I am writing strictly for fun, not profit. I'm only borrowing them and promise to return them when I'm done playing with them.

Happy Birthday, JL! This one's for you.

Number 2 in my Sports Series.

This story is a sequel to: Check that Little Pitcher Out

screen ball: a racquetball term referring to any ball rebounding from the front wall so close to the body of the defensive player that it prevents the offensive player from having a clear view of the ball.

"I cannot believe he did this to me!"

Jim Ellison paused to listen to his partner's blistering monologue as Blair exited the elevator and tramped down the hallway to Major Crime.

"What did I ever do to him? So I corrected him in front of his peers two years ago and he's hated my guts ever since. And now he's finally decided to get even. Revenge is a dish best served cold." Blair laughed, but it was a nasty sound, like some demon had taken over the grad student's body.

Jim shivered, hoping he wouldn't have to find an exorcist.

Blair shoved through the glass doors, nearly bowling over the new clerk--Donna, no, Diane, no, that wasn't right either. Denora, that was it. Who the hell would name their kid Denora anyhow? Blair barely glanced at her as he mumbled an apology. Something was definitely wrong. Sandburg rarely missed an opportunity to flirt, especially if the woman was pretty, single, and new to the department. Denora was all three.

Blair slung his backpack off his shoulder and to the floor beside the desk.

Jim ducked as the backpack whizzed past his head. "Whoa, easy there, Sandburg. Knowing what you carry in that thing, you'd give me a concussion."

"Funny, Jim." Blair's voice was anything but amused.

"Some girl give you the cold shoulder?" Jim teased.

Blair's glare would've frozen Puget Sound. "Not everything in my life revolves around women."

Jim held up his hands. "Sorry, Chief. What's the problem?"

"Like you didn't listen to me ranting and raving all the way down the hall." Blair's chilly gaze didn't thaw one iota. He suddenly shook his head. "I just cannot believe he did that to me."

"Who? And what did he do?" Jim asked in frustration.

"Professor Carver. He signed me up for the Bitchin' and Moanin' committee."

Jim leaned back in his chair, trying to emit an aura of calm around hurricane Sandburg. "For dumb cops like me, please elucidate."

Blair quirked an eyebrow in his direction. "The B and M is officially known as the Students and Academics Complaints and Issues committee. It covers the entire spectrum of campus life, from accusations of unfair grading to bitching about the cafeteria meatloaf. You wouldn't believe some of the shit that people bring to the committee." Blair grabbed his head. "I can't do it. I'll go crazy."

Jim shuddered. "Cafeteria meatloaf? Please, Sandburg, I haven't eaten lunch yet."

The anthropologist glared at him. "You are so not funny. This is serious. Between teaching, lesson plans, writing papers, working on my thesis, grading tests, and riding with you, I hardly have any time left for a social life."

"So no coeds for a little while. Big deal."

Blair's entire body stiffened and his nostrils flared. "I can't believe you said that, man. After all the time I've given you... Well, fuck you, Ellison!"

Blair grabbed his backpack and stormed off.

"Sandburg! Blair!" Jim hollered, but the grad student's step didn't even falter.

Good going, Ellison. What a way to be supportive! No wonder Carolyn thought you had the sensitivity of a rock.

Jim dropped his face into his hands and listened to Blair's rapid heartbeat and short, fast breaths. He wasn't talking to himself, which meant he was royally pissed, and not at Professor What's-his-face, but at his best friend and sentinel. Some friend I am, much less a best friend.

"Ellison!" Simon's voice boomed across the bullpen.

Jim lifted his head and gazed at his boss, who jabbed a thumb toward his office. Sighing, he obeyed the captain's unspoken command.

"What is it, sir?" Jim asked once he was standing in Simon's office.

"What's with Sandburg?"

Jim stifled a groan. "He was upset, sir."

Simon scowled and waved his unlit cigar. "Cut with the 'sir' crap and tell me what happened."

Jim slumped in a chair and scrubbed his face with his palms. "He had a rough morning. I was my usual understanding self. End of story."

"Heavy sarcasm duly noted." Simon shook his head. "Damn it, Jim, haven't you seen how tight the kid's been wound lately?"

Jim frowned, thinking about the past week. He hadn't seen much of Sandburg, but that wasn't uncommon when it was finals or mid-terms time. When they had crossed paths, Jim had just chalked up Blair's abruptness to being busy. "I guess, maybe a little more than usual."

