The Sentinel and its characters do not belong to me. They are owned by Pet Fly and Paramount. No copyright infringement was intended by the author.

Sincere appreciation and gratitude is directed toward those whose input and editing skills made this a better story--Terri, Kimberly, and Heather-Anne. Thank you from the bottom of my heart, gals!

Pardon a minor rant. This story contains male pregnancy. Blair is nursing their newborn, and is therefore lactating. If the thought of Blair with small breasts bothers you, turn back now. Given the amounts of female hormones still in his system, plus the lactating, male breasts are almost inevitable. Note they are described as *small* mounds, not Dolly Parton boobs. This is a scientific probability, and like it or not, it's the way it is. If you don't like MPREG (or pregnancy in general) or the physical changes pregnancy brings about, I'd rather you NOT read this story. Why waste your time, then spend even more time complaining about it? You have been warned. Also, neither this story, nor its predecessor nor sequel were written as *comedies*. This is DRAMA, folks. Hopefully, I have added a few scenes that will bring a smile to your face, but this is not meant as farcical as with the movie "Junior." I have done my best to relate how a real male pregnancy might progress, were it ever to become possible. I have extrapolated from current genetic research. Yes, this is fiction and not all the facts are going to be 100% accurate. I have done my best, and I'm proud of this series. If you feel the need to tear into it, then I suggest you get a life; or write your own; or go somewhere else to read. This is not for you.

This story is a sequel to: Nine Months

"Owwww. . . ." The moan carried through the door and out into the hall as Jim made his way from the elevator, shopping bag in hand. He fit the key in the lock and opened the door. On the couch, his lover was slumped in a miserable heap, the baby sleeping soundly in her crib.

"Did you bring it?" Blair asked.

Jim smiled at the petulant tone and pulled a small jar of ointment from the bag. Coming over to settle himself on the floor between Blair's knees, he carefully unbuttoned the soft flannel shirt and opened it, revealing two softly rounding breasts protruding from the thatch of chest hair. Scooping some ointment onto his fingers, he began to gently massage it into the sore, cracked nipples.

"Oh, man, that feels nice," Blair purred, relaxing into the cushions as Jim ministered to him. "Lynne didn't warn me about this little complication of breastfeeding."

"She probably didn't want to scare you off," Jim chuckled. "The pharmacist said this stuff is safe for the baby, so don't worry about nursing when we're done here."

"Hopefully, I won't have to worry about that for another couple hours," Blair said wistfully. "I just fed her and put her down for a nap."

Jim finished his doctoring and came to sit next to his lover on the couch. "How about a little nap time for Mommy, too?" he said, pulling Blair down so that his head rested in Jim's lap. "It's been a long week for you."

Too tired to protest the "Mommy" line, Blair simply murmured, "Yeah," and closed his eyes. Since coming home from the hospital five days ago, their world had revolved around feedings and diapers. Jim was grateful to escape to the office each day, where all he had to deal with was the low-life scum of Cascade. Blair, on the other hand, was kept busy nursing every two to three hours, never seeming to get enough sleep to keep him going. The cracked nipples simply added insult to injury, making Jim feel a bit guilty about enjoying his time away from home.

He absently stroked the long, soft curls beneath his hand. Since getting pregnant, Blair had not had the time or energy to get his hair cut, and the hormones had stimulated its growth. Jim decided he liked mid-back length, the way it fell over Blair's shoulders, sheltering father and daughter during nursings, how it tangled in his fingers and tickled his chest and abdomen as they made love.

Leaning his head back against the couch cushions, Jim closed his eyes, content to enjoy the rare peace in what had become the bustle of their lives.

~oO0Oo~

A squall woke the slumbering couple an hour later. Moaning in disbelief, Blair pushed himself up from the comfort of his Sentinel's lap and turned toward the crib.

"When will she start sleeping through the night?" Jim asked, watching as Blair plodded slowly across the room to where Laurene was putting up a fuss in her crib.

"Probably not until three or four months," Blair answered tiredly. "Once she starts eating solid foods, she'll have enough in her tummy to hold her several hours. Breast milk digests too quickly."

"Well, maybe considering the problems you're having nursing, we should at least consider formula. Don't babies sleep longer when they're formula-fed?"

"Yeah, but it's not the same. I started this; I'm gonna finish it." He checked the diaper, and finding it dry, lifted Laurene from her bed and carried her over to the couch. Settling down in one corner, Blair unbuttoned his shirt and positioned the baby over his heart. Latching on with the vengeance of the hungry, she began to nurse enthusiastically.

Jim watched Blair's face, sentinel sight catching every flicker of pain that crossed those expressive eyes as their daughter pulled at the sore nipple. Stoically, Blair endured what had become a painful experience for him. Jim sidled over, draping an arm around the younger man's shoulders and pulling his family against him. Blair snuggled his head under Jim's chin, and sighed.

Jim petted the soft curls tickling his chin and clucked soothing noises at the nursing father and baby. Blair slipped one finger between his nipple and the puckered lips of his infant daughter, breaking the suction so he could shift her to the other breast. A weary sigh escaped as he snuggled deeper into the Sentinel's protective embrace.

Jim pressed his lips into the soft hair under his chin, kissing Blair gently. "Hang in there, Hon. You're doing great," he whispered.

When Laurene had finally finished her feeding, Jim extricated her from the arms of her daddy and took her across the room to the changing table. Expertly stripping off the miniature newborn diaper, he quickly folded it and deposited it in the pail. Wiping down the tiny butt with a moist towelette and sprinkling it with cornstarch baby powder, he quickly replaced the wet diaper with a dry one.

A loud thud made him turn around to see Blair lying on the floor midway between the couch and the kitchen. He quickly positioned Laurene on her back in the center of the crib. Rushing to his partner's side, he knelt down in front of the rocking, shuddering figure.

"Blair, what's wrong?" At first, he got no response. Blair's eyes were tightly shut, tears glistening under his lashes. With arms wrapped tightly around himself, he was rocking in place. "Blair?" Jim reached a hand out to lay gently on his back.

"Oh, God, it hurts, Jim!" Blair hissed through clenched teeth. "What's happening? Why does it hurt?" He continued the rhythmic rocking motion.

Jim noted with alarm how pale the younger man had become. Without answering the rhetorical questions, he stood and lunged for the phone. "I'm calling 911," he said as he dialed.

"Make it stop, Jim," Blair cried before listing to the side and falling over.

The sudden quiet in the room panicked the usually stoic Sentinel. As he waited for the ambulance to arrive, he moved sensitive hands over his Guide, trying to determine what had caused the sudden collapse. The pasty white complexion and shallow breathing had all his alarm bells ringing. It took a major force of will to leave Blair's side when the doorbell rang. "Hang in there, Blair. It's going to be all right," he soothed before standing and making a rush for the door.

The paramedics hurried to the side of the stricken man, assessing his vital signs and asking questions. "Can you tell us what happened here?" the Asian medic asked, looking up at Jim.

"He'd just finished nursing and I was changing the baby. . . ."

"Whoa, back up here a minute," the older, senior medic said. "Nursing?"

"He just had a baby, dammit," Jim exploded. "We don't have time for this. He's dying!"

The medics looked up questioningly, while continuing to set up the IV line and getting Blair settled onto the backboard for transport to the gurney waiting by the door.

"We're part of Dr. Lynne Casey's male pregnancy program," he explained quickly. "Blair gave birth eight days ago. He's only been home from the hospital for five days." He watched as the men carried the backboard and its precious cargo over to the gurney. "He'd just finished nursing and I was taking care of the baby when I heard him fall. He had his arms wrapped around his stomach and was complaining about the pain. Then he passed out."

Liang Hu grabbed the portable phone that connected the medics to the hospital and called in with the statistics. "Make sure Dr. Casey is there when we get there. This is one of her male pregnancy patients," he added.

The medics hustled the gurney out into the hall and down to the elevator. Jim stood, temporarily rooted to the spot, watching them take Blair away. A traitorous thought flitted across his mind: would this be the last time he saw Blair alive? It's not fair, Chief. You can't leave me like this, not now. . . .

He stepped back inside, closing the door behind him. Mechanically, he walked over to the crib and scooped up his daughter, cuddling her against his breast. Whatever happened, he would always have a little piece of Blair here with him. But Blair wasn't going to die. He wouldn't dare.

He searched for the tiny coat, finally wrapping Laurene in several insulated blankets instead. Without putting her down, Jim managed to struggle into his own coat. Picking up his keys from the table by the door, he hurried out and down to the truck. Quickly strapping Laurene in her car seat, he slid into the driver's seat and gunned the engine. As he careened out of the parking lot, he grabbed for his portable light, turning it on along with his siren.

A few minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot opposite Cascade General's emergency room. Laurene tucked in the cradle of his left arm, he charged through the doors and straight to the nurses' desk.

"Blair Sandburg," he growled. "He was just brought in by ambulance a few minutes ago."

The nurse checked her records and looked up at the distraught man. "He's being prepped for surgery," she informed him.

"I need to see him," Jim insisted, heading for the double doors that led to the treatment area.

The petite nurse moved quickly from behind her desk to block his way. "I'm sorry, sir, but you can't see him right now. They're preparing him for emergency surgery."

"What kind?" Jim growled.

"I don't have that information," the nurse stated. "Now, if you'll just take a seat in the waiting area, I'll let you know as soon as there's any word from the surgeon."

"Like hell." Jim barged past the smaller woman and through the treatment room doors.

"Sir, you can't go back there," she called out, following him. "Doctor. . ." She snagged a passing physician and indicated the determined man with the baby striding down the hallway.

The doctor jogged to catch up, grabbing Jim's arm and pulling him around. "I'm sorry, sir, but this area is off limits to visitors. Who was it you were checking on?"

"Blair Sandburg." Jim cocked his head to one side and paused. "I don't hear him. Where is he?"

"If you'll please just wait outside," the doctor gestured back to the doors, "I promise I'll check immediately and come back with whatever news I can find out."

Jim visibly deflated, losing over an inch of his height as his shoulders drooped in defeat. Taking his daughter, he headed back toward the waiting room. "You'll check right away?" he asked, turning at the doors to nail the doctor with ice blue eyes.

"I promise I'll get right back to you," the doctor assured him.

