than enough heat to keep him warm. The bigger man was curled on his side facing Blair, looking vulnerable and young in sleep, and had one fist bunched in Blair's shirts at his waist.
Even with his mouth hanging open slightly, one corner damp with drool, Jim was the most appealing sight he'd ever awakened to, and Blair couldn't resist leaning in to steal a kiss.
Damn! Who would have believed 'morning mouth' could taste this good! It was his last intelligent thought as he plastered himself onto Jim's chest and slid his tongue in deeper. To his delight, Jim returned the caress with drowsy slowness that rapidly accelerated into serious intent.
Moaning, Blair arched even closer to rub himself onto Jim, then hissed and backed off. Growling, he tried to calm his growing erection before it pulled out every pubic hair he had. "Damn, sorry," he apologized to Jim, meeting his partner's knowing grin with a small one of his own. "Knew there was a reason not to drop off like that last night."
"I hear you," Jim agreed, grimacing as he adjusted his own glued-on underwear. "Shower before anything else?"
At Blair's enthusiastic nod yes, Jim strong-armed the couch over and back onto its feet, and knelt up to move it far enough away for them to get past. In that position he could clearly see the havoc he'd created the night before, and his features took on a self-loathing that Blair couldn't stand. "Maybe it's time to check me into a hospital, Chief. Before I hurt someone," he whispered.
Going to his knees himself, he leaned into Jim. "Maybe," Blair agreed frankly. "But believe it or not, this," and he waved at the mess, "is a good sign. You turned the negative energy outwards. I can't even begin to guess what would have happened if you had turned that inward, on yourself."
Placing his palm on the cheek away from him, Blair forced Jim to turn to face him. "And you never came anywhere near me. So don't get started on that guilt trip, okay? You don't have the baggage for it." Before Jim could argue, Blair stood, digging into his pocket for a hair tie. "You'd better shower first; you're faster and I'm going to need lots of hot water. I'll start breakfast, then we can work on cleaning up after we've eaten."
On impulse, he bent to plant a brief kiss on Jim's still-worried brow. "By the way, thank you."
"You're welcome," Jim said dryly, but Blair could have sworn there was something very like shy pleasure underneath that. "It's not as though I didn't have a good time, too, though."
"I got that impression!" Blair replied, then added solemnly, "We need to talk, I know."
Jim rose as well, stepping gingerly to protect his bare feet from sharp debris. "About what? You needed, I was there, and I was glad to do it. Remember?" He grinned again, looking almost happy. "Or do I get to remind you?"
The very thought had Blair's body sluggishly stirring again. "Ow, ow, ow-later, okay, later?"
Laughing, Jim gave him a quick one-armed hug and left for the bath.
As he'd predicted, it took all of the hot water left for Blair to get clean, and by the time he came out, Jim was half done with setting the loft to rights. Chewing on a bit of bagel from his breakfast, he swept another load of glass into the pan and dumped it in the garbage pail he'd moved to the mess.
Grabbing another glass of juice to supplement the meal he'd eaten before his shower, Blair began putting together the vacuum cleaner for doing the cushions. "Do me a favor," he said as he worked, "double-check these just to make sure there aren't any glass slivers left behind."
"Consider it done, Chief." Jim swept another area slowly, and Blair knew he was using his sight to make sure of the same thing on the floor.
They worked quietly together for a while, then Jim said casually, "I thought you were straight." His tone made it a question.
"Am. Was? Oh, I don't know, Jim. It's not like I'm suddenly attracted to guys, so far as I've noticed," Blair answered just as calmly. "I guess for the first time I understand what a woman means when she says it's the contents of the package, not the wrapping. I wasn't making love to a man last night; I was making love to *you.* And you're very sexy to me."
They kept at their tasks silently for a few more minutes, and Blair found himself hoping Jim would, this once, answer him in kind.
A second later Jim said consideringly, "I guess I've always been like that. I mean, I notice the wrapping, I'm human, but to go past that... A person has to hit me as being strong enough, mind and body, to deal with me. I'm not an easy person to get along with, so I want someone who'll give as good as they get. Smart enough to make me respect them when they do. And with whom I can feel free to let go, not worry about physically hurting them, when we make love."
Unexpectedly he shot Blair a look of pure devilment. "If you ever tell Simon this, I'll swear you're having some kind of weird drug flashback, but the first time he called me into his office to dress me down, I got a hard-on that wouldn't quit. Gave him attitude all over the place, but God, was he ringing my chimes."
Denying that what he felt was jealousy, Blair summoned up an answering smirk. "As if he'd believe me." He turned on the vacuum and made a few passes, then flicked it off. "So, did you ever, like, check him out to see if *he* was interested?"
"Blair." Jim stopped sweeping and pinned his roomie with a penetrating look. "You know I've never done anything with a man before. You're the only one I've ever trusted enough to even tell I'm bi, and if I hadn't wanted you even more than I trusted you, I wouldn't have taken the chance of doing that much. Do I really have to say that you make Simon look like a limp-wristed, simple-minded, spectacularly ugly toad?"
Pleasure buzzed through Blair that was as heady as being sexually stroked, and he would have lost himself in it if it hadn't been for the lifeline of Jim's eyes. "Oh," he said in a small voice. Trying to recover, his jerked his gaze away, and turned the vacuum back on.
Methodically he kept to his task, putting each cushion in place as he cleaned. Once done, he turned to ask Jim if he would have made a pass at him and found Jim staring blankly at the wreckage of Blair's portable CD player as he held it in his hands. Quickly he crossed the room and took the fragments away.
"Damn it, Sandburg," Jim growled, "If you've got to listen to that garbage, the least you can do is buy the second version. The first is so fucked up you can't make sense out of any of words but the lies they recorded first. Life *is* more than pain, and you *can* fight it."
Bewildered, Blair pried the plastic disc out of the player and held it up, watching the light refract on it. "Of course it is and you can," he agreed confusedly. "That's why I like it, why so many people like it. The song makes you feel that it's true."
"Like hell it does!" Jim snatched away the CD and snapped it half, flinging both pieces into the nearby trashcan, returning to his tidying with a vengeance.