Simon rolled his eyes. "So says the master of understatement. Go find him, apologize for being such a jerk, and take him out to lunch, or you won't get anything done this afternoon."

Jim stiffened, and then realized Simon was right. He had been an insensitive jerk--why had he made the stupid comment anyhow? He knew for a fact Blair hadn't been with a woman for weeks, maybe months. "What makes you think he'll forgive me?"

"Because Sandburg always forgives you, though God knows why."

"Point taken," Jim said dryly, then rose. "Thanks, Simon."

Banks made a shooing motion with his hand. "Get out of here and tell Sandburg what an ass you were."

Jim winced. "Yes, sir."

As he left, he didn't miss the smug grin on Simon's face.

It was Jim's sentinel senses that found Blair half an hour later, but it was his detective skills which had gotten him close enough to detect the familiar muttering. Since Blair was ticked off at him, he wouldn't have gone back to the loft because it would remind him of his thoughtless sentinel. And because he wouldn't want to run into Professor What's-his-face, he wouldn't go to his office either. However, because Blair had tests and papers to grade, he'd need a hideaway to work on those.

Elementary, Ellison. The Rainier Library.

Jim climbed the stairs to the second floor, where he knew there were numerous hidden alcoves for someone to disappear. He followed the sound of Blair's murmuring and, as he drew closer, he could hear his heartbeat. Walking all the way to the far back corner, Jim spotted his wayward guide tucked into an oversized chair, his glasses sliding down his nose as he worked.

"Hey, Chief," Jim said quietly.

Blair jerked, startled. He stared at Jim as if he were an annoying insect in a sunny paradise. "What're you doing here?"

Jim slid his hands into his trouser pockets. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

Jim's face heated. "You're going to make me say it?"

"Yes."

"All right. I'm sorry I was such an asshole. I was an insensitive jerk for belittling your help and what you do." Jim glared at him. "Is that better?"

"Not bad," Blair said, a twinkle in his eyes. "Except for the glare at the end. Kind of ruined the effect, man."

Jim couldn't help but grin, and he flopped down in the big comfortable chair across from his guide. "I really am sorry, Chief. You've got more than your share on your plate already, and this Professor What's-his-face--"

"Carver," Blair supplied.

"Professor Carver has no right putting any more on your shoulders, and you have every right to be angry about it."

"Wow! When did you take the sensitivity course?"

Jim leaned forward and whapped Blair's leg, which was curled under him. "I've always been a sensitive guy, Chief. It's just that I missed the part on how to express it."

"You're learning, Jim."

"Yeah, well, it's just that I have to be hit over the head with a two by four before it sinks in," Jim said self-deprecatingly.

The grad student smiled wryly. "I might've overreacted, too. I don't blow up at the people I'm really pissed at, so I end up taking it out on you."

"Pretty normal. People only hurt the ones they love," Jim said nonchalantly, then suddenly realized what he said. Feeling unaccountably uncomfortable, he motioned toward Blair's papers. "Do you have time for lunch? My treat and you get to pick the place."

Blair grinned as he stuffed the papers back into his pack. "Sounds good. And I know the perfect place. Athena's Garden."

Jim opened his mouth to object, but shut it abruptly at the smug sparkle in Blair's eyes. "Is this part of my penance?"

Blair stood and offered a hand to Jim, who took it, always surprised by how much strength was housed in the smaller man. "Nah. I'm just trying broaden your horizons."

"With tofu stuffed leaves? They don't even have ketchup."

Laughing, Blair led the way out of the library and Jim was content to follow, glad Simon had been right about the younger man accepting his apology. Except Jim still didn't understand why Blair always forgave him.

Two days later, Blair arrived home after seven, cursing up a storm as he tossed his keys in the basket and flung his backpack on the loveseat.

Working at the kitchen island, Jim frowned in concern. "What's going on, Chief?"

"I just got tagged to assist Professor Stoddard with the Peruvian artifacts display which is coming in tomorrow."

Jim wiped his hands on a towel and propped his shoulder against the post. He watched his partner pace the length of the living room, frenetic energy vibrating off him. "Why you?"

Blair's pacing didn't miss a beat. "I've got the most experience." He stopped abruptly and dragged his hands through his hair, catching the ends in his fists and tugging at them. "I've got a million things to do. I didn't need this on top of it."