Jim walked over to the bank of pay phones, dropped in his quarters, and dialed. "Simon? Yeah, it's me. I'm at Cascade General. Blair's in surgery. . . . I don't know, sir," he answered after a brief pause to listen. "He just collapsed at home, and I called 911. I'm waiting for someone to tell me what the hell's going on." He listened intently for a few seconds before responding again. "You don't have to do that, sir. We're fine," he lied. "Okay, Simon. Whatever you say. You're the boss." He hung up the phone and went back to settle in one of the hard plastic chairs. He looked down into the peacefully oblivious face of their sleeping daughter. "Your daddy's going to be okay, Sugar," he crooned. "He's got to be. . . ."

The sound of footsteps made the Sentinel look up from his musings. The doctor from the treatment rooms stood before him.

"I wasn't able to get too much information. It appears that the placenta is separating from the omentum, causing massive hemorrhage. He's in surgery now. Dr. Casey will come down and give you all the details once she's finished with the operation." The doctor appeared genuinely concerned, but couldn't be made to give out any more information. At this point, there was nothing more to know.

~oO0Oo~

Simon came bursting through the waiting room doors, followed closely by Megan Connor. Scanning the room, he quickly spotted his detective slouched in a chair near the nurses' desk. He walked over and dropped a large hand onto Jim's shoulder.

"Any news?"

Jim looked up, weariness ringing his eyes. "Not much, Simon. A doctor came out to tell me it had to do with a separated placenta and massive hemorrhage, but he didn't have anything more to say. We have to wait for Lynne to finish the surgery."

"But the placenta is expelled right after birth," Megan commented, looking puzzled.

"Not in a male pregnancy," Jim explained. "The placenta is left intact, and is absorbed by the body. At least, that's what's supposed to happen."

"But Sandburg can't do anything the easy way," Simon interjected, shaking his head.

"Yeah, trouble still comes looking for him around every corner," Jim answered wryly. There was a pause as he looked at his sleeping daughter, then up into the dark brown eyes of his captain. "I can't lose him, Simon. I can't. Blair's my whole life. I can't raise our daughter alone."

Sinking down into the chair next to Jim, Simon lifted the small bundle from his arms, cradling the infant gently in his large hands. "You'd be surprised what you can do when you have to, Jim." He studied his detective closely. "Blair's going to pull through. He's strong. You have to believe in him. Don't give up on him yet."

"I haven't, Simon, but it's hard, you know?" His ruminations were interrupted by some soft lip smacking, followed by a hearty bellow of hunger. The cry elicited a weak smile from the new father. "She's hungry again," he mentioned unnecessarily.

"Did you bring along the diaper bag?" Megan asked.

Jim looked up at her, perplexed. "Diaper bag? God, no. I wasn't thinking of Laurene when this happened."

"Well, give me the keys to the apartment, and I'll go pick up a few things for you," the Aussie Inspector offered. "Do you have any formula?

"No." Jim shook his head. "Blair's been breastfeeding, and he wouldn't allow a can of formula in the house."

"I'll pick one up for you, then," Megan said, grabbing the offered keys and heading for the door. She returned within a half hour, loaded down with diapers, bottles and baby accessories.

"Here you go, mate," she said, depositing her load at Jim's feet. "I got the premixed formula. You can feed it right out of the can."

"It's not warmed," Jim protested.

"Don't worry," Simon assured him. "If she's hungry enough, she'll eat it. Trust me."

Megan popped the can open and filled a bottle, handing it to Jim who quickly pushed it into the squalling mouth. Quiet immediately descended as Laurene sucked eagerly at the offering.

~oO0Oo~

Lynne Casey emerged from surgery five hours later, wearily tugging at her soiled gloves. She scooped the surgical cap from her head, allowing her long hair to fall free, and made her way down the hallway to the waiting room.

Jim rose immediately upon seeing the doctor enter the room. "How's Blair? What happened? Can I see him?"

Lynne smiled wearily at the barrage of questions. "Blair's fine. It was really touch and go there for a while, we nearly lost him more than once, but he's a fighter. In a small number of cases of male pregnancy, the placenta spontaneously separates from the abdominal wall, instead of being absorbed, as would be expected, leaving a large wound that needs to be sutured shut. Blair drew the short straw. There's no rhyme nor reason to this kind of thing happening. It just does sometimes.

"Anyway, he lost a lot of blood. We had to transfuse five pints during the surgery. He was bleeding out, but you got him here in time."

"When can we see him?" Jim repeated.

"Well, I really need to ask you to wait a while longer. He's in ICU recovery now. We're watching him closely. When he's stable enough to be moved to a room, you can go up, Jim, but you'll have to leave Laurene with one of your colleagues, here. Babies aren't allowed to visit in ICU."

"Blair's going to want to see her."

"He's just going to have to wait. Babies pose too much risk of infection, and Blair's condition is still critical."

"How long?"

"At least another hour," Lynne said sympathetically. "Why don't you try going down to the cafeteria and getting yourself a bite to eat? You've got a long, rough road ahead, Jim, and you need to keep up your strength."

"I'll just wait here," Jim intoned.

"Like hell you will, Detective." Simon's bellow was muted in deference to the hospital environment. "I'm taking you down for at least a cup of coffee. No arguments."

Jim gathered up Laurene's supplies, stuffing them back into the diaper bag, then stood and followed his captain. Once in the cafeteria, he hunched over his cup of strong, black coffee as Megan entertained the baby.

"He's going to be fine now, Jim. You can stop worrying," Simon soothed.

"I'll feel better when I can talk to him myself," Jim mumbled. "You didn't see him, Simon. He was white as a sheet and barely breathing. I thought I'd lost him for sure." His hands trembled slightly as he picked up the cup and sipped at the brew. "He was in such pain, and then he was gone. I was so afraid I wasn't going to get to tell him good-bye." He nearly choked on the next sip of coffee, as he tried to rein in the tears before they could get started.

No one spoke, letting Jim get control before continuing on. Simon spotted a plate with muffins stacked high and went to purchase one. He came back to the table and split the muffin three ways. He shoved a piece in front of Jim, who mumbled his thanks, but ignored the offering.

Megan dug into her portion with gusto. "Mmmm, this is really good, Simon. Orange-cranberry's one of my favorites." She turned toward Jim. "You should try it, Jim," she urged.

"Yeah," Simon chimed in. "What would Sandburg say?"

Jim looked up, a ghost of a smile turning up the corners of his mouth. "He'd ask why I think I have to fill my bloodstream with mega-doses of sugar and fat, and tell me that the minuscule amounts of fruit don't begin to make up for it . . . then he'd suggest a Cobb salad instead."

"And your response would be?" Simon prompted.

Jim shoved the entire muffin section into his mouth and attempted to chew. Simon's guffaw of genuine mirth brought smiles to both the Sentinel and the Inspector.

When Jim could finally swallow and speak again, he looked at his friends. "I need to go check on Blair."

"I suppose that means I have to give up this precious bundle," Megan sighed, handing a sleeping Laurene over to her father.

"Thanks, Megan."

"You can ask me to babysit anytime." She flashed him a huge smile.

"Mind if we go with you?" Simon asked, rising.

"If you want," Jim answered absently, making his way out of the cafeteria and back toward the main desk in the hospital's lobby.

"May I help you?" the receptionist at the desk asked.

"Yes. Is Blair Sandburg settled in his room yet?"

The woman checked her computer. "Are you Jim Ellison?"

"Yes, I am," Jim answered.

"There's a note here that Dr. Casey will come down to speak with you when Mr. Sandburg is ready for visitors. If you'd just have a seat over there," she indicated a row of chairs, "I'll inform Dr. Casey that you're here."

Simon and Megan settled in the indicated seats, while Jim prowled the lobby, burning off the nervous energy that seemed to permeate every fiber of every muscle.

Lynne Casey came striding purposefully down the hallway, stopping in front of the pacing man. "He's settled now, Jim," she said softly. "He's still in critical condition, so the visit will have to be short."

"Megan, do you mind?" Jim asked, handing the baby to the Inspector.

Megan was immediately on her feet. "Happy to, Love," she said, holding out her arms.

"There's an observation window in the room. You all could come up. Blair could at least see that he has other visitors." She smiled. "I'm sure he'd love to see Laurene, even if it's only through the window. Come this way." She led the way down the hall to a bank of elevators. Stepping onto the first one available, she pressed the button for the fifth floor.

"His room is right here, off the nurses' station," Lynne said, indicating a room whose door was slightly ajar. "He was still sleeping when I came to get you. You can sit with him a while, until he wakes up again."

Jim pushed the door open carefully and stepped inside. The figure occupying the single bed in the room looked so small and pale, dwarfed by the equipment and lines monitoring his well-being. Somewhere inside the tangle of IV tubing and oxygen masks lay his partner. He stepped to Blair's left and picked up a limp hand, careful of the needles protruding from the delicate veins.

"God, Blair, why does this keep happening to us?" He sighed, looking down onto the peacefully sleeping face.

Dr. Casey interrupted his reverie. "It's all right to wake him. Actually, according to the monitors, he's not even asleep."

"I know," Jim answered absently. "His heart rate and respiration are too high for sleep."

"How did you. . . ?"

"I was a medic in the Army," came the quick response.

Lynne brushed an errant lock from Blair's forehead and leaned down close to his ear. "Blair, Jim's here to see you. Won't you please open your eyes for him? He's been very worried about you."

"Blair, please?" Jim begged. "I need to see you're all right. I need to hear it from you." He waited, rubbing the back of the limp hand with his thumb. After what seemed an interminable time, a slit of blue showed under the heavy, dark lashes. "That's it, Blair. Wake up for me--you can do it."

The sliver of blue got larger, until Blair was finally focused in on his Sentinel. "Jim?" The voice was weak, but firm.

"That's me, Sweetheart. How're you feeling?"

"Not so hot," Blair muttered.

"You've just been through surgery," Lynne explained, "and you're in ICU. I wouldn't expect you to be feeling too well right now."

"My breasts hurt."

Jim laid down the hand he was holding to gently probe the small globes. "They're pretty hard, all right," he noted.

"When did he last nurse Laurene?" Dr. Casey asked.

"Just before he collapsed," Jim answered.

"That would explain it, then." Lynne nodded. "It's been nearly seven hours since he last nursed, and I'm sure he's used to feedings every two hours or so." Jim nodded in agreement. Lynne turned her attention to Blair. "Your breasts are engorged with milk. I'll have to go find you a breast pump." She looked up at Jim. "We can help him express the milk now, and then again at two-hour intervals. This first milk will have to be discarded because of the anesthesia and medications, but once he's been stabilized, and is off the heavy pain medications, the milk can be stored and used to feed Laurene until Blair is able to nurse again."

Blair's eyes had drifted shut again. Lynne turned to go locate the pump, while Jim gently shook a shoulder. "Laurene's here, Blair."