"Wait, wait..." Blair stuttered, scrambling back over their conversation. "Second version? Recorded first? Jim, what lyrics are you hearing when that song plays?"
Head down, Jim recited:
"It repeats three times, with musical bridges between sections," Jim finished. "I'm glad they decided to clean up the recording and re-distribute it. Made me sick to hear it all the time on kid's boom boxes."
"That's not what I hear," Blair said slowly, and sang in a clear baritone:
"That's all I've ever heard," Blair told his partner.
"Oh, God, oh God," Jim groaned, sinking to the floor, doubling over on himself. "I'm hallucinating, *have* been hallucinating. You have to lock me up, Chief, before I hurt someone!"
"No, no, no..." Blair tried to stop him, but only succeeded in making his lap a headrest for Jim. "Come on, think! Your hearing is good, but to hear, from a distance, lyrics *recorded* over with new ones? There has got to be more to it than that."
Some of the tension bled away, but his partner didn't straighten. Absently combing his fingers through Jim's short hair, Blair took his own advice and thought furiously. "Let's backtrack here... when and where did you hear your version the first time?"
There was a long pause, then Jim unwound enough to lie on his side, head still in Blair's lap. "First suicide Simon called me in on. It was playing on the portable there." Eyes closed, obviously replaying the day in his mind, he went on, "And it was a home-burned one, like yours."
"Were you already depressed then?" Blair probed gently.
To his surprise Jim sat up and put some distance between them. "I was having a bad day, yeah, but I don't think you could have called it clinical at that point."
Belatedly Blair remembered that night and their fight. And Jim's reaction to the chapter. Wincing, he kept going doggedly. "You told me you'd heard it at several of the suicides, three or four times, I think you said. That recorded-over version?"
"Yes." Jim didn't need to think about that answer. "Are you going somewhere with this, Sandburg?"
"Other than wondering what *they* were hearing? I don't know yet."
While he was trying to line things up in his head, Jim volunteered, "First two times, the distorted lyrics were all I'd heard. By the Sommers girl's death, I'd started hearing the cleaned up recording. But not at crime scenes, I don't think. I was working on the local music scene connection by then, and that's where I heard decent cut for the first time."
An idea was slowly forming, and Blair asked thoughtfully, "Have you ever heard the bummer edition on the radio? Or anywhere else besides a suicide scene?"
Just as thoughtfully, Jim told him, "At the Browns' house, the night Mikayla was born."
Cold shimmied over Blair's nerves. "And you tried to take a dive that same night. Had you heard it when I caught you on the roof?" Jim admitted that with a sharp nod. "Any other time I don't know about?" Blair asked suspiciously.
"I... I'm not sure.... The first call, on the way to the gym later that day, I... ahhh... well, I was tired. But I might have tried to ignore a red light at the wrong time."
"Might!"
"Okay, okay, I thought about deliberately crashing into a gas tanker. But the farthest I let that go was to brake at the last second."
That was too much for Blair to sit still for, and he bounced to his feet, energetically putting things in their place as he talked. "You hear a song that makes you want to die the first fucking time you hear it; suicides have listened to the same song as they died after not showing any signs of depression. And I have never heard your version of that same song, nor has anybody else as far as I know or one of the kids I've heard singing it would have used those lyrics."
"Sandburg, I think I can see where you're going with this. Subliminal messages in rock and roll music has been an urban myth almost since rock began," Jim said dismissively.
"So maybe this time someone decided to actually do it!" Blair grabbed the phone and began dialing.
"It just doesn't wash. I heard the words; for subliminals to work they have to be on a subconscious level. And why didn't it work on everybody who listened to it?"
Obviously impatient, Blair hung up the number he'd rung and tried another. "I don't know. Yet. As soon as I get through to the guy I got that CD from, you, I, and a sound studio are going to find out a lot more."
* * *
On the other side of the interrogation room's two-way mirror, a day and a half later, Blair watched Jim question a smallish man about his possession of bootlegged CD's by the Reavers. Carl Nelson was very clean and neat, wearing his dark hair short and slicked down. Among his many callings, the man was a sound engineer for a Christian recording studio, a fundamentalist preacher, and an ex-army sergeant.
Jim turned his chair around and sat straddled on it, resting his chin on his crossed arms, eyeing Nelson with the falsely sleepy intent of a big cat. "The chain of evidence," Jim said simply, "Is clear enough for a blind man to follow. Kids with the bootlegged copies of the Reavers' songs identified you as their supplier. Got four or five good witnesses; older, mature, stable in school. Court's going to love them.
"Found the master copy in your possession. Your prints are all over it, if you're thinking of claiming it was planted. The question here is more *what* do you get charged with than *if* you're going to get charged. What you tell us could influence those charges, make them lighter. So why'd you doctor the track, Nelson?"
"You have no proof I'm the one who altered the recording," the preacher said blandly, almost as if he didn't care about the outcome of the questioning.
"You have the background. You learned your trade as a sound engineer in the army; they were very helpful when we told them what you were arrested for. Three years working in that subliminal research project... won't have any trouble establishing means and method for the judge and jury. Why not spare us all a hassle and tell us the motive?" Jim asked reasonably.
"Subliminal messages are like hypnosis, Detective... Ellison, wasn't it? Barely admissible as evidence, and only expert witnesses give them any validation. Any expert you present, I'm sure my lawyers will find another just as qualified to refute his testimony. And, after all, if subliminals are that effective, why didn't everyone who listened to them die?" Nelson's disinterest in the conversation was obviously growing.
Knowing Jim would hear, Blair murmured, "Why are some people more susceptible to hypnosis than others? Same basic idea: make suggestions when a person is in a state of mind to be vulnerable to them. Kids were studying, or daydreaming while listening to the music, or spacing for whatever reason. That's why it hit you so hard, Jim. You were using your senses, focused on that information, and even though you heard the lyrics, they were in a pipeline going straight to your subconscious."