"Is there anything I can do?" Jim offered.

"Got some spare hours in your back pocket? Twenty-four in a day isn't even going to come close." He tipped his head back. "Arrgh!"

Jim eyed his friend closely, not liking the tremors running through his frame nor the sweat beads on his brow. "Take it easy, Chief. You're wound up tighter than a drum."

"I feel like I'm going to fly apart here, man." He started pacing again.

Jim pushed away from the post and approached Blair. He stopped in his path and grabbed his shoulders, feeling the rigid muscles beneath the layers of flannel and cotton. "Have you done anything besides work in the last two weeks?"

Blair snorted. "How could I? I don't even have enough time for the work."

Jim frowned. "No meditating?"

Blair stared at him as if he'd grown another nose.

"All right, all right," Jim said, holding a hand up. "You're going to lose it big time here, Chief, if you don't wear off some of that nervous energy."

"And how do you suggest I do that? I haven't had a date in months."

"Not that kind of energy, Chief," Jim said in disgust, shaking his head. "Exercise. Working out. That kind of thing."

"I repeat, I haven't had a date in months."

"Go throw on some gym clothes," Jim suddenly ordered.

Blair's mouth dropped open. "Are you crazy?"

"No, but we'll both be real soon if you don't do this."

Blair crossed his arms stubbornly. "What're we going to do?"

"Play racquetball."

"What?"

"You heard me, Chief."

"But you obviously didn't hear me," Blair stated. "I. Don't. Have. Time."

He reached for his backpack, but Jim latched onto his wrists. "Listen to yourself. You're ready to explode here, buddy," he said gently. "Please."

Blair's body remained tense for a long moment, then he slumped visibly. "You're right. I definitely have some aggression to work off, but I can't be gone long."

Jim smiled, turned him around, and gave him a little shove toward his bedroom. "Go. Change into shorts and a tee-shirt."

"I'll freeze," Blair grumbled.

"Then put some sweats over them until we get there. You can't play racquetball in loose clothing."

Blair took one more longing look at his backpack.

"It'll still be here when we get back," Jim said. He headed for the stairs to his room. "Three minutes, Sandburg. Move it."

"But I've never played before," came Blair's wail even as he walked into his bedroom.

Jim grinned to himself. It would do them both good to get hot and sweaty. A hot and sweaty Sandburg...

Whoa, Ellison, where the hell are you going with that? Blair was his guide and best friend, not some curvaceous redhead with breasts and long, willowy legs.

Tossing the unwelcome picture aside, Jim quickly tugged on a pair of shorts and a tee-shirt, then covered them with a sweatsuit, all the while convincing himself he just needed a date with a willing woman. He jogged downstairs with his racquetball, a canister of rubber balls, and his goggles in hand. A minute later Blair emerged from his room. He'd tied back his hair and also wore a pair of sweats.

"Do you have a spare one for me?" Blair asked, pointing to Jim's racquet.

"No, but you can check one out at the desk." Jim picked up his wallet and keys from the basket, and led the way out the door.

"I still think I should've stayed home to work on those papers," Blair complained as they entered the police gym.

Jim wrapped an arm around his shoulders to keep him moving forward. "I can give you a hand with those. I can correct the multiple choice and true/false parts."

Blair glanced up at Jim, smiling and batting his eyelashes. "Ahh, that's the sweetest thing you've ever said."

His sarcastic wit didn't go unnoticed by Jim. "Yeah, well, I'm just an old softy, I guess."

Blair slapped his flat belly. "Yeah, real soft there, old man."

Jim would've retorted, but they arrived at the desk.

"Hey, Blair, Detective Ellison, what're you two doing here so late?" Jael asked.

"I was just going to ask you the same thing," Blair said. "Don't you usually get off at six?"

"Yes, but they're shorthanded so I offered to say until nine." She set aside the report she was working on. "What can I do for you two?"

"Blair needs a racquetball racquet," Jim said.

"And some protective eye gear," Jael added.

"Definitely don't want to forget those."

"Are you going to wear your glasses?" she asked Blair.

He shook his head. "I only need them for reading."

Jael went into the back room and returned a few moments later with the requested items. She handed them to Blair. "Have you ever played before?"

Blair shook his head. "Jim thinks I need to burn off some frustration."

"Well, racquetball will do that. Just imagine the ball as someone you'd like to kick in the butt." Jael shrugged. "It works for me."