The statement caused Blair to open his eyes again. He looked at Jim, who pointed toward the window. Turning his head, he saw their child proudly displayed there by Megan. She smiled and lifted one of the baby's small arms to wave at her daddy.

"I want to hold her," Blair whispered.

"Sorry, Sweetheart, not yet." Jim's voice was full of regret.

"I miss her."

"I know you do. She misses you, too, Blair."

"It's not fair, Jim." Blair's eyes filled with tears that quickly turned into a cascade down his cheeks. "She needs me."

"Shh, shh, it's okay," Jim soothed, petting the top of Blair's head. "She misses you as much as I do, but if we follow all the rules, you'll be able to come home sooner, and we'll all be a family again."

Lynne walked back in carrying a breast pump. Mindful of the IV tubing sprouting from seemingly everywhere, she peeled down Blair's gown, exposing the small, firm mounds of his breasts. "You place the cup firmly over the nipple, like this," she demonstrated, "then flip this little switch." The battery-operated unit hummed to life, creating a suction around the breast, pulling gently at the nipple. Squirts of milk began to slowly fill the attached baby bottle. When the flow finally diminished, she turned the unit off. "Now we do the other breast. Jim, do you want to try?"

Jim looked a little startled. "Shouldn't Blair be doing this?"

"Normally, yes, but he's too weak right now to hold the pump in place. You'll have to do it for him until he can do it himself."

Reluctantly, Jim took the offered pump and positioned it over the other breast. "That's right," Lynne reassured him. He flicked the switch and watched as the suction pulled the milk from his lover's breast.

When they were finished, a small sigh issued from the bed's occupant. "Better." Blair turned his head toward Jim. "How long?"

"How long, what?"

"How long since Laurene ate?"

"Oh, not more than an hour ago, I think," he answered.

"How?"

"Huh?" Jim was thrown a bit by the question. Blair was not yet strong enough to manage complicated sentences. Then it dawned on him. "We had to buy her some formula."

"No. . ." Blair moaned. "No, no, no. . ."

"Blair, Sweetheart, we had to do something. You were in surgery, and she was hungry. What else could we do?"

The tears, always near the surface now, began to slide down Blair's cheeks again. "Oh, don't do that, please," Jim begged, wiping them off Blair's cheeks with a thumb. He leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss against slightly parted lips. "Everything's going to be fine now," Jim assured his partner, and in his own heart, he finally believed it himself.

~oO0Oo~

Lynne had eventually kicked him out. Reluctantly, he had come home, feeling strangely empty and at a loss for what to do. Laurene was fussing, so he fixed a bottle of formula and settled down on the couch to feed her. She spit out the bottle's nipple twice before finally accepting the foreign taste of the formula, and drinking hungrily. When she had finished, Jim changed her diaper and put her down for a nap in her crib.

Once the baby was settled, Jim paced around the loft, nervous energy still not completely dissipated from the stress-inducing day. He found himself in front of Blair's old bedroom, which had become a catch-all storage room for the anthropologist since he moved upstairs to sleep. The thought entered his mind that the tiny room would make an excellent nursery. So far, Laurene's crib had been rolled around the downstairs area during the day, to wherever it was most convenient at the time, and she spent her nights in bed between her daddies, making late night feedings much easier on Blair. She needed a room of her own.

Taking a deep breath, Jim dove into the mess, stacking and organizing. A trip to the basement storage area produced boxes, which Jim quickly filled. Leaving the books and pictures intact, as well as some of Blair's ornamental wall hangings, he efficiently boxed and cleaned the contents of the room. Even the futon was dragged out. Next time Simon came over, he could help Jim get the bed into the basement.

Suddenly overcome with exhaustion from the stress of a long day, he flopped down on the futon and closed his eyes. Blair's scent still lightly permeated the bedding. Pulling a brightly colored Peruvian blanket around himself, he fell asleep.

He awoke, several hours later, to the lusty wailing of their daughter. He climbed out of the warmth of his cocoon, loath to leave the reminder of his love, in order to attend to her. Once Laurene was comfortable again, he took her upstairs to the bed, cuddling her tiny body against his chest.

His night's sleep was interrupted with regularity, and when morning finally arrived, Jim arose, less than rested and feeling Blair's absence deeply.

A quick shower and shave freshened him, but did nothing to cheer his mood. With no appetite for breakfast, he wandered back over to the newly created nursery. He looked the room over critically before making a decision. Marching out the front door, he walked over to apartment 306 across and down the hall. Mrs. McGinty, a gray-haired, grandmotherly woman, opened to his knock.

"Oh, Detective Ellison. How good to see you! How's Blair and that sweet little baby of yours?"

"Blair's in the hospital," he started to explain. Mrs. McGinty clucked her tongue and looked saddened. "He had a complication from giving birth, but he's going to be okay. It's a little dicey right now, but his doctor is confident everything's going to be fine."

"I'm so glad to hear that," the woman exclaimed. "Would you like to come in?"

"No, actually, I was hoping I could convince you to come over and watch Laurene for a few minutes. I need to go to the hardware store."

"Oh, I'd be more than happy to help." She shuffled out into the hallway, pulling her door shut behind her. "That baby of yours is such a sweet thing. Nary a peep out of her."

Jim grinned, knowing the old woman was hard of hearing. "Yeah, she's pretty well-behaved for a newborn," he agreed. He opened the door to 307 and ushered Mrs. McGinty in. "She's sleeping right now. Feel free to watch TV or something. I shouldn't be long."

"No problem, young man. Take your time." She walked over to the crib and smiled sweetly at the tiny baby nestled in her blankets.

Jim waved good-bye and headed out to the truck. Fifteen minutes later he was at the hardware store, in the paint section. After much indecision, he finally picked out two gallons of a pale mint green and a roll of wallpaper edging. Loading his purchases into the truck, he made his way back to the loft.

When he arrived home, the smell of baking wafted into the hallway. Opening the door, the sweet scent of chocolate hit his sinuses and palate at the same time. "Whoa! Mrs. McGinty, what are you up to?"

"You boys didn't have a single sweet in the house, except for fruit. I thought you might enjoy some of my chocolate chip cookies." She smiled up from the batch she was transferring to the cooling racks.

"Um, yeah. That's great, thanks." Jim's mouth watered. "You didn't have to do that, you know."

"Oh, I wanted to, believe me," the old woman said, continuing her cookie assembly line.

"Well, okay then," Jim agreed. "It won't bother you if I paint?"

"Not at all. Not at all," she said, ignoring the detective in favor of the next batch of cookies.

Jim entered the small room again, knowing he needed to take things off the walls now. He piled everything just outside the room, found his drop cloths and prepared the windows and baseboards for painting.

By the time he had finished, Mrs. McGinty had cleaned up and gone home, leaving a huge container of fresh cookies behind. Jim cleaned himself up, just as Laurene woke up crying.

Going over to the crib, the sweet scent of chocolate was quickly replaced by something less pleasant. "Geez, Blair," he muttered, "why aren't you here to do this?" He tried dialing down his sense of smell, but it didn't help much. He placed Laurene on the diapering table and peeled back the Velcro tabs of the diaper to reveal the stinky mess.

Holding two tiny ankles together with one large hand, he lifted the baby's butt out of the primordial slime of the diaper. One-handedly, he rolled and pitched it, knowing he would have to empty the garbage tonight if he was ever going to get any sleep. Fresh paint had nothing on the smell of a dirty diaper. He took a towelette and wiped down the dirty bottom, finding some relief. Actually, when he thought about it, Laurene hadn't had a bath since Blair had gotten sick.

He wrapped his daughter loosely in a new diaper and placed her back into her crib. Going over to the sink, he got out the dishpan they used as a bathtub and began to run warm water into it. Gathering his supplies, he finally went to grab the object of all the preparations.

He lowered Laurene into the warm water, splashing some up her tiny chest, wetting her down thoroughly. Using a mild baby shampoo, he washed the copious reddish curls, gently massaging her scalp, then used some of the lather to cleanse her body.

Laurene endured the bath in stoic silence. Jim rinsed her off, then lifted her from the water, cocooning her in fluffy white towels.

Once the baby was dried and dressed, Jim warmed a bottle of formula and settled down in front of the TV for a feeding. There was a Jags game on, but somehow the remote tuned to the Learning Channel instead. He missed Blair. He missed Blair's noise; his constant chatter, his educational TV shows, his aboriginal music. The loft was too quiet with just the two of them there.

The ringing of the phone woke Jim. He came awake with a start, surprised at himself for having fallen asleep. "Ellison," he answered, succinctly.

Hi, Jim. Megan here.

"Oh, hi, Megan. What's up?"

Thought you might like a little relief. Have you been to see Blair yet today?

"As a matter of fact, no, I haven't. I've been a little busy."

I'm ready to leave for the day, Megan said, causing Jim to check the clock: 5:15 p.m. If you'd like, I'll stop by and watch Laurene so you can go spend a little time at the hospital.

"That would be great, Megan. Thanks."

No worries, mate. I'll be there in ten. Bye. With that, a soft click broke the connection.

Jim stood up, Laurene still cradled in his arms, and took her to the changing table to freshen her up. He laid her in her crib and wound up the musical mobile. Turning toward the kitchen, he proceeded to toss together a roast beef sandwich from some leftovers, washing it down with a tall glass of milk--the most nutrition he'd had in two days.

He'd just finished and was putting the dishes in the sink, when there came a knock on the door. "Hey, Megan." He hugged the Aussie Inspector warmly. She had become a very close friend of the family in the past few weeks.

"Hey, yourself. Where's the munchkin?" She walked unerringly across the room to the crib. "Here she is!" she crowed, lifting Laurene and cradling her in her arms. The baby answered with a coo of delight. "What a dolly." She turned to Jim. "Get along with you. Blair's been waiting all day."

~oO0Oo~

Jim arrived at Cascade General's ICU and went immediately to Blair's room. A smile greeted him.

"You're awake. That's a surprise."

"Nurse was just in," Blair answered briefly, indicating the IVs and monitors that needed frequent checking.

"Lucky for me. I usually have to sit here and wait for you to wake up. How are you feeling?"

"Fuzzy." Blair closed his eyes briefly, not yet having the strength to stay awake for long intervals. "Sit." He waved toward a chair pushed in the corner.

Jim pulled the chair over next to the bed and settled in. He picked up Blair's hand, squeezing gently. "You're looking better today, you've got more color."