Giving him a quick glance through the mirror to let him know he'd heard, Jim tilted his head as if studying Nelson. "Because they were artists or learning to meditate or whatever that put them in the right frame of mind. But you're right, that's for the experts to thrash out. I'm more interested in why would you want anyone to die." The preacher merely stared back, expression never changing.
Picking up from the table between them one of the pamphlets found stored with the master tapes, Jim read out loud. "... Music that corrupts our youth, corrupts their values and beliefs, and ultimately corrupts our church, country, and home. No punishment is too severe for those who worship the false idols of Heavy Metal, Rock and Roll, or so-called Alternative music, for after all, if you cannot save them now, it will be their immortal souls that burn for all eternity."
He tossed the paper down in front of the suspect. "You'd hardly be the first religious person to decide that a soul was already unredeemable, and that it might as well be in hell instead of on earth seducing others."
This time something did flicker behind Nelson's impassive mask, and a flare of Jim's nostrils told Blair that his sentinel was picking up on more than that. Jim leaned forward, voice going soft and confidential. "Who was seduced, Reverend? A brother? A lover?" He paused a beat. "A child? You have a son and a daughter, not too much older than the teens you were targeting. Which one was it?"
Nelson's hands turned into fists, but that was the only visible reaction. Practically leaning over the table, Jim went on in even quieter tones. "To have your own flesh and blood embrace the very thing you fear and hate, to risk the soul you gave them... I can't even imagine how much that would burn your heart."
"Are you a parent, detective?" There was a barely noticeable crack in Nelson's low voice. "Do you *know* that there is no serpent's tooth so sharp as an ungrateful child?"
"How sharp, Reverend?" It was Jim's turn to speak flatly.
"Sharp enough to shred your pride, your standing in your community, the very fabric of your life."
"And you couldn't punish them, could you?" They were head to head now, Jim's lips nearly against the ear of the man who had his head bowed as if in prayer. "They were gone, out of your life, wallowing in the sin you preached against. So you decided to punish *any* child who would take that road, to make up for not chastising your own strongly enough. To redeem your *own* soul."
"What else could I do?" Nelson muttered. "I failed with them so utterly. Lydia is a musician. Not even something that could be respectable, like symphony or concert performer. She's a drummer with a group that calls itself the Devil's Due, for mercy's sake! And David, David, my first-born and only son, works as a roadie! Better they had died than shame me like this!"
As quiet as his outburst was, as quiet as Nelson's fury was, it prickled over Blair's nerves, leaving him more afraid of this man than of any criminal he'd met. This one truly believed he had God on his side.
On the other side of the glass, Jim stood and walked away from the preacher, standing in front of Blair as if to comfort him through the barrier between them. Behind him Nelson recovered, pulling himself erect, eyes going blank again. "It doesn't matter what my motive was, Detective Ellison. You'll never be able to get manslaughter, let alone murder charges to stand against me," Nelson said with only a trace of smugness.
Jim whirled on his heel, fast enough and abruptly enough to startle the small, prissy man into jumping. The beast was loose now, and Jim let it prowl with pride. "Who said anything about murder charges? Satisfying as it might be to actually puncture that sanctimonious armor of yours on the stand, I have a better idea. Did you ever take into consideration that the laws on subliminal conditioning are national? Same for copyright. And the federal penalties are very, very stiff. No? Well, you'll have a good twenty years to learn more about the law, Reverend Nelson."
Strolling, completely at his ease, Jim crossed the room to leave, taking only a second to toss another pamphlet at Nelson. "Wonder what the boys are going to make of you?" he asked in mock curiosity. Then he left, leaving Nelson to read the title of his own work: The Flourishing Evil of Homosexuality in Our Prison System.
Not bothering to watch Nelson's face crumple, Blair dashed out of the observation room to find Jim standing right outside the door, letting the wall support him. Feeling for himself the thirty-six hours of frenzied activity that had brought them to this spot, Blair leaned into his partner's side, not surprised when Jim draped an arm over him.
"Are you sure there's no chance of murder or even attempted murder?" Blair asked tiredly. "As poetic as your justice is, it seems wrong that his crime will never be acknowledged. What about the families of his victims?"
He spotted the movement of Jim's negative shake in the reflection of the glass in the door, and kept his eye on it to watch him. Jim's expression echoed his own frustration, but there was something else there, too; something that held Blair's attention.
The big man beside him, sheltering him so calmly and naturally, was in terrible pain, though a casual observer wouldn't have known. Jim's torment only showed in the rhythmic pulse of his jaw muscle and the harsh emptiness in his eyes. To Blair, there seemed too much there to be only grief for the lost children, or anger at the lack of justice for their murder, or even weariness from his own fight against the subliminals.
Mystified, Blair looped his arm around Jim's waist, giving a squeeze for comfort as he did. Jim returned it instantly, fitting his partner a little closer to him as he did, following a pattern Blair had noticed while they had traveled the trail of evidence to Nelson. Jim never reached for him or touched first; he only responded to Blair's attentions. Even last night when they had tumbled into bed together, too exhausted to do more than sleep, Blair had simply assumed he was welcome. Wordlessly Jim had gone along for the ride, neither inviting nor asking.
In the glass he saw the bleakness in those brilliant blues deepen as Jim lightly brushed a kiss over the top of his head. I'M hurting him! Blair suddenly realized. That makes no sense; I know he wants me, cares for me. The proof of it was plain; despite their fatigue and where they were, the beginning of an erection was tenting Jim's pants.
Abruptly he wanted out of here, wanted to be home and alone with his lover to relax and recover from the frantic pace of this case. For once he was the one who wanted to wait until later to talk things out, until they were both up to what was undoubtedly going to be an agonizing conversation. "Come on," Blair said shortly, pulling away. "The report can wait; they have all they need to get started on introducing him to his new lifestyle." Jim followed without protest, and that was so weird for Jim that Blair's anxiety increased.
Once home, Blair purposefully set out to make their evening as normal as possible, needing the soothing familiarity of it. They made dinner, ate, and cleaned up after it, working and talking companionably as they always did. Then there was a game on, and Jim settled comfortably with the remote while Blair claimed the other end of the couch, trying to catch up on his reading and half-hoping his partner wouldn't let him.