Jim laughed. "Are there any courts open now?"

She handed them each a towel. "One and three. Take your pick."

Blair held up the eyewear and sighed. "At least they don't look like chemistry goggles from high school."

"Bad memories, Chief?" Jim asked with a wink at Jael.

"Only for the teacher." He glanced up at Jim. "You are going to give me some pointers first, right? I don't need any more stress, you know."

Jim and Blair started toward the courts. "Don't worry, Chief. I'll help you work off that frustration."

"Lucky man."

Jim wouldn't have heard Jael's wistful words if he hadn't had hyperactive senses. It wasn't like he hadn't overheard similar comments--courtesy of his sentinel hearing--around the station ever since Sandburg became his unofficial partner, but this time, for some reason, the comments made him slightly...flushed.

They arrived at the court door with the number three on it.

"Lose the sweats, Chief. We'll leave them out here," Jim said.

Grumbling something about pushy sentinels, Blair leaned against the wall and tugged off his sweatpants and sweatshirt. Jim removed his own and lifted his head to look at his partner...who wore a snug tee-shirt and blue nylon athletic shorts with built-in support. The clingy material left little to the imagination.

"So, what do we do?" Blair asked.

Jim jerked his gaze to his partner's inquisitive face and heat flooded his face. "Uh, let's go onto the court. It'll be easier to show you there." He ducked through the small door and closed it once Blair was standing beside him.

The student did a slow three sixty of the court. "Good thing I'm not claustrophobic." His words echoed in the empty room.

Jim pulled his protective eye gear on, but let it trail around his neck instead of placing them on his face. He already had his black wristbands on. "Let me give you the basics, then we'll start playing."

Blair copied Jim's actions and his eyewear hung around his neck, too. "I hope it's not complicated."

"The basics aren't." Jim explained the service zone and line, the receiving line, the short line, and the safety zone. He told him how he had to hit the ball before it hit the floor twice, but could hit both side walls, and definitely had to hit the front wall once. When he was done with his abbreviated explanation, he noticed Blair's glaze-eyed look. "Maybe we should just start and I'll teach you as we go."

"Whatever," Blair said with a wave of his hand.

"Eyewear on," Jim ordered.

They both tugged the strange looking plastic goggles in place and Jim stepped into the serving area. He pointed to a hashed line on the floor. "Stay behind that until the ball bounces or crosses that line." He grinned. "Then it's every man for himself."

"Bring it on, man," Blair said, pressing his lips together and bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"Remember, it has to hit the front wall once, but other than that, it's pretty much open season."

"Right."

"Okay, here goes." Jim bounced the blue rubber ball on the floor a couple times, then dropped it and drew back his racket to strike the ball as it bounced upward. A thwunk sounded and the ball came back toward him and to the right. It hit the floor behind the fault line and Blair jumped forward, set his stance and swung the racquet, striking the ball squarely and heading it back to the front wall. Jim stepped forward and returned the ball without letting it touch the floor. The blue ball struck the floor a foot in front of Jim. Blair ran up beside him, but was too late and a second bounce on the floor signaled Jim's first point.

"What the hell was that?" Blair gasped. "It didn't hit the floor before you returned it."

"It only has to hit the front wall. You can return it any time after it hits the front wall, but can only bounce on the floor once."

Blair shook his head, as if clearing it. "Okay, I think I got that. So, it's a good idea for me to move up to the middle of the court after the serve is returned, right?"

Jim smiled, not surprised that Blair grasped the game's strategies so quickly. "Right."

"And make sure to get the hell out of the way when your opponent is going after the ball."

Jim chuckled. "Yep."

Blair planted his feet apart and did a couple lunges to each side to stretch his muscles. "Look out, Ellison. I think I got this figured out."

Jim gained two more points, then missed a return off the side wall and grinned at his partner. "Are you sure you've never played before?"

"Nah. But, like Jael said, just imagining the ball as a certain person's head gives me incentive."

Jim tossed the ball to Blair, who caught it one-handed. "I hope it's not my head you're imagining."

Blair met Jim's eyes and grinned, his dark blue eyes glittering mischievously. "Not yet."

"The rules say holy grails and blessed protectors are exempt."

Blair snorted. "Only when holy grails and blessed protectors aren't pains in the ass."

Jim whapped Blair's ponytail. "Serve, Darwin."