"That's from all the nurses pinching my cheeks and telling me what a cutie I am. You'd better watch it, Jim, you've got competition." A small grin curled his lips.

"You can flirt all you want, Casanova. Just remember whose bed you come home to."

"Always." Blair attempted to squeeze Jim's hand in return, but managed only a weak curling of fingers. His eyelids slid shut again.

"Go to sleep," Jim suggested. "I don't mind, and you need your rest."

"I'm sorry," a nurse interrupted. She stood in the doorway with a cart filled with bathing supplies. "You'll have to step out of the room for a few minutes while I bathe Mr. Sandburg."

Jim stood, but didn't budge from Blair's side. "Let me."

"I'm sorry, sir, but that's impossible. If you'll just step outside, this will only take ten minutes." She pushed the cart up to the bed and began to peel back the blankets, mindful of all the needles and tubing sprouting from various areas of Blair's body.

"I'm Blair's S.O., and I used to be a medic in the Army. I know how to bathe bedridden patients."

"I'm sorry. . . ."

"Check with Dr. Casey," Jim interrupted, standing his ground.

"This is quite irregular," the nurse protested.

"So, what else is new? Go check." As the nurse backed out of the room, Jim took stock of the supplies on the cart. More than sufficient to do the job.

The nurse came back a few minutes later, looking a bit miffed, but resigned. "She said you could bathe him, as long as I stayed in the room to supervise in case anything goes wrong."

"What could go wrong? It's just a bath," Jim argued. "I'd like a little privacy." The nurse stood her ground. "All right, give me a minute, would you?" He stepped out into the hallway and over to the nurses' station. "Can you get Dr. Casey for me, please?" he asked, picking up the phone's handset and handing it to the nurse at the desk.

Several minutes and a short conversation later, the head nurse on the floor entered Blair's room and escorted her indignant colleague out. "He's all yours. Ring the call button if you have any problems."

Turning on his heel, Jim re-entered the room and pulled the blinds shut. "Finally, a little privacy," he breathed. "Hey, Chief." He shook Blair lightly. "You ready for a bath?"

Blair nodded agreement, smiling, even though his eyes were still closed.

Jim carefully stripped off Blair's gown, then draped it modestly across his hips. Taking the waterless cleansing foam, he saturated a cloth and began at Blair's neck and shoulders, working methodically down his chest, skirting the still-sore nipples as the cloth caressed each small breast. He worked quickly, mindful of how easily his partner chilled, scrubbing down his chest and abdomen until finally reaching his hips. He removed the cotton gown, exposing lax genitals nestled in a thatch of dark curly hair. After a half dozen heartbeats, he lifted them gently in the palm of his hand and washed them. He longed for the intimacy so long deprived them by the pregnancy, birth, and now this, but steeled his resolve to be patient. Blair was worth waiting for.

He pulled gently at his partner's shoulder and hip, turning him about three-quarters of the way over, so he could reach around to scrub back and buttocks. When he had finished, he pulled a clean gown from the cart and dressed Blair. He then finished wiping down legs and feet. He pulled the blanket up to Blair's chest, laying his arms on top of the covers.

"Ready to have me tackle that mop on your head?" he asked his dozing partner.

Blair cracked his eyes open and nodded. Jim knew well how much the young man hated dirty hair. At home, those curls were washed daily, sometimes twice a day, if conditions warranted. He filled his palm with the rinseless shampoo and began massaging it into Blair's scalp, working his way out to the ends of the long, kinky strands of silk. He then toweled out the moisture and oils before pushing the cart aside, finished at last.

"How am I supposed to comb out that mass?" he mused aloud, pulling a small, black comb from his hip pocket and shaking his head.

"Pants."

Jim turned to look at the figure on the bed. "Pocket." Blair had lifted an arm and was pointing toward the closet.

Getting up, Jim went to search through the pockets of the jeans Blair had been wearing when he was brought into the hospital the day before. In the left hip pocket was a bright red stylist's pick. He withdrew the instrument, and returned to the bedside, carefully detangling the curling strands until Blair's hair lay like russet silk against the stark white of the pillowcase.

"Better?" He stroked his fingers across Blair's forehead, brushing a stubborn lock of hair out of his eyes.

"Much. Thanks, Jim." Jim watched as two tired eyes opened to smile at him with guileless blue.

"You're welcome. It was my pleasure." Jim's voice held obvious affection. He leaned down to press his lips against the full ones beneath him, and was surprised when they parted, offering more than the usual Puritan pecks that had become the norm of late. He allowed himself a brief taste before pulling back, afraid of his body's reactions if he lingered. "You rest now, okay?" Blair nodded. "I'll be back tomorrow. Love you, Babe."

"Love you," the soft voice replied before Blair's breathing evened out in sleep.

Softly, Jim pulled the door closed behind him as he left.

The following morning:

Stripping off his dirty clothes, Jim entered the bathroom and started the water for the shower. After his morning ablutions were finished, he went upstairs to dress.

He was just starting breakfast, when there was a knock at the door. Puzzled, he went to see who would be visiting at this early hour. "Mrs. McGinty! What are you doing over here so early?"

"I thought you might need some help with the baby, seeing as how your young man isn't here."

Jim grinned, wondering how Blair would react to being called his "young man." At least the old woman didn't seem to disapprove of their relationship. "Please come in. I was just fixing breakfast. Would you like to join me?"

"Oh, thank you, no," she answered. "I've already eaten. You go right ahead." She bustled herself into the apartment, making herself at home. "You must be lonely," she said, turning to Jim. "I remember what it was like right after my Glover died. The apartment was so empty, so quiet. My children had all moved away. I hardly knew what to do with myself."

"Well, Blair isn't dead," Jim reminded her. "He's coming home. And I have Laurene here for company."

"Little ones are more work than company," she said knowingly, "but they do tend to soothe that aching spot in your heart. . . ." Her eyes became vacant as her mind wandered through old memories. Snapping back to the present, she pinned Jim with a look. "You miss him."

"Yeah, I do," Jim admitted.

"Why don't you let me watch little Laurene, while you make a trip to the hospital?"

"I wouldn't want to impose. . . ."

"You wouldn't be imposing," Mrs. McGinty interrupted. "Now, you get yourself off to the hospital and spend some time with that young man of yours. Don't you worry about anything here."

Jim smiled in relief. He'd wondered how he would be able to visit Blair so long as the ICU rules were in place. His only other babysitters tended to work unpredictable hours. "I really appreciate this, Mrs. McGinty," he said, grabbing his coat.

"Please, call me Flo," Mrs. McGinty offered.

"Thank you, Flo. I'll try not to be gone too long."

"Take your time. Your young man needs you. Don't worry about me, I'll find everything I need. I'm a nosy old woman." She smiled.

Jim returned her grin. "Good-bye, Flo." He closed the door and hurried down the hallway toward the elevator.

~oO0Oo~

Jim stood at the sleeping man's bedside, unwilling to wake him. He pulled up a chair and settled himself, picking up Blair's hand and rubbing his thumb in gentle circles over it.

The figure in the bed stirred, opening heavy lids to reveal clouded blue eyes. "Jim?"

"Got it in one," Jim answered. "How are you feeling today?"

"Dunno," came the muttered response. "Still don't feel much of anything."

"They've got you on those really good drugs," Jim quipped, trying to sound light-hearted.

"Where's Laurene?" he asked, more alert than he'd been the day before.

"I'm not allowed to bring her, Sweetheart. You know that," Jim reminded him.

"I want to see her."

"Yeah, I know." This was the conversation Jim had so dreaded earlier that morning. "You'll get to see her soon."

"When, Jim? I want to see her now." Blair's tone was petulant.

"I know, Blair, but the hospital has rules, and we have to follow them. When you're well enough to be out of ICU, I can bring her in to visit."

Tears began to form in Blair's eyes, sliding quietly down his cheeks. "She's my baby, Jim. I need her."

"And she needs you, too," Jim assured him. "It won't be long."

"How long?" came the insistent question.

"A few more days." Jim turned to the night stand next to the bed and located the breast pump. "Laurene will sure be happy when she can drink your milk again. It's obvious she appreciates your contributions more than the formula."

Blair's eyes lit up a bit at the news. "Really? You can tell?"

"Oh, yeah. She balks at the formula. It's almost as though she can smell the difference before she even tastes it," Jim confirmed. "You're going to appreciate your time off for those nipples to heal. Laurene isn't going to want to let go once she gets hold of you again."

That elicited a small chuckle, then Blair turned concerned eyes to Jim. "When will you be able to give her the expressed milk? With all the drugs they've got me on. . . ."

"Lynne says that once you're out of ICU, and off the heavy pain meds, you should be able to nurse, and I can take home any expressed milk." Jim pushed the button to raise the head of the bed slightly. "You want to do this?" He offered Blair the contraption.

"Will you help? The nurses have been coming in and doing it for me. I don't think I can hold it in place well enough yet."

"No problem, Partner." Jim untied the neck of Blair's gown and pulled it down to his waist. "Geez, you're beautiful," he murmured, cupping one small breast and rubbing a thumb over the nipple. He leaned down to press his lips against the slightly parted ones of his blushing lover.

"Uh, Jim," Blair protested weakly. "Remember where we are?"

"All too well, I'm afraid," Jim said, taking an antiseptic wipe and cleaning off Blair's nipples. "It's just been a while, you know?"

Blair smiled sweetly and reached a hand up to brush across Jim's cheek. "It won't be much longer. I miss you, too."

Jim captured the hand caressing his cheek and placed it on the pump. "Thought you were going to help out here, Darwin." He positioned the cup against the nipple and turned the unit on. Placing a hand over Blair's, he helped the younger man hold the pump in place until the breast was emptied.

"How is Laurene?" Blair managed to ask as Jim switched the pump to the other breast.

"She's doing great."

"No problems?"

"Nothing I can't handle. The hardest part was finding someone to watch her so I could come here and visit you."

"Who's with her?" Blair worried.

"Old Mrs. McGinty from across the hall."

"Flo?" Blair looked surprised.

Jim returned the look. "You know her?"

"Oh, yeah. She always used to come out and talk when I'd get home late at night. I think she was waiting up to be sure I made it home safely." He smiled at the memory.

"She's very accepting of our living situation," Jim said, still slightly amazed.

"One of her sons is gay," Blair informed him. "As a matter of fact, she often quizzed me on whether or not you'd gotten a clue. She knew how I felt about you, and was convinced you felt the same, but weren't admitting it."

"Yeah, well. . ." Jim muttered. "I did finally figure it out."

"Thank God." A smile ghosted his lips as his eyes drooped shut.