All during the night, he kept his physical distance from Jim, and resisted the urge to flirt and tease. He wanted the other man to come to him, to let him know they were okay, that *he* was okay. It didn't happen, though once or twice Jim began to reach for him - and aborted the gesture mid-move.
By bedtime Blair was nearly convinced he had completely misread Jim's desire and that he had imagined the pain he'd seen earlier. When Jim finally stood, announcing casually that he was ready for bed and was going to take a shower first, Blair waved him on, head over his book so he could hide his confusion.
Later, just as casually, Jim stopped midway up the stairs on his way up to bed. "Gonna stay up a while, Chief?"
"Yeah, probably," Blair answered, looking up and smiling this time, so he could check Jim out. Sure enough, though he was nonchalantly poised between steps to hide it, the hard-on he had under his sweats was unmistakable.
All Jim said, though, was, "Simon gave me a late-in tomorrow, so I'm going to get up early and hit the gym. Are you coming by the station after classes?"
"Probably not. Midterms are coming up, and I've got some work to do to get ready," Blair reminded him.
"Then I'll see you when I see you. Night." Jim turned his face away as he spoke, and continued on up the stairs.
"Night." Blair watched him go, feeling disappointed, disconcerted, and aroused. Very aroused. Seeing Jim ready made *him* ready, but it seemed his roomie didn't want to do anything about it.
Maybe he's giving me a chance to get used to the idea of sex with him. With a man, Blair tried to tell himself charitably. From his point of view, I leaped from being straight one day to practically raping him the next. Or maybe that's the problem. I was too aggressive and... oh, fuck this!
Determinedly he went back to work, but couldn't concentrate. Fidgeting, restless, he found himself doodling panthers and wolves in the margins of his notes and threw down his pen in disgust. Might as well go to bed, he grumbled to himself, and set off for the shower to wash up.
He hesitated at the door to his room when he was done, reluctant to go in. Covered by a towel, his semi-erect penis asked not so politely if he was really going to sleep alone tonight. If Jim wasn't interested in playing, being warmed up by that gorgeous bod in that nice big bed was a good thing, wasn't it? It wasn't as though Jim had said anything about him not coming up, either.
Letting his little head do the thinking for him, Blair drifted to the stairs, hesitated for a second, then climbed steadily. It was what he wanted, and if Jim didn't like it, all he had to do was ask Blair to leave. Hopefully, he would just ask and not demonstrate his preferences by tossing the interloper in his inner sanctum over the railing.
At the top of the steps he paused again, this time to let his eyes adjust to the lack of light. In that second he heard muffled, almost imperceptible sounds: Jim blocking screams with a wad of cloth and dampening what sound was left by shoving his face into the mattress.
Without thought Blair threw himself onto the bed, instinctively reaching for Jim as he did. At the same time, his partner rolled off the other way, taking a pillow and his gun with him. They finished with Blair flat on his stomach, stretched across the bed, and Jim sitting on the floor, back to the wall, pillow in lap and gun up. For a split second they stared at each other in astonishment, then Jim laid the gun on the nightstand. "Damn it, Sandburg, what are you doing up here?"
Ignoring the question, Blair slid off the bed and knelt in front of him. "Jim, let me help."
"I don't need any help!" he shot back stubbornly.
That almost made Blair smile. "Let me help anyway. Please?"
Jim gritted his teeth, then made himself relax, letting his shoulders sag. Wrapping his arms loosely around the pillow, he tried to smile, too. "Look, knowing what caused the depression isn't going to make it go away this second. Things still look pretty rotten to me, and I'm trying to work it out. I'm pretty lousy company because of it, so this is probably not a good night for you to be up here."
"Bullshit," Blair said softly. He inched forward so that he was between Jim's widespread feet, not sure how close to approach just yet. "If there's ever a night when you don't need to be alone, this is it. There are better ways to deal with the pain besides howling like an animal, though that might do the job temporarily. Holding onto a lover is much, much better, I promise."
Determinedly Jim shook his head, trying to scoot back farther into the wall. "Thanks for the offer, Chief, but I'd rather deal with it myself. I'd just keep you awake, anyway, and you need to rest."
Carefully Blair slid one knee forward until it barely brushed Jim's bottom where it met the floor, then leaned in as much as he dared. "So do you, and if nothing else," he whispered, "You'll have company. Please?" Moving more than slowly enough for Jim to stop him, he laid one palm along his partner's jaw line.
With precise, controlled movements Jim peeled Blair's hand away, then rose to his feet, capturing the other. "Can't," he groaned. "Can't."
Deep, harsh pain was back in his lover; fear mixing with frustration in his voice, Blair blurted, "Why?" Jim didn't answer, but moved to step around him instead, and he stopped him with a single push that sent Jim a half step back. "WHY?"
Resigned, head up and chin out as if he was expecting a fight, Jim said softly, "Incacha made me promise not to take advantage of you. If you come to my bed just because you think I need it, I'd be breaking that promise."
"Take advantage of me?" Blair repeated stupidly.
"Look, Blair, how many times in the past have I taken what I wanted from you without so much as a thanks? Ignored your feelings or belittled them? Incacha saw that I was attracted and knew me well enough to want to protect you from more and worse of the same, that's all."
"Take advantage of me?" Blair couldn't help saying again, anger rising over the fear. "Made you promise? Who the hell did he think he was? And why the hell did you do it?"
"He was my shaman," Jim answered simply. "And the day I accepted the name Enquiri from him, the role of Guardian for the Chopec, I gave him command over me. Damn it, Sandburg! You know the significance of names and naming; in his mind he had every right to tell me what to do. If I had any respect or friendship for him at all, I had to submit or damage his place with the Chopec, and you know that, too. It's not as if you haven't used the same authority on me yourself and not that long ago!"
"It's not the same thing!" Blair snapped, temper rising.
"It's the exact same thing! You invoked the Shaman's Way to pull a sentinel away from the edge, to save my life, and Incacha did it to make sure a stubborn, selfish, self-contained pig didn't do irrevocable harm to a young shaman!" He shouted, as if that would give him the deciding edge in their argument.