Smiling, Blair tossed the ball downward, then struck it as it came up off the floor. The ball chinked against the front wall and bounced two feet past the receiving line--perfectly in play. Jim returned it easily, but then found himself playing a defensive game as he darted back and forth around his guide, surprised by Blair's wiry agility. After Sandburg earned three points, he finally missed a return, crashing into a wall with his shoulder.

Jim quickly stepped to his side and clasped his bicep. "You hurt, Chief?"

"Who moved the wall?" Blair demanded.

"Part of my game plan."

"I'll work on that one."

Jim ducked a bit to examine Blair's expression. "You sure you're okay?"

The grad student nodded and moved to the receiver's position. "What're you waiting for, Ellison, an engraved invitation?"

Jim rolled his eyes. He served and the game continued. Fifteen minutes later, the game was over, with Jim winning fifteen to ten. They took a break and stepped out of the court, took long drinks from the water fountain, then made use of the towels Jael had given them. Wiping his sweaty brow, Jim observed his partner as he did the same. Some of Blair's hair had escaped from the tie and draped limply down the sides of his face. Although there was still tension in his features, there wasn't as much as earlier.

"How're you doing?" Jim asked.

Blair shrugged. "Fine, but now I'm thinking I should get back to work."

"No way, Sandburg. Best two out of three games."

"Okay. I'll forfeit the next game, so you win."

"Forget it. You're still wound up pretty tight." He opened the court door and motioned Blair to enter ahead of him. The younger man sighed and bent over to go through the door. Jim's gaze followed his back, and he was startled to see the nicely shaped ass which Blair usually hid beneath his baggy flannel shirts. No wonder he never had any problem getting dates--a lot of women were into butts, so he'd heard.

"Jim, are you coming in any time this year?" Blair's annoyed question startled him.

The detective shook his head and joined his roommate in the court.

Blair started the game and Jim found himself watching Blair's ass more than he watched the ball, which resulted in a Sandburg win less than fifteen minutes later, fifteen to seven.

"Where was your mind, Jim?" Blair asked, leaning against the back wall. Sweat stained the front of his tee-shirt from the collar and narrowed to a point in the middle of his chest. Even without sentinel vision, Jim would've seen the curls of coarse hair beneath the damp tee-shirt, and then he wondered why he was examining his roommate's chest so closely.

Probably the same reason he was eyeing his ass.

Jim chuckled a trifle nervously. "That was beginner's luck, Sandburg. Now we have to play the tiebreaker."

Blair groaned. "Oh, man, I'm going to be sore tomorrow."

"You need to get more exercise, Chief. Besides wearing off the stress, it'll get you into shape."

"What's wrong with my shape now?" Blair demanded.

Against his will, Jim's gaze raked down Blair's compact body, noting how his sweat-dampened shorts left even less to the imagination. Jim cleared his throat and played bounce and catch with the ball. "Your muscles could use some toning."

"Whatever." Blair took a deep breath. "Ready to get beat again, Ellison?"

"Dream on, Sandburg." With the usual banter, Jim's off-kilter world fell back into place. He served.

It took all of Jim's concentration to keep up with his partner, who despite his declaration that he was sore and tired, was everywhere on the court. Their soles squeaked on the floor as the two men played neck-and-neck, the score usually tied up. Twice they nearly collided, but Jim was able to catch Blair before either was hurt.

With the score fourteen to thirteen with Blair leading, Jim focused on his guide as he stood in the service box. If Blair got this point, he'd win the match, and Ellison was nothing if not competitive. As soon as the serve came back to cross the receiving line, Jim moved into the offensive position. He struck the ball so it hit the side wall, ceiling, then the front wall, to come down only two feet from the front wall. Blair charged toward it and miraculously kept the ball in play, forcing Jim to backstep to play the ball off the back wall. He ran forward while Blair dodged backward to catch the ball as it bounced behind the receiving line.

Jim heard Blair's racquet connect with the ball, then there was a dull thud and Jim stumbled forward to drop to his knees on the floor.

"Jim! God, Jim, are you all right?" Blair asked anxiously, leaning over his sentinel.

"What the hell happened?"

Blair glanced away, embarrassed. "I hit you. Got you in the, uh--"

"You hit me in the ass." Jim rubbed the offended body part. It stung like a son of a bitch. "Must've been a helluva swing."

"Sorry. I was imagining the ball as--" Blair broke off.