Jim returned the smile, petting the top of Blair's head absentmindedly. "I guess maybe I ought to let you get some rest."

"Mmmm," Blair muttered agreement.

"Love you."

"Mm-hm," Blair agreed, slipping quietly into a deep sleep.

Jim looked up to see Lynne Casey standing in the doorway. She walked over to the bed when she saw that Blair was asleep. "He's doing very well. I upgraded his condition to serious a few minutes ago. If he continues to improve at this rate, he'll be out of ICU in another day or two."

"Good. It can't come too soon."

Two days later:

Blair pushed the button to raise the head of the bed to a sitting position. His breakfast had just arrived, and he had suddenly realized just how hungry he was. His new room sported a view of the creek and park just across the street from the large municipal hospital. It was a rare, sunny day for November, and the children were already laughing and frolicking through the grass and fallen leaves.

He was about to sample the scrambled eggs when the door opened and a magical sight greeted his eyes.

"Laurene!" He held out his arms, wiggling his fingers in a "come here, gimme" gesture.

Jim walked across the room and placed the squirming bundle into her daddy's waiting arms. He watched as Blair buried his face in the swaddling blankets, drinking in the sight and scent of his precious daughter. When he looked up, his faced beamed with joy, his eyes brighter than Jim had seen them in days.

"Thanks, Jim. God, I was beginning to think I wasn't going to get to see Laur again." He peeled down his gown and put the baby to his breast, lying back with a look of pure bliss as she began her enthusiastic sucking.

"It's good to see you, too, Blair." Jim grinned at his ecstatic partner.

Blair's eyes clouded briefly. "I'm sorry, Jim. It's great to see you, too." His smile spread ear to ear as he met Jim's gaze and held it firmly before turning back to the bundle in his arms.

"That's okay. I understand," Jim said, perching himself on the edge of the bed, cupping Laurene's tiny head in his large palm. "I know how much you missed her."

Blair's stomach took that opportunity to protest its interrupted breakfast.

"Sounds to me like someone else needs to eat," Jim laughed.

Chagrined, Blair picked up the plastic fork and shoveled a mouthful of cooling eggs past his lips. "Have you seen Lynne yet?" he asked between bites. "When can I get out of here?"

"Hey, not so fast, Andretti. This isn't a race. You'll get out when Dr. Casey feels you're healed enough to come home, and not a minute before."

"But I feel so much better."

"Look, Blair, you just got moved out of ICU this morning. I think you have a few days left before Dr. Casey will even consider paroling you."

"That sucks."

"Your distaste for hospitals is well known around here, Kiddo. I don't think anyone wants to keep you here a minute longer than they have to, but none of us want a repeat performance of your last swan dive, so you're staying until the doctor says you can come home."

Blair frowned and shifted Laurene to the other breast, where she continued to nurse contentedly.

"At least Lynne took you off the pain meds twenty-four hours ago so that you could nurse today," Jim reminded him. "Don't worry. You'll be home in plenty of time for Thanksgiving."

"Good morning, Blair . . . Jim." Lynne Casey strode into the room, a cheery smile on her face. "You're looking much better today," she told her patient. "And I think little Laurene is happy to see her other daddy again, too." Blair beamed a smile up at her.

"How much longer?" he asked.

"Oh, at least another three days, Sweetheart. You lost a lot of blood when the placenta separated, and it was pretty touch and go there for a while. I need to keep you here for observation, get you up and walking around a bit, before I can evaluate you for release." She turned to Jim. "When I do release him, I'll expect you to keep him off his feet except for trips to the bathroom or to take a shower. I'm not ordering strict bed rest, but I'll expect about a ninety percent compliance." She turned her gaze to Blair, who looked defiant.

"I've already spent four days flat on my back, and can expect another three before you let me go home. Just how long is this bed rest restriction going to last?"

"Oh, at least a week. Then I'll want you back in my office for an evaluation. We'll proceed from there."

Blair pulled Laurene off the depleted breast and plopped her over his shoulder, patting her back softly until she burped. He stubbornly kept his mouth shut, a signal that Jim had learned long ago meant his lover was royally pissed.

"I'll see to it that he follows all the rules," he said, staring Blair down as he spoke.

The upset man mouthed "fuck you" at minimal sentinel hearing level.

Jim laughed and replied aloud, "That can be arranged . . . when you're feeling better, Sport."

Blair made an obscene gesture behind the doctor's back to his partner, but the smile on his face belied the implied meaning of the hand signal.

~oO0Oo~

Three days later, Blair was released from the hospital. Home had never looked so good to the young man, who stood in the doorway to Apartment 307 and just stared.

"Before you settle down for the day," Jim said pointedly, daring Blair to contradict him, "I have a little surprise for you."

"A surprise?" Blair's face lit up. He followed Jim to the French doors leading to his old bedroom. His partner stepped aside to allow Blair to stand in the open doorway. His jaw dropped.

Before him was a freshly painted room, done in a "My Little Pony" motif. The cheerful border of frolicking ponies contrasted sharply with the remaining pieces of Blair's collection of knickknacks. The crib had sheets and a padded bumper in a coordinated pony fabric, and a brand new mobile of the colorful equines attached to one side. A comfortable looking glider rocker and footstool nestled in a corner next to a small table with a pony-themed lamp. The changing table, in a green gingham print, with pony-printed diapers and related supplies, completed the new nursery.

When he had recovered enough to close his mouth, Blair turned to the man standing beside him. "You did this?"

"Yup. Do you like it?"

"You did this?"

"What's the matter, Sandburg," Jim groused, suddenly on the defensive. "Don't you think I'm capable of doing a little redecorating?"

"Oh, no, Jim . . . sorry." Blair gulped down his surprise. "It's great. I just wasn't expecting anything like . . . this."

"So, you like it?"

"Oh, yeah, I love it. But why? How come now?"

"I had to do something with all that nervous energy. I worried about you, you know." Blair had the grace to blush at the admission. "I couldn't sleep, and I had to keep busy. This was better than the alternative."

Blair nodded sagely, knowing Jim's temper and how he sometimes vented that anger.

"Soooo. . . ." Blair said softly. "Where is Laurene? I thought she might be sleeping."

"I asked Flo to watch her while I went to pick you up. I figure she can babysit a while longer. No arguments," Jim said, stalling Blair's attempt to protest. "And now," he continued, smiling grimly, "you need to get off your feet."

"You're not going to make me go to bed, are you?" Blair whined.

"No, you don't have to go upstairs," Jim agreed, "but you at least need to stretch out on the couch. Come on." He led the way across the room to the couch he'd prepared before he'd gone to the hospital to pick up Blair. The pillow was fluffed, and the afghan was draped across the back, ready to cover its occupant.

Blair cooperated, lying down and letting Jim remove his shoes and tuck the afghan around him.

"Anything you want, just let me know," Jim told him.

"Could you hand me the remote?" Blair smiled up at the fussing Sentinel. Jim handed it to him, and settled down on the love seat, unwilling to leave the young man's side, now that he finally had him home again.

Blair flicked through the channels, not really interested in watching television. He finally turned it off, setting the remote on the coffee table, and released a sigh. Jim looked up from the newspaper he had been pretending to read.

"What's the matter, Chief? Need something?"

"You," came the soft response.

Jim was immediately at his side, kneeling next to the couch. "Are you in pain? Where does it hurt?" he asked, still worried about Blair's health.

"Here," Blair responded, laying a hand over his heart. "I've missed you so much." He pulled Jim's head down, until their lips met in a tentative kiss.

Jim's body quickly responded to the touch. He pulled back, caressing Blair's cheek, brushing stray locks of hair back behind an ear. "Missed you, too, Babe," he breathed. "But I don't think you're quite ready yet. I'm pretty sure Lynne would consider lovemaking a strenuous activity." He smiled, trying to ease his rejection.

"Especially the way we do it," Blair chuckled. "How about being a pillow, then?" He sat up, making room on the couch for his lover.

Jim settled down, pulling Blair's head into his lap. Blair rolled over onto his side, snuggling into the embrace. "Nice," he murmured, as Jim stroked his hair, running fingers through the spiral tangles. Within minutes, he'd fallen asleep. Jim tilted his head back, resting it against the cushions, content simply to have his love home with him again.

~oO0Oo~

The week had been interminable. Jim had the time off work so he could nursemaid Blair, who was bored to tears being bed or couch bound all day. The only breaks in the monotony had come when Laurene needed her feedings, or when Jim got so tired of the whining that he would come cuddle with his moping charge.

The day of Blair's appointment, the young man fairly bounced out of bed, anxious for his freedom once again. He waited impatiently by the door as Jim gathered up Laurene's paraphernalia for the trip.

Once in the truck, Blair turned to Jim, suddenly sober. "I'm sorry I've been such an ass this week," he apologized.

"You were a little hard to live with," Jim admitted, a smile taking some of the sting from the words.

"Yeah, I know," Blair confessed. "Mom always said I made a terrible patient. You did something she was never able to do . . . keep me in bed for a week."

"When Dr. Casey gives you the 'all clear', I'm gonna keep you in bed for another full week." Jim chuckled.

"Promises, promises." Blair joined the laughter.

~oO0Oo~

"The surgical site is healing nicely," Lynne Casey said, handing Blair back his clothes. "Everything seems headed back to normal."

"Great!" Blair enthused, hopping off the exam table.

"Slow down there a minute." Lynne grabbed his arm as he headed toward the door and turned him back facing her. "Restricted activity for another week." At the crestfallen look on her patient's face, she added, "You can be up and around, take some short walks, but be really careful not to over exert yourself. What happened to you was a major event. Your body is going to take time to heal completely."

"How long?"

"You can increase your activity a bit each week, but not beyond what feels comfortable. I don't want you pushing yourself, or to hear you've entered any marathons. I suspect things will be back to normal around Christmas." She grinned and shook a finger at both men in turn. "And no sex."

"What?" Blair blurted out. "Oh, come on, Lynne. Have a little mercy here."

"Okay, here's the deal: foreplay and petting's okay, but no orgasms for this one," she said, pointing at Blair, "and definitely no penetrative sex until I've given the all clear. I want to see you again in three weeks. We'll reevaluate from there."

Jim studied his partner. "Can you live with that?"

"Do I have a choice?" the younger man groused.

"No, you do not," the doctor answered emphatically. "Now get dressed and get out of here. I'm sure you have better things to do than hang around here. Oh, and have a happy Thanksgiving," she called to the retreating pair.