"The both of you must not have thought much of my ability to make up my own mind! Thank you for that extremely enlightening opinion of my intelligence and will power!" The sheer volume Blair produced in that blast impressed the few brain cells that weren't furious, but he didn't dwell on that random thought.
"You're deliberately misunderstanding me," Jim said evenly, voice abruptly going to conversational levels. "Why am I even trying to use words to get through to you; that's your gift, not mine! I haven't got a chance."
Before Blair could smugly deliver his comeback, Jim framed his face between two large, long-fingered hands and kissed him. Not in anger or frustration, but in need so profound that Blair's anger vanished into it like a dying ember into the night sky. He was suspended between those loving, cradling hands, unable to do anything but feel the burning caress on his mouth.
With polite gentility, Jim tickled along the edge of his lips, asking to be let in, and Blair opened to him, accepting the agile tongue with a guttural moan. Every sensitive spot, every delicate sensation he'd ever loved, was coaxed out by that too-knowing visitor, sending hot trickles of desire through his middle to congregate in his hard-on. Just as he was about to come - from a kiss! - Jim scraped his lips away to lightly mouth Blair's jawbone toward his ear.
Trickles became streams, and he shivered uncontrollably, tilting his head to invite more. With a tiny lick, Jim accepted, and began to ravish the earring-studded lobe with tiny nips and tongue-tip laps. "How far do you want to go with this, love?" he breathed, sentinel-quiet.
"Ahh... ah... dunno," Blair mumbled.
"Can I suck you?" Jim drew in a mouthful of soft skin right under Blair's jaw and did just that.
"God! Yes, yes, yesssss...." Hissing in pleasure, Blair turned his head farther, exposing the vulnerable line of his neck.
"Suck me?" Despite the depth of his arousal, Blair couldn't stop a faint grimace at the idea of a hard-on in his mouth. Laughing without humor, Jim assured him, "It's all right, this is good. God, is this good." To prove it, he retook Blair's lips in another voraciously plundering kiss.
What small chance Blair had to think was completely blasted away, and all he could do was stand there and feel as Jim sent his hands to explore. Their touch was ghostly light, skimming in long, slow sweeps down Blair's torso, hardly disturbing the hairs on his chest and belly. It didn't tickle; it made his skin yearn, reach up of its own accord in goosebumps to beg for more.
The hands floated back up to haunt Blair's nipples, making him arch his back and sigh. He'd never been particularly fond of having them played with, but Jim was changing that with a single pass over the small nubs. They tightened and ached, adding to the torrent of need moving through him.
Jim's loving, arousing hands drifted back down, and he knelt in front of Blair to give his legs their share. Astonishingly it was as wonderful as every place else he'd been touched, and he turned eagerly when Jim nudged him to gain access to his back.
His lover etched faint trails up Blair's sides, then burrowed under his curls at his neck and marked out the shape of his skull. Not the most intimate caress Jim had bestowed, but it sent cold rivers of feeling all through Blair, and he cried out in surprise.
If Jim heard him, he made no sign. He finished his mapping by feathering his fingertips over Blair's face - getting one digit sucked for his reward - then traced over the strong line of collarbone and shoulder to find his way back to Blair's spine. It was there that lips and tongue joined his hands' journey, all slowly moving downward, gaining strength as they did.
A trembling started in the pit of Blair's stomach, making it hard for him to stand. The kisses to each vertebra were wet and powerful, working steadily toward the top of his cleft and stirring him to an insanity of anticipation. Was Jim going to be the one who would, oh God after wanting it for so long, was he....
Moist and sure, Jim snaked a lick down to the very edge of the valley between Blair's cheeks. Shaking, the very idea of what Jim was going to do making it impossible for him to stand, Blair staggered toward the bed. When his knees hit the edge, he all but fell face first on it, leaving his backside up and open to whatever Jim wanted.
His lover wasted no time in lunging forward and locking a plunging kiss onto the spasming muscle at the center of the dark line, moaning inarticulately as he did. Screaming, fists pounding into the mattress, Blair pushed back at the limber invader, every nerve in his ass thrilling and sparking. Jim slipped his tongue in deep, prying at the tense opening, teasing the tender channel beyond it, then withdrew to lick and torment the entire area.
Shamelessly Blair reared back again, wordlessly commanding Jim to tongue-fuck him. Gripping sweaty thighs to hold his lover still, Jim did as he was ordered, shoving his tongue in and out as far and fast as he could, teeth pressing almost painfully on the outer rim.
The incredible sensation shot straight into Blair's balls, then screamed up and through his cock, flooding his seed onto his chest and belly as he shouted Jim's name over and over. A last spasm of pleasure took what was left of his strength, and he toppled onto his side, whimpering at the loss of Jim's mouth.
Roughly Jim pushed him flat on the bed, kneeling between Blair's wide-spread thighs to lap at the cream scattered over him. As he did, he lifted himself until he was perched on the edge of the bed, crouching over Blair as he cleaned.
As much as he luxuriated in the attention, Blair's mind was clearing, and a thread of anger returned. If he thinks he can love me into a puddle to win a fight, then he can.... Then Jim looked up at him from under his lashes, as if he heard the thought, and the unleashed hunger in his expression told Blair very clearly his sentinel was as lost in this as he was. This delicious, consuming devotion *was* how Jim made love, and what he wanted and needed was to share with his lover this way.
With a low rumble, Jim knelt up, wiping his face with the back of his hand and showing a hard-on with a cap nearly purple with need. He knee-walked up, hand going to himself to pump jaggedly, never losing eye contact. When his groin was level with Blair's face, he lay beside the compact body of his lover, toe to head, and began to suck Blair's cock.
Instantly it began to grow again, with the slight clumsiness and hesitations that marked Jim's lack of experience adding to Blair's excitement and pleasure. Watching from under half-closed lids, Blair stroked in and out gingerly, amazed, aroused, and delighted to see his dick vanish down Jim's throat. The sight as much as the act got to him, inflaming his lust all over again.