"As me, Sandburg?" Jim glared at him.

Blair took a deep breath and bravely met his eyes. "I was thinking about how you were being such a pain in the ass a couple days ago, and I guess my subconscious gave you a fitting, uh, reward."

"Reward, my ass," Jim muttered.

Blair pressed his lips together to keep from laughing, but it didn't work. His amusement burst forth and he laughed until tears ran down his face and he was lying on the floor on his back, his arms laid across his belly. Jim merely watched him, fascinated, like Blair was an upside-down beetle. At some point, Jim shifted to sit on the floor, but changed his mind and remained on his knees.

"Feeling better, Chief?" Jim asked dryly when Blair's chortles finally diminished.

Blair wiped at his streaming eyes and turned his head to gaze at Jim. "Yeah, I am. Laughter's the best medicine, man." He grimaced. "Except for my stomach--I think I pulled a muscle."

Jim rolled his eyes, but was relieved to see the stress lines gone from his friend's brow. "Wouldn't surprise me, Chief." He extended his hand. "Want to give me a hand up here?"

Blair scrambled to his feet and grasped his hand. "I am really sorry, Jim. I didn't plan on hitting you. You know me, the world's greatest pacifist."

With Blair's help, Jim came to his feet and stared in disbelief at his partner. "You, a pacifist? I don't think so, Chief. Vending machine, wrench, baseball, fire hose--these ringing a bell?"

"But I don't like guns," Blair offered with a shrug.

"But you do know how to use them," Jim amended, thinking of his cousin Rucker and the problems they had when they'd visited him.

Blair's cheeks reddened. "Self-defense. Some of the expeditions I was on, we had to be certified in firearms training."

Jim balanced most of his weight on his uninjured side. "You have any other deep dark secrets you want to share with me, Chief?"

Blair thought for a moment, then shook his head. "Nah. I like to spring them on you at random intervals." He grinned. "Looks like I won the tiebreaker."

"How do you figure that?"

"If you weren't in my way, the ball would've hit the front wall."

"And I would've returned it."

"You don't know that."

"And you don't know the ball would've hit the front wall."

"Hah! Just check out your bruise. That ball had enough force behind it to--"

Jim held up his hand. "Whoa, Chief! No one, not even you, is going to check out my bruise. Let's just leave the game as a stalemate and go home. I want to soak in a hot bathtub or I won't be able to walk tomorrow."

Immediately, Blair's expression turned contrite. "I am so sorry, Jim. I guess I had a lot more frustration bottled up than I thought."

Jim sighed. "Don't worry about it, Chief." He hobbled toward the door.

Blair ran ahead of him and opened the door, then followed Jim through. Stiffly, Jim pulled on his sweatpants, wincing when the material moved across the lower part of his left cheek.

Blair hovered as the two men slowly made their way to the front desk, where Jael was still at work. The grad student handed her his racquet and eyewear.

"What happened, Detective?" Jael asked.

Jim felt heat flood his face. "Sandburg, ah, nailed me during the last round."

Jael's lips twitched and her gaze darted everywhere, except for Jim and Blair. "Well, you did say you wanted Blair to work off some frustration."

"Yeah, I know, but I won't be able to sit down for a few days."

Jael started coughing as her face turned red.

Jim touched her arm. "Are you okay?"

She waved a hand. "Fine, fine," she replied hoarsely. "J-just a dry spot in my throat."

Blair tugged on Jim's arm. "C'mon, man, let's go. I have papers to correct."

Jim glanced down at his guide, whose face was crimson and he was practically dragging him toward the door. Frowning at Blair's sudden urgency, Jim allowed his partner to lead him back to the truck. Getting behind the wheel was a challenge for Jim, but he managed, putting most of his weight on his right cheek.

Blair was uncharacteristically quiet, but he kept shooting glances at Jim, which the detective couldn't quite interpret. Concern, yes, but something more. Embarrassment? Well, that would make sense after hitting his partner in the ass. But there seemed to be something else.

Jim shuffled into 852 and was relieved to see the elevator was working. He and Blair rode up in silence, and as soon as they were inside the apartment, Jim headed for the bathroom.

"I'll get you some clean clothes," Blair offered, and before Jim could protest, the younger man was bounding up the stairs.

Shrugging, Jim ran hot water into the tub and shed his clothes. Just as he was getting ready to step into the tub, Blair knocked on the door.