Thanksgiving morning:

The early hours of the chilly November morning found Blair spooned warmly up against his lover's larger body as he held their daughter to his breast while she nursed. The family was buried under a fluffy down comforter, dozing, enjoying the thought of sleeping in.

A key rattled in the front door which soon swung open. Sentinel hearing caught the noise, and Jim was instantly alert. He sat up in bed, slipping a hand under his pillow for his service revolver.

"What is it?" a muzzy voice asked from beneath the comforter.

The intruder bustled in, a large roasting pan securely gripped in tiny, wrinkled hands, and pushed the door shut with her foot.

Jim pulled his hand from under his pillow, leaving the gun where it hid. "Mrs. McGinty!" he called over the railing. "What are you doing here?" . . . so early? his thoughts added.

The old woman clucked. "You and your young man just go back to sleep. I've got a big bird here. Have to start roasting early if we're going to eat before midnight." She continued to bustle around the kitchen for a few minutes before heading back to the door. "I'll be back in a couple hours to baste the turkey and get the fixings started," she called from the doorway.

As the door clicked shut, Blair rolled over, eyeing his partner. "How'd she get in?"

"When you were in the hospital, I gave her a spare key. She was helping out over here so much. . . . I guess I just forgot to ask for it back."

Blair grinned up at Jim. "Well, do you want to take her up on sleeping in, or. . . ?"

"Or what?" Jim asked when Blair stopped speaking.

"Or take Lynne up on that clearance she gave me yesterday?" He grinned mischievously as he reached over, lightly grazing his partner's morning erection.

Jim quickly scooped the sleeping Laurene into his arms and deposited her in the bassinet they kept in the upstairs bedroom for when the need arose, and returned to the waiting arms of his lover.

~oO0Oo~

When the couple woke for the second time that morning, Mrs. McGinty was already back, tending the turkey and starting in on the sweet potatoes.

Jim sat up and wrinkled his nose, the scent of dried sweat and semen stinging his nostrils. "You take the first shower," he offered. "Just make it quick."

"Thanks." Blair leaned over to give Jim a quick peck on the lips. "I feel really sticky and cruddy. It was worth it, though." He grinned down at the Sentinel. "That was quite a performance earlier." He slipped into his robe and gathered his clean clothes.

"You'd better get that butt moving," Jim grumbled, "before I decide to nail you again." He reached out to slap his partner, who danced nimbly out of reach.

"Promises, promises," Blair teased as he headed down the stairs.

~oO0Oo~

By the time the Sentinel emerged from his own shower, Blair was settled on the couch with a bagel and a cup of fresh-brewed coffee, nursing Laurene. Jim wandered into the kitchen to inspect the work going on there.

"How are you this morning, James?" Mrs. McGinty asked, smiling knowingly.

"Just great, Flo," Jim smiled back. "Um, can I ask why you're using our kitchen to fix your Thanksgiving dinner?"

"Oh, isn't it obvious, dear?" the old woman clucked. "I don't have anyone at home to fuss over anymore, and you don't have anyone to fix you a special dinner. We're going to have more than enough, if you'd like to invite over some of your friends."

"What do you say, Blair? Who do we know that isn't spending time with their own families today?"

"Megan," the younger man answered. "I'll give her a call. Oh, and how about Simon and Daryl? Were they going anywhere, or was Simon cooking this year?"

"He said something about taking Daryl down to the homeless shelter to help serve Thanksgiving dinner there. They'd probably welcome a good, home-cooked meal after their shift."

"Okay. I'll call them, too. When will dinner be ready?"

"Around four o'clock, dear," Mrs. McGinty answered.

"Thanks, Flo." Blair smiled warmly at their neighbor who still bustled around the kitchen with her preparations.

~oO0Oo~

Megan arrived around three that afternoon. Blair had just put Laurene down for a short nap, while Jim had long ago settled on the couch to watch football. A fire crackled in the fireplace and the room smelled of turkey and cranberries. She wrapped her arms around Blair, who had answered the door, hugging him tightly.

"How're you doing, Sandy?"

"I'm great, Megan. Lynne gave me a clean bill of health yesterday."

"That's certainly something to be thankful for." She smiled widely at Blair, giving him a knowing wink. She turned toward the kitchen, pretending not to notice the slight blush rising in the anthropologist's cheeks. "Something certainly smells yummy."

"Megan, this is our neighbor from across the hall, Flo McGinty. Flo, this is Megan Connor, an Inspector from Australia here on an officer exchange program," he introduced the two.

"Oh, it's very nice to meet a friend of James and Blair." Flo wiped her hands on her apron and came over to wrap Megan in a hug.

"Anything I can do to help?" Megan asked, looking around the well-organized kitchen.

"Not a thing, dear," Mrs. McGinty assured her. "Just make yourself comfortable."

"Would you like a beer?" Blair asked, opening the refrigerator.

"That sounds wonderful," Megan answered. "Thanks."

"How 'bout you, Jim?" Blair called over the noise of the television.

"Yeah, thanks."

Blair pulled two bottles of beer and one of old-fashioned ginger ale from the fridge, handing one beer to Megan and carrying the other two bottles over to the couch.

"Who's playing?" Megan asked, settling herself on the loveseat.

"Washington State and Michigan. Damn," Jim swore, as Washington State missed their first down by two yards.

Opening his ginger ale and taking a sip, Blair snuggled down next to Jim, burrowing in under his arm and laying his head on Jim's shoulder. Jim kissed the top of the curly head, momentarily distracted from the action on the TV.

The time passed companionably, until nearly four o'clock. When Megan heard Mrs. McGinty begin to set the table, she got up to help.

"How many places are we setting?" she asked.

"Six," Flo answered, setting down a stack of plates, then placing them, one on each end and two on each side. "It's going to be a little friendly, but we'll manage," she said, referring to the lack of elbow room between the place settings.

Megan put out the napkins and silverware, then began filling the glasses with water. "Anything else I can do to help?" she asked, coming into the kitchen when she had finished.

"Could you put the marshmallows on the sweet potatoes, dear?" the old woman asked, handing Megan a bag.

"Sure thing."

The two women worked in tandem, putting the finishing touches on the meal.

"When will Simon and Daryl be here?" Megan asked as she dished Mrs. McGinty's homemade cranberry sauce into a serving bowl.

"Any minute now," Jim answered. "I told them four o'clock." Just then, the phone rang. "Yeah?" Jim answered. "Okay, Simon, thanks." He hung up the phone and looked up. "Simon said to go ahead and start without them. The shelter has a record number of homeless this year, and the lines are endless. He says he and Daryl are going to stay a while longer to help."

"Oh, that's a shame," Mrs. McGinty sighed. "If they run short on food, I'm sure we could donate some of this." She waved her hands over the table and counter tops, overflowing with the turkey and fixings she had spent the day slaving over.

"They'll be here as soon as they can get away."

"Well, we might as well get started, then," Mrs. McGinty said. She settled herself at the table and the others followed suit. "It was always a tradition in my family to go around the table and say what we're thankful for, before we start eating. Blair, you've had an especially full year. Why don't you start?"

"Well, I'm certainly thankful just to be seeing this Thanksgiving." He turned to smile at Jim, who had squeezed his hand. "Of course I'm thankful that we have a healthy little daughter, and I'm really thankful for Jim's patience and support through everything I've put him through this year."

"I'm just thankful to have you," Jim responded, leaning over to place a kiss on Blair's cheek. "Our daughter is a wonderful bonus, and I love her very much. I'm just sorry you had to go through so much hell to bring her into the world."

"I'd do it all over again, Jim, for you . . . for her."

"Once was more than sufficient for me," Jim told him.

"Well, I'm thankful to have good friends, and to have been invited here to dinner," Megan added her two cents.

"And I'm thankful to finally have a family I can fuss over again," Flo finished. "Let's eat. James, would you please carve the turkey?"

Jim stood up, taking the meat fork and carving knife, and began slicing off generous chunks of the roasted bird. Conversation was sparse as everyone concentrated on enjoying the feast set before them. They were nearly finished when there was a knock on the door. Jim got up to answer.

"Are we too late?" Simon's voice boomed through the loft.

"Heck, no, Simon. We've got enough here to feed a small army." Jim laughed.

"Well, I brought one with me," Simon responded, pushing Daryl through the door.

"Aw, Dad. . . ." the teenager protested. "Hey, Jim. Hi, Blair . . . Megan."

"Hi, Daryl," Megan answered. "Come on over and sit down. There's plenty of food left."

"Simon, Daryl, I'd like you to meet our neighbor, Flo McGinty. She's the lady who was kind enough to watch Laurene when Megan couldn't, so I could go visit Blair in the hospital. She's also responsible for all this food." He waved a hand over the table, still groaning under the weight of the remaining comestibles.

"Cool." Daryl pulled up a chair and started filling his plate. "Hey, Dad, sit down. This looks great!"

"Have a busy day at the shelter?" Blair pulled up a chair beside the teenager.

"Yeah. You wouldn't believe how many people there were. We went through seven turkeys in the five hours we were there!" Daryl dug into his own meal with enthusiasm. "There was this one guy there. . . ."

"Don't talk with your mouth full," his father interrupted, proceeding to fill his own as soon as he finished admonishing his son.

Daryl swallowed and washed the food down with a sip of water. "There was this one guy there who brought in his kids. He had five of 'em. Man, I can't imagine living on the street. And this time of year, too."

"It makes you realize just how much you really have to be thankful for, doesn't it?" Blair smiled at him.

"Yeah. Living like that would really suck," Daryl commented, continuing to shovel in his meal. When he was finally finished, he sat back and sighed. "That was really great."

"Thank you, young man." Flo walked past and patted Daryl on the shoulder.

"Name's Daryl."

"Yes, dear, I know." Flo continued to patter around the table, picking up dirty plates and serving dishes.

"Don't sweat it," Blair leaned over to whisper to Daryl. "She calls me 'young man', too."

"Why don't you all gather in the living room and relax. I'll clean up, and we can have dessert after dinner's settled a bit."

"Let me help." Megan popped up and began hauling leftovers to the kitchen island.

Jim braved the kitchen to pull the storage containers out of the cupboard and begin to fill them.

"Shoo!" Flo waved her apron at the male invader to her territory. "Off with you, James Ellison. Take care of your family."

Jim turned to see Blair settled in the corner of the couch, shirt open, nursing Laurene. Daryl had come to perch nearby, but Simon sat as far away as possible, still vaguely embarrassed.

"I think that's so cool," Daryl enthused. "You really make enough milk to feed her? Your breasts aren't all that big."