Unwillingly he looked up from where he was using Jim's mouth to the cock so close to his own face. Wet with pre-cum, veins standing out angrily, it was being fisted almost violently in time with Blair's thrusts. An aroma comprised of male musk, sweat, and Jim's natural scent drifted from it, and an animal part of Blair insisted it not only smelled great, it was down right appetizing.
Hesitantly he flicked out his tongue to sweep up a drop from the tip, licking his lips thoughtfully after he did. Different from a woman, but not unpleasant, definitely not disgusting. With more sureness he laved the entire head, thrilling at the primal sound of approval Jim groaned through his own sucking. Opening to take a deeper taste, he loved the smooth, velvet-and-hard glide over lips and tongue so much that he accepted Jim's continued thrusts without meaning to.
It was perfect, linking his sensitive mouth and insistent cock with the same tempo, the same drive, creating one massive ocean of pleasure. Surrendering to it, he rode on waves of ecstasy, not caring when or if he came again. But Jim had been denied too long, and though Blair heard and felt his frantic warning noises, he didn't understand until the first twitch in the shaft he was milking.
Automatically he swallowed the flow of semen, distracted from the taste and texture by the sudden increase of heat and suction on his own hard-on. A stray thought - that wasn't so bad - cruised by, then a single finger penetrated him and went unerringly to the gland hidden inside.
The stab of white-hot indescribable something went from ass to cock to brain, and he shouted and thrashed as he came, mindlessly shoving himself into Jim. It ended abruptly as he dropped unconscious, still spasmodically fucking.
* * *
The instant Blair passed out, Jim knew, of course. The information, like all the knowledge his senses poured through him about his guide, was instinctively sorted, assessed, and used. With a sigh that was smug and resigned at the same time, he released the softening penis with a last lick, and shakily leaned up on his elbow.
Head pillowed on Jim's thigh, corner of his mouth lined with white liquid, Blair presented the perfect picture of a man loved senseless. His hair was scattered wildly over Jim's leg and groin, and his hands were curled loosely under his chin, as if he had simply fallen asleep. Hoping that he *would* go to sleep without rousing, Jim mustered his resources and made himself slide out from under Blair's precious weight.
Carefully he pulled the limp body farther onto the bed, tucked a pillow under Blair's head, and covered them both as he spooned around his lover. Not wanting to sleep, he rooted around in the locks at his nose, idly cataloguing the scents of the day still clinging to Blair's curls. Part of his mind was occupied with that; the rest debated endlessly and pointlessly whether or not what he had just done was in violation of his promise. Blair *had* started their affair, and he *had* come upstairs on his own, and even if the reason he'd used for wanting Jim tonight was suspect, he *had* been ready before he'd given it. And Incacha had only said Blair had to come to him in his own time....
Irritated with himself, Jim cut off the whole line of thought ruthlessly, and let himself dissolve into the sensual haven of his lover. If he wasn't mistaken, he thought he could pick up a trace of the smell of the coffee Simon had served them today. And maybe his cigar?
Blair came back to awareness as suddenly as he'd left, but he didn't start or tense at the position he found himself in. Like Jim, he seemed content to simply savor being there. Since he apparently didn't mind being treated like a sensory smorgasbord, Jim went on nosing, tasting, and stroking, storing away each bit for future reference.
Once Blair wiggled back against him, as if to test the hardness of the dick tucked into the crevasse between his cheeks. Nice as it was, Jim was too wasted from two climaxes - the first hitting him hard and unexpectedly when Blair had offered up his bottom so sweetly - to do more than bummp the firm backside in reply.
For a while Jim thought his lover would be willing to cuddle to sleep, and leave finishing their fight for the morning. Blair being Blair, though, he eventually murmured, "Why would Incacha forbid you to give me this? It's perfect."
Sighing, Jim tried to explain again. "Love, to you, finding a sentinel was Holy Grail time for your dissertation; the achievement of a lifetime. To Incacha, it was only good luck; I was a warrior with an extremely useful talent that could benefit his people. To the tribe, to him, when I left... well, I was missed but they did fine without me.
"But a shaman is the heart of a tribe. If it hadn't been that the elders felt Cyclops was killing Mother Earth, they would have never let Incacha leave. Even then, they would have thought twice if he hadn't had a very competent apprentice ready to take his place.
"In short, Chief, he was my friend and he treasured me, but you *are* a treasure, a very valuable one to be protected and nurtured. He didn't trust me to do that properly." Unwillingly Jim sighed again. Judging from his vitals, Blair wasn't taking his explanation well.
"And I thought his opinion of me was bad! You called this man your friend!" Blair grumbled angrily.
"He was," Jim said shortly, trying not to snap. "And he was right." Feeling Blair gearing up to argue, big time, Jim began sweeping back strands of hair from his beautiful face, allowing his fingers to linger sensuously. "Chief... go with me on this for a second, okay?"
There was a hesitant nod, and Jim asked, "Do you like Sam?"
"What has...."
"I asked you to go with me. Please? Do you like Sam?"
Obviously choosing his words with care, Blair answered, "I respect and admire her. And she's very stimulating and challenging company."
"But you don't like her very, much do you?" Jim pressed.
It was Blair's turn to sigh. "No, not much."
"Was she an especially good lover?"
"Jim!"
"I'm not asking for details, love. Just overall impression."
Again he hesitated, taking so long Jim wondered if he were trying to think of a reasonable evasion. At last Blair admitted, "To quote the comedian: for a guy, even bad sex is still pretty good. I can't - no, *won't* complain. A woman takes an enormous responsibility on herself when she lies down for a man, unless she's sterile."
That made Jim hug him closer, though he had to ignore the stiffness in Blair to do it. Blessedly, that didn't last and his lover soon melted into the embrace. When he seemed mellow again, Jim murmured, "Why did you let her put you through the wringer, then?"
The well-defined shoulders shrugged, and Jim was distracted for a second by the tickling sweep over his skin. "I guess," Blair said slowly, "it was because it was what she needed, and at first, I didn't mind that. Took me a while to realize that I wasn't doing her or myself any favors by going along with something that I would eventually find tiresome and annoying." He snorted in self-derision. "It was a mistake to do things her way; we're actually better friends now that she knows I won't play her games."