"C'mon in," Jim said.

Blair entered and halted abruptly, but quickly recovered. "Here's a pair of boxers and your robe. Slippers, too."

"Thanks, Chief." Jim turned and entered the tub, hissing at the water's temperature.

"Dial it down, Jim," Blair said.

The sentinel did as his guide suggested and relief poured through him. He sank into the water, sighing with pleasure.

"That's a helluva bruise, Jim," Blair commented, leaning against the sink with his arms crossed.

Jim sent a mock glare his way. "Were you checking it out, Chief?"

Blair shrugged and his eyes danced. "Jael obviously thought so."

Jim stilled. "What're you talking about?"

"Didn't you get it? She thought--thinks--we're doing it."

"Doing what?" But Jim had a sinking suspicion what he meant.

"The dirty deed." Blair waggled his eyebrows. "That comment about me nailing you was priceless."

Jim leaned his head back against the tub edge and groaned. "Shit. I didn't even realize..."

"Yeah, well, it's not anything half the department doesn't think already."

Jim knew that, but he didn't realize Blair had heard the comments, too. He cracked one eye open. "Does that bother you?"

Blair laughed. "Are you kidding? To think that someone like you would actually be interested in someone like me... C'mon, Jim, why would that bother me?"

Jim's other eye popped open. "Don't rumors like that put a crimp in your dating life?"

"If you haven't noticed, I haven't had one of those for weeks."

"Because of the rumors?"

Blair shook his head impatiently. "No. Between all my work and...other reasons, I haven't had the time or inclination." He straightened. "Look, I'll start dinner and when you get out, then I'll take a quick shower. After we eat, I'll get to work on grading papers." He disappeared, closing the bathroom door behind him.

Jim stared after him, his mind whirling and his bruised butt forgotten. Fifteen minutes later, he detected the scent of tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. Comfort food. Moving stiffly, Jim dried off, and donned his boxers and robe. After sliding his feet into his comfortable scuffs, he hobbled into the kitchen.

"Take over, man, and I'll shower." Blair handed him the spoon to stir the soup.

Before Jim could do more than take the spoon, the younger man headed down the hall. Ten minutes later, Blair emerged and Jim had their meal on the table. Jim sat down gingerly, while Blair joined him, now dressed in a clean pair of sweatpants, along with a flannel shirt. His hair was still wet and a few strands dripped water onto his shoulders.

"Thanks, Jim," Blair said.

"For what?"

"Taking care of me. You knew I needed that work-out and you didn't back down."

"Been there myself, Chief."

Blair picked at his sandwich. "Have you ever thought about it?"

"What?"

"You. Me. Us."

Jim's mind conjured Blair in his snug shorts and tee-shirt, and his agile body as he moved with graceful, sure movements. "I don't know. Maybe. You?"

Blair shrugged. "Sometimes. Maybe."

They ate the rest of their meal in silence, then working in perfect accord, they washed the dishes and put them away.

Blair crossed to his backpack and settled cross-legged on the sofa. He started pulling papers from the pack.

"I was serious about giving you a hand," Jim said quietly.

"The tests have twenty-five multiple choice and twenty-five true/false questions."

"Bring them on." Jim rubbed his hands together and moved to the couch.

"Hold on," Blair said. He darted upstairs and returned with one of Jim's fluffy pillows. He set it on the couch. "Sit on this. It'll help."

Jim smiled. "Thanks." He settled on the soft pillow and sighed in contentment.

"No problem. Even though you can be a real pain in the ass sometimes, I really didn't mean to give you a pain in the ass," Blair said, his eyes twinkling.

"Laugh it up, Sandburg. Next time, I'll be the one to nail your ass," Jim teased.

Blair arched an eyebrow. "Promises, promises Ellison."

A red pen was thrust under Jim's nose, a welcome diversion to his decidedly flummoxed state.

"A red pen. You use it to correct papers," Blair explained as if Jim's brains had fallen out.

Jim nabbed the pen and glared at his partner. "I have done this before, Sandburg."

Blair grinned. "Testy, aren't we?"

In spite of the horrible pun, Jim couldn't help but laugh. It was good to see his Blair back.

The evening passed in comfortable silence as the two men sat side by side, not as sentinel and guide, but best friends.

And maybe a little more.

End Screen Ball Hinder by Romslinger: romslinger@yahoo.com

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