"Breast size has nothing to do with how much milk a mother, or father, can produce," Blair told him. "It has more to do with how much stimulation the breast gets. Laurene is an enthusiastic feeder, so other than losing sleep, I don't have any trouble keeping up with her."

"How about when you were in the hospital?"

"Daryl, stop pestering Blair," Simon warned.

"It's okay, Simon. I don't mind." He turned back to his audience. "Well, right after the surgery I was so engorged with milk that my breasts ached something awful. The doctor got me a breast pump, and we expressed the milk regularly after that. Once I was out of ICU, and off the drugs that could contaminate the milk, Jim would take it home to feed Laurene."

"Cool."

Jim had come to sit on the arm of the couch, hovering over Blair and their daughter. He draped a protective arm around the nursing man and looked over at his captain. "You okay, Simon?"

"It's still just a little unsettling, is all."

"Did Joan nurse Daryl when he was a baby?"

"Ewww!" Daryl wrinkled up his nose at the very thought.

"As a matter of fact, yeah," Simon said, a smile of warm remembrance spreading across his face. "It was really beautiful. She was really beautiful, holding that tiny bundle to her breast."

"I feel the same way about Blair," Jim said, his voice soft.

Simon turned to the couple, looking at them with new eyes. "Yeah, I can see that you do." He watched Blair nurse for a few minutes, the smile continuing to spread across his features. "You're a lucky man, Jim Ellison."

"You tell him, Simon," Blair quipped. "He doesn't listen to me." His last comment earned him a playful thwap to the back of his head, making his dark curls bounce wildly.

"Anybody ready for dessert?" Megan called from the dining area. "Flo's got pumpkin and mincemeat, your choice."

"Does she have the hot butter sauce for the mincemeat?" Blair asked.

"Of course, dear," Flo's voice rang out from the kitchen.

"I guess I could eat a small piece," he decided. "Um, Jim?"

"Your wish is my command." Jim rose from his perch and bowed before the father and child before heading into the kitchen for the pie and a glass of milk. Coming back to his seat on the arm of the couch, he cut off a small bite with the fork and fed it to his waiting partner.

"Mmmm. . . . That is delicious, Flo. Thank you." Blair savored the bite a few moments longer, then opened his mouth for more. Jim continued the feeding while Blair's hands were occupied with their daughter.

"This, Simon, is my life," Jim said with a long-suffering sigh.

Simon's guffaw rang through the room. "Enjoy it now, Jim; it doesn't last forever."

~oO0Oo~

When the last of the guests had finally left, and the kitchen cleanup was completed, the leftovers stuffed in the refrigerator or sent home with willing hands, Jim wrapped an arm around his love and led him to the stairs. "What a day, huh, Chief?" The tired anthropologist just nodded.

When they reached the bed, Blair dropped unceremoniously onto it. Jim nestled Laurene in a cushion of pillows and proceeded to undress his exhausted partner. Once Blair was down to his boxers and a tee, Jim took off his own clothes and climbed in beside him, snuggling close. "At least we get to sleep in again tomorrow," he reminded Blair.

His only reply was a soft snore.

Chanukah:

This time of year, the holidays always seemed to run together. Jim came home from work one evening to find a menorah sitting on a table near the patio doors, and Blair in the kitchen, cooking.

"What smells so good?" he asked, dropping his keys in the basket and hanging his coat on a hook.

Blair looked up from the frying pan he was tending. "Potato latkes. They're traditional Chanukah fare."

"Since when did you go all traditional on me?" Jim noted that his unconventional lover was also wearing the traditional skull cap of Jewish men, a yarmulke.

"Having a kid makes you rethink some of your values, you know?" Blair shoveled a couple more of the pancakes onto a platter already piled high. "Makes you want to go back and rediscover your roots."

"Roots? I didn't know you had roots," Jim commented.

"Very funny, man." Blair carried the platter of latkes to the dining room table, which also contained some of the Thanksgiving leftovers from the freezer, all reheated to perfection. "I've got a little something for you," he said, handing Jim a small box.

Jim lifted the lid and stared dumbly at the contents. Inside was a beautiful red brocade yarmulke. He looked up to find Blair smiling at him.

"It was my great uncle's," the young man explained. "He was a rabbi at the local synagogue. When he passed away, my grandmother gave that to me. She knew that Naomi wouldn't raise me in the faith, and she wanted to give me a little something to remind me of my heritage."

"I can't accept this, Blair," Jim said, handing the box back.

Blair pushed it back into Jim's hands. "Of course you can. I can't think of anyone I'd rather see wear it."

"I'm not Jewish," Jim reminded his lover.

"Doesn't matter. When we light the menorah and say the prayers, you can wear it. Now, sit down before the food gets cold."

Jim dug into the food with delight. "This is good."

"Glad you like it. I figured it'd be right up your alley. Most traditional Chanukah foods are of the heart attack on a plate variety." He smiled at the Sentinel, who had a taste for fried foods.

When they finished the meal and had cleaned up the kitchen, Blair helped Jim fasten the yarmulke in place and led him into the living room. Jim gathered Laurene into his arms and joined Blair over by the menorah. The younger man lifted the center candle, the shamash, and lit it. He bowed his head and began the Chanukah prayers. "Baruch ata Hashem, Elokenu melech ha'olam, asher kidshanu b'mitzvotav v'tizivanu l'hadlik ner shel Chanukah. Baruch ata Hashem, Elokenu melech ha'olam, she'asah nisim la'avotenu, bayamim hahem bazeman hazeh." When he finished, he lit the first candle.

"Now what?" Jim asked, watching the flicker of the small candle.

"Well, traditionally we'd play games, sing songs and eat some more." Blair grinned up at him. "But I'm not that traditional. Besides, it's been a long day and I'm beat. Isn't there a Jags game on tonight?"

"As a matter of fact," Jim said, settling on the couch and patting the cushion next to him, "there is." He picked up the remote as Blair settled next to him. "Happy Chanukah, Blair." He wrapped an arm around the younger man and pulled him close.

"Thanks, Jim. Shalom." Blair settled into the embrace, tucking his head under Jim's chin. The crackling fire and the steady rhythm of Jim's heartbeat beneath his ear worked their magic on the tired anthropologist, and he drifted off to sleep.

~oO0Oo~

The eight day festival of Chanukah ended exactly two weeks before Christmas. The last candle had barely been blown out before Blair started nagging his partner about getting a tree.

"Come on, Jim, you'll love it. It smells great, looks pretty; it's a sensory feast you should look forward to."

"It's a mess. Pine needles all over the floor. . . ."

"Come on, man. I'll clean up after it, I promise. We have to have a tree!"

"How about we buy an artificial one?" Jim suggested. "You wouldn't have to water it or clean up after it."

"That's not the same, Jim, and you know it. Heck, we live in Christmas tree country--they're all around us."

"I saw a lot just down the block," Jim suggested, beginning to give in.

"Aw, no, Jim. . . . Not one of those farm-cut, perfectly trimmed things. Let's get a permit and go up into the mountains to find our own."

"You've got to be kidding! It's snowing out there, and it's worse in the mountains."

"Flo could watch Laurene while we're gone," Blair continued, ignoring his partner's protests.

"Blair. . . ." Jim turned his best puppy dog look on the younger man, who didn't buy it for an instant.

"Oh, come on, Jim. It'll be fun. We can start out early in the morning, and be home by afternoon. That will give us plenty of time to get the tree set up and decorated." Blair, whose energy level had returned with a vengeance after his last hospital stay, fidgeted excitedly next to his partner.

Wild curls bounced, blue eyes sparkled, and Jim knew his cause was lost. Blair wanted a tree, Blair would get a tree, the very best he could find in the mountains surrounding Cascade. "Think there's time to pick up the permit this evening after work?"

"Yes!" Blair pulled his fist down in a victory gesture.

"Guess I'd better get going, then," Jim sighed, plucking his heavy leather coat from the hook and slipping into it. Blair draped a wool scarf around his neck for a bit of extra protection. "Thanks, Chief." He leaned in to kiss his partner good-bye and found himself smothered by 160 pounds of enthusiastic lover. Blair had taken advantage of Jim's hold on him to jump up and wrap his legs around his lover's waist.

"You won't be sorry, Jim. I promise." His lips found Jim's once again and latched on with a ferocity that usually meant a quick, hard lovemaking session was about to ensue.

Reluctantly, Jim pulled back from the kiss and pushed gently at Blair's shoulders. "I have to go, Blair. We can continue this after I get home, okay? Just hold the thought." He smiled warmly, trying to take the sting from his words.

Blair slipped down, landing on his feet with a thud. "I'll make arrangements with Flo," he said. "Maybe she'll keep Laurene overnight so we can get a really early start tomorrow morning."

"Methinks the lad has other plans for the eve," Jim smirked, pinching Blair's cheek.

"Well, a little workout before we do all that hiking through the woods would be good insurance, don't you think?" Blair smiled back, putting on his most innocent, wide-eyed look. "You've always stressed to me the importance of a good warm-up before a heavy exercise session."

"Now you listen to me." Jim rolled his eyes in exasperation. "I gotta go. You have any plans for the day?"

"Just finishing typing the final copy of the dissertation. It's going to be such a great feeling to have that done. Sort of like giving myself a little Christmas present."

"Good luck. Don't work too hard."

"Same to you, Big Guy. Hurry home." Blair closed the door behind the exiting Sentinel and leaned heavily against its firm support. He took several long, cleansing breaths: in through the nose, out through the mouth, until the persistent aching in his groin finally subsided and he could get on with his day.

~oO0Oo~

Jim awoke before the sunrise the next morning to find himself blanketed with the warm, naked body of his bedmate. The intimate contact stirred his libido to life, and he groaned as he felt himself hardening. If he didn't do something about it soon, he knew what would happen, and it would mean a significant delay to their day. Blair wanted a Christmas tree, hand-selected and cut in the mountains surrounding Cascade. They needed to get an early start.

He shoved against the compact body, but Blair wasn't moving. Squirming, Jim worked his way out from under his human comforter and trotted down the stairs to take a quick shower. When he had finished, he climbed back up to the loft to wake Blair.

The anthropologist groaned and rolled over when Jim shook him. "Blair. . . . Come on, Babe. You've gotta wake up. We're going Christmas tree hunting, remember?" More protests rose from beneath the pile of blankets. Finally, Jim tossed the blankets back, exposing the bare skin of his lover to the morning chill. Blue eyes snapped open in surprise.

"Jim!" Blair grabbed the blankets and pulled them up under his chin. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Up and at 'em, Paul Bunyan. Grab your ax; we have a tree to kill."