"A very human mistake, Chief. You wanted to help her 'cause that's part and parcel of what you are. But you're also inexperienced enough not to know that giving someone what they need isn't always the right thing to do."
"I know that," Blair protested.
"You might have known that, but after Sam do you *feel* it now?" Jim prodded. Blair was quiet again, though he stayed limp and relaxed in Jim's arms. After a minute, Jim pressed home his point. "I'd like to think that you do at least like me, and I'm pretty sure I made an impression on you as a lover." He wasn't exactly asking for applause, well not much actually, and Blair obliged by giving a low moan of remembered passion.
Putting aside the dart of desire that caused, he doggedly kept talking. "Between this sentinel thing and being a cop, I'm a million times more needy than Sam ever could be." Startled that sharing that particular truth would come so easily when he could barely face it in his own mind, he finished easily, "If you'd go so far for her, it scares me how much abuse you'd take from me. How much you already have."
Swallowing hard, indicating to Jim that his words had struck home, Blair argued anyway. "I draw the line when you go too far. Being your lover wouldn't change that."
"Wouldn't it?" Jim said bitterly, and became deliberately crude. "Blair, when you woke up this morning, hell, when you walked up those stairs, the idea of taking a cock into your mouth disgusted you. Then ten minutes ago you were swallowing my load. What changed?"
To his surprise, the answer to that came quickly. "Jim, after the rim job you gave me, I would have let you shove your dick in my ass without so much as blinking. What's a blow job compared to that?" Blair squirmed around until they were face-to-face, then dropped a brief, hot kiss on his surprised mouth.
"My turn," he said firmly, and put both palms flat on Jim's chest. "When you told me you were bi, I knew you were testing the waters with me." Jim shrugged. It was the truth, but he had taken Blair's even, I'm-perfectly-straight-myself reply at face value at the time. It wasn't until the innocent pats and taps became out and out flirting that he'd thought his roomie might be willing to try something new. Began hoping that there might be more than friendship between them.
"I know I said no at the time," Blair confirmed his thoughts, "but I kept thinking about it. It took a while, but the longer I knew you, the more I felt for you, and somewhere along the line I decided if you wanted to go for it, I'd try." He blinked and looked thoughtful.
"Then you backed off, way off.... damn that meddling Chopec! 'Cause of your promise, right? I still can't believe that you'd actually..." He stopped mid-word, face changing radically as he mentally added up the time and Jim's behavior since Incacha's death. "Rage, jealousy like when you did a background check on Iris, keeping your distance but refusing to let me leave.... You've had your senses more or less under control for over a year, but you kept me around anyway. It would have been easier, less stress if you'd had me leave. Easier to keep your promise, too, but you didn't."
With a huge gulp for air, he blurted, "You're in love with me!"
That was so self-evident to Jim he didn't even bother to reply. Squarely he met the accusation in Blair's eyes, wondering why it was such a surprise to his bedmate. With a suddenness that alarmed him, Blair did a reasonable imitation of him and blanked all expression from his features. "You promised not to tell me even that. How far does this promise go, Jim?"
"Your call, Chief. All the way. From never gracing my bed again to using me to fulfill your every fantasy," Jim informed him uneasily.
An ecstatic shudder traveled through the abruptly alert body. Jim wondered what dark lust had laid its finger on Blair's soul, and whether or not he'd be able to keep working as a cop after satisfying it. All Blair did, though, was scoot up to seat tailor fashion next to him. "I see," he said bluntly. "All right then, do you have lube and condoms?"
Throat shutting down instantly, Jim nodded and reached for them. "Face down, ass up," Blair ordered sharply, taking the items after they were retrieved from a drawer. Moving naturally, without hesitation, took every ounce of will power Jim had, and for the umpteenth time he blessed the military training that allowed him to function in necessity, regardless of what his heart and spirit wanted.
Keeping his hands lax on the bedding as he waited for his lover's ministrations was as difficult. Hating the exposed, vulnerable position, he grew hard and ready anyway, simply because it was Blair behind him, drinking in the sight of him. And it was undeniably arousing his lover; he could smell the musk of it, hear the clicking swallows and racing heart. Vaguely he wondered if he would be left torn and bleeding afterwards, since he doubted Blair knew what he was doing, but he didn't really care. Hopefully the tentative explorations he'd made of his own body since deciding he wanted Blair inside him would help.
Feeling the bed move, he tried to brace himself internally, but all his lover did was lay his face on one of Jim's ass cheeks. It was hot, so hot, and bristly with much later than five o'clock shadow, but soft for all that. Patiently he waited, then was startled to hear Blair mutter, "You'd let me. Like this, ashamed and needy, like a whore with a jones. Because you love me; because of a promise *I* didn't ask for. I don't want you like this. Never like this. You're not my geisha, not my servant, not my sex slave."
He crawled up beside Jim, and with that uncanny skill he had for fitting himself into Jim's space, crept under him, wrapping sturdy legs around the bigger man's waist and twisting until they were on their sides, facing each other again.
"I want a partner, Ellison," he snapped, poking a finger hard into Jim's sternum. "An equal. Someone I respect and trust and rely on and yell at when he's stupid and who'll yell at me when I'm stupid and take care of me when I need it and who I can take care of when he needs it." He poked and poked, voice rising furiously. "I want my sentinel/warrior/cop standing beside me, and inside me when he wants it or inside him if he wants it, not hungrily hovering, waiting my beck and call! I Want My Jim As He's Always Been, As I'VE ALWAYS LOVED HIM!"
The dumbfounded look on Blair's face as he bellowed the last words would be a precious, precious memory for Jim all his life. Almost before the last echoes of the sound faded, Blair repeated softly, wonderingly, "As I've always loved him."
Feeling childish, but unable to stop himself, Jim whispered, "As you've always loved me?"
Throwing his head back, Blair whooped joyously, "I love you! I thought I was *never* going to feel that kind of love, and, idiot that I am, I did and didn't even know that's what it was. I love you!" He snatched at Jim's ears and dragged him forward for a short, deep kiss. "I love you!" he declared fervently, wiggling until they were so close together even their sweat had to go elsewhere. Kissing Jim harder and longer, he groaned, "I love you."
Fingers frantically scrabbling over the taut muscles of Jim's butt, he stroked lightly into the crack. "I love you," he mumbled, trying to find a way to get his cock between Jim's legs and into the same crease, as well.
Catching his mate's fever, Jim took his weight onto his elbows and raised his hips enough for the slicked rod to slide over his opening. Biting back a shout of pleasure, he rocked back down so it could rub onto him again. "Oh... damn... that's," he moaned breathlessly,"... again!"
"Yes!" Blair affirmed, beginning his own movement. "Tell m... m... dear God, yes! .... share..."
"Good! It's good!" was all Jim could force out.
They frantically thrust onto each other, but after two hard climaxes, it wasn't enough and finally Blair ground out, "What... what can.... aaaaaa! ... we do... unh!...."
Unwilling and unable to stop at least gently pumping, Jim growled, "I should know? This is all theoretical to me!"
With a little snort of laughter, Blair tried to hold still. "Love you, love you," he groaned senselessly, then he marshaled his thoughts. "Theoretically, then?"
Since his opening was nearly screaming already, Jim looked around frantically for the lube, shoved it into Blair's hands, then whirled into the same position he'd started in. "Fingers in and out till I'm loose, then cock, slowly," he instructed hastily.
"Man, man, man," Blair chanted, obviously a new mantra created expressly to keep him focused enough to do what was needed.
It never crossed Jim's mind this time to think about anything but how good it was going to be to be filled. And it was, fuck, it was. One finger was nice, familiar from what he'd done to himself. Two was good, if strange at first, and then made him buck and beg until Blair was begging him to wait, please, be still, I'm going to lose it, Jim, love, wait!
Then the blunt tip of Blair's cock pressed home, forcing the ring, latex from the condom dragging unpleasantly for a moment. Pressure, burning pressure building to pain that left quickly as Blair slid home.
"Love you!" Jim gritted out, startled by how hoarse the words were.
"Love you!" Blair was triumphant, and he withdrew as carefully as he'd entered, only to drive back in as if afraid he'd never be able to again. So good, so good, how can anything this side of heaven be so good, Jim's mind babbled. It was his Blair; of course it was this good.
Within a few thrusts they found their rhythm, groaning encouragement, love words, and hunger as they fucked desperately. At last, bodies tightening with fantastic power, they slammed together and held it for one heart-stopping second as they were shattered, scattered, and reborn in bursts of white seed. They roared their "I love you's" in identical joy, tears streaming with the semen.
After the last trickle of fluid, bestial know-how brought them mindlessly into a position for sleeping and roughly pulled covers over their nakedness. Still mumbling 'love you' they fell asleep, limbs unbreakably knotted together.
* * *
The change in light, in the tempo of the street below and city beyond, gently pulled Jim from his rest, leaving him yawning in mild surprise. For the first time in longer than he cared to remember, he was awake before dawn and not dreading the unkind clarity natural to the morning. He had a reason to be awake now, and thankful for another day.
Brushing a light kiss over the forehead of his reason, he cautiously stretched a muscle at a time, not wanting to disturb Blair. Sore and aching in unaccustomed places, he couldn't even find it in himself to complain. If he were too racked up to move, it would have still been worth it.
Whispering "I love you," he settled back down to wait for his lover to waken. Nothing could persuade him to leave or move until then. Half-drowsing, he petted Blair's back, sentinel light, following the lines of downy, soft hair in idle preoccupation.
By and by he wandered over a full buttock, and Blair shifted sleepily, spreading himself in invitation. That jarred a moan out of Jim, and that woke his mate, who leaned back far enough to grin knowingly. "Again?"
Claiming Blair's lips for a second, Jim said, "Yes" after and set about leisurely waking them both completely. In the middle of rolling into position, he jerked his head up. "Do you hear that?" Half-expecting Blair's customary grimace of aggravation at the question, he was startled when his lover pulled the blankets back over himself to cover his nudity.
"Like a big jungle cat?" he asked, nervously.
Going for his gun, Jim sat up in bed in time to see his panther lope to the top of the stairs and pause there, eyeing them both intently.
"Whoa," Blair breathed, mesmerized by its Jim-blue eyes. "Your spirit animal?"
Warily, Jim studied it. "I think. Why else would a panther be sitting in my bedroom?"
"Okay, I'm cool with that," Blair said distractedly. With a hand on Jim to steady himself, he leaned slowly out, one hand out-stretched. Using the same crooning, soothing tones he employed when talking down a freaked sentinel, he murmured, "Hey, there, Big Guy. You here for a reason, mmm, or just visiting? Something we should know?"
Worried, but letting his partner do his thing, Jim readied himself and waited for the animal's response. With a deep-throated rumble it stretched, grew, stood on two legs as a man. As Incacha. "What have you done, Enquiri?" he demanded brusquely.
"Taken what was his," Blair butted in defiantly, too bemused to notice he was speaking fluent Quechua. "As I took what was mine."
"His, young shaman?" The Chopec's expression and tone were forbidding.
"Mine. You passed your Way to me; I have the right to free him from his promises to you. And if he wishes to claim me as his, I am," Blair argued stubbornly.
"I see." Incacha grinned unexpectedly, hands going together in imitation of Blair's gesture when they first met; fingers over-lapping fingers in an inverted 'v' that flipped first one on top, then the other. "Then you truly do learn from one another. Good!"
At that Blair sat back sharply in the bed even as Jim hissed in a sharp lungful of air and held him close. Chortling in delight, the spirit melted back into its cat shape. "Paths side by side, Enquiri. Not one lost in the shadow of the other." The words wafted through the quiet of the loft, then the panther jumped, passing through where Blair and Jim rested against each other.
A shock jolted them, and they sat motionlessly for a second. Finally Jim muttered, "That sneaky, conniving, son-of-a...." as Blair hooted with laughter.
finis