"It's 0-dark thirty in the damn morning, Jim!" Blair protested. "I'm going back to sleep."

"Like hell you are," Jim growled. "Get that comely ass of yours out of bed. It's a long drive into the mountains. If we're getting a tree, we have to get an early start. Besides," he said, softening his approach, "isn't that why we left Laurene with Flo last night? So that we could get an early start?"

Blair moaned once more, but sat up. "Could you hand me my robe, please? It's cold this morning." Jim tossed him the wrap and Blair slipped it on, finally standing and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"I've already showered," Jim informed him. "The bathroom's all yours."

"Thanks," Blair mumbled, shuffling down the stairs, still only half awake.

While his lover showered, Jim started cooking a hearty breakfast of pancakes, eggs and bacon. They ate in relative silence, Jim reading the paper, Blair still trying to wake up. When he had finished eating, Blair made his way into the nursery, settling into the comfortable glider-rocker and picking up the breast pump that sat on the table next to him.

Jim poked his head through the French doors, pausing to admire the scene before him. "Blair." He got the younger man's attention. "I'm going to pack the gear into the truck. We can get going as soon as you're ready."

"Give me another ten minutes, 'kay?"

"Sure, Chief. Take your time. . . , but hurry up!" He laughed at Blair's disgruntled look as he backed out of the doorway and went to gather up the needed equipment.

When he got back to the apartment, Blair was dressed, in multiple layers of flannel, and ready to go. "I'll just drop this off on our way by," he said, holding up the bottle of expressed breast milk.

Jim noted the pump securely stuffed into a pocket of his partner's heavy coat. He nodded. "Let's get a move on, then," he said, holding the door open and ushering Blair through.

~oO0Oo~

The morning sun glinted off the snow as Jim pulled the truck off the road at a likely looking spot. The two men got out and began shouldering their packs and equipment. Blair hefted an ax, while Jim carried a small saw.

"Which way?" Jim asked, deferring to his partner who was studying the landscape.

Blair pointed northwest. "There's a trailhead a hundred yards in this direction. Let's try that." He headed off resolutely, boots crunching through the lightly crusted snow.

A few long strides brought Jim up beside his partner. "So, just what, exactly, are you looking for in the perfect tree?" he wondered.

Blair was studying the evergreens they passed, head swiveling from side to side, in order not to miss anything. "Um, I dunno," he mumbled distractedly. "I'll know it when I see it."

"Where have I heard that before?" the put-upon Sentinel muttered to himself as he followed his partner deeper into the woods.

Finally, after trudging through knee-high drifts of snow for over two hours, Blair stopped and pointed. "There! That's the one, Jim!" He bounded over to a medium-sized fir tree and began pushing the snow away from the trunk.

"You're sure this time?" Jim had heard that particular phrase from Blair several times during their trek, and was beginning to doubt the young man really knew what he wanted.

"Oh, yeah, Jim. This is it. Come on over; help me out here." He hacked off several of the lower branches to give them clear access to the trunk.

Jim brought over the saw and, together, they began to cut their way through the four-inch thick trunk. When the tree finally fell, both men were tired, but triumphant.

"I think you're right," Jim commented, looking at their prize lying in the snow. "That's a real beauty. We'd better start back, though. I felt a drop in the barometric pressure a while back. I think we're in for a storm."

"You could feel that?" Blair's scientific antennae tweaked.

"Give it a rest, Darwin," Jim growled. "We can discuss it later. Right now, we need to get back to the truck." He shouldered the heavy trunk, while Blair took up the rear.

The return trip was slower going, as the heavy tree hampered their progress. The wind was picking up, too, and they were walking straight into it.

"Think you can speed it up back there?" Jim called over his shoulder. "I don't think we have a lot of time left."

"I'm trying, man," Blair panted.

"Try harder," Jim snapped, picking up the pace, causing the smaller man to have to jog to catch up. Within minutes, blinding snow swirled around them and the pair had to stop.

Jim squinted through the storm, but even he could no longer follow the trail back to the road. Setting the tree down, he turned to Blair. "If we keep walking, we're going to get lost," he explained. "Our best bet would be to find some shelter and wait out the storm."

They both looked around, trying to spot some protection. Finally, Blair pointed to a deep snowbank which had piled up against a small stand of trees. "Over there. We could dig a cave in the snow." He headed over and began throwing out handfuls of snow in an attempt to tunnel inward.

Jim slipped off his heavy pack and rummaged through it, pulling out a small, collapsible shovel. He dug into the snowbank with a strength lent of desperation. Although it was nearly noon, the temperature had dropped below freezing and he could see that Blair's purposeful movements were becoming more sluggish.

Within minutes, he had hollowed an area barely large enough to shelter the two men and their packs. He shoved Blair inside and began gathering snow to close up the entrance. He left a small hole in their doorway to let fresh air circulate. Falling against the back wall of their shelter, he closed his eyes in exhaustion.

"I'm sorry." The soft voice floated across the enclosed space.

Jim opened his eyes. "Nothing to be sorry for," he assured his mate.

"If I hadn't insisted on coming out here for the perfect tree. . . . I could have settled for one from the corner lot."

"You couldn't have predicted a freak snowstorm," Jim comforted. "Besides, you had the right idea. This was kind of fun, up until the storm hit."

"Really?" The hopeful note in the soft voice was almost the Sentinel's undoing.

He wrapped his arms around the younger man and pulled him into his lap. "Yeah, really. Don't go guilt tripping on me, okay? Remember, I agreed to this."

"Okay." Blue eyes looked up into his, and Jim was startled to see the usually lush red lips also had a blue tinge. He realized, suddenly, that the man in his arms wasn't even shivering. Blair was always cold, even on the warmest winter days. Long, dark lashes brushed his cheeks as he struggled to keep his eyes open.

"Aw, shit," Jim muttered, making an awkward grab for his backpack and rooting through the contents. He pulled out a mylar emergency blanket, shook it open and wrapped it around the body he cradled. "We've gotta get you warm, Babe. Don't go to sleep on me, okay?" He rubbed at Blair's rosy cheeks, trying to stimulate the circulation.

"Jim?"

"Yeah, Sweetheart?"

"Cold."

"Yeah, I know." He looked down into the trusting face turned up to his, his heart nearly breaking with fear. Instinctively, he leaned down, capturing the bluish lips with his own warm ones. At first, there was no response. Jim dove deeper, pushing the slack jaw open with his tongue and tasting the unique flavor of his Guide.

Blair stirred, slipping his arms out from the protection of the blanket to wrap them around the Sentinel. Jim's heart skipped a beat when he felt a warm tongue come to life and do battle with his own. He tipped sideways, laying them down, using Blair's pack as a pillow, and continued the kiss, coming up only occasionally for needed oxygen. The small cave began to warm significantly, as their body heat rose.

Blair finally pushed against the shoulders that held him pinned to the ground. "I always knew you were a hot lover," he joked. "Thanks, Jim. You did it again."

"Did what again?" Jim pushed himself up so he could look at his partner.

"Saved my life."

"You are not going to start that 'Blessed Protector' thing again, are you?"

"Whoa, Jim. Hold up a minute. No way." Blair scooted in the small confines of the cave until he was sitting up. "I just meant to thank you. You know I'd do the same for you, have done the same for you."

"Point taken." Jim grinned, happy to see his lover back to his scrappy, confrontational self. "Hungry?"

"Famished! What've we got?"

Jim dug through his pack, while Blair looked through his own. Between the two of them, they produced a couple thermoses of hot coffee, four sandwiches, some fresh fruit, trail mix and beef jerky.

"Enough for a feast," Jim declared, watching as Blair wrapped his hands around a thermos and sipped delightedly at the hot brew. "But we've got to ration it out, just in case. No telling how long we'll be here." He handed Blair a sandwich and an apple. They began to eat in silence, savoring the flavors in a way they hadn't taken time to for longer than either could remember.

When they were finally finished, Blair yawned expressively. "Any chance we can get some sleep in here?" he asked.

"I don't know why not," Jim answered. "But not both of us at once. One needs to stay awake to watch for signs of hypothermia. You go ahead and sleep first."

"No, Jim," Blair said, surprising the tough cop. "You're the one who did most of the work here, including, um, nursing me back to consciousness." He smiled. "I'll take the first watch."

"You sure?"

"Absolutely." Blair pulled Jim's head down into his lap and began petting the short, military-cut hair. The rhythmic stroking soon put the big man to sleep.

~oO0Oo~

The phone rang around 10 p.m., startling Simon from a light doze. He turned off the television and picked up the receiver. "Banks," he barked into the phone.

"Captain Simon Banks?" came the voice over the wires, a bit of static crackling over the connection due to the raging snowstorm that had hit Cascade earlier that afternoon.

"Yes, ma'am. What can I do for you?"

"My name's Flo McGinty--you might remember me from Thanksgiving. I'm Jim Ellison's neighbor." She took a deep breath before continuing. "I know you'll probably think I'm an old worry-wart, but I've been babysitting little Laurene since last night. . ."

"Last night?" Simon interrupted, surprised.

"Well, yes. You see, the boys wanted to get an early start up in the woods . . . to cut down a Christmas tree, don't you know?" she explained. "Anyway, they should have been back long ago. Young Blair dropped off some milk before they left, and that was 5 a.m. It shouldn't have taken this long, even with the storm. I'm worried about them."

"Thank you, Ms. McGinty, for calling. I'll get busy and start checking around. Don't you worry; we'll find them."

"Oh, I hope so. They're such dears. I wouldn't want anything to happen to either one of them."

"They're very adept at taking care of themselves. I'm sure they're fine," Simon reassured her.

"Okay, then. I just thought somebody ought to know. Good-night."

"Thank you for calling, Ms. McGinty. Good-night." He hung up the phone and sighed. What had those two gotten themselves into now?

He picked up the phone again, dialing emergency services. "Patterson?"

You got me, a voice answered.

"Yeah, this is Simon Banks. I've got a couple of men who haven't checked in since early this morning. They were headed up into the mountains. They could be stranded up there by the storm."

Damn! That's bad news, Simon.

"Why do you say that? Can't you get someone up there to check it out?"

Not in this blizzard. We can't scramble the choppers until the wind dies down and visibility improves. Ground search would be next to impossible in the dark. It's going to have to wait until morning.

"They may not have until morning, dammit." Simon spat into the phone.

Sorry, Cap. There's nothing that can be done until then. I'll put the men on high priority alert. We'll go out at first light. The weather service says the storm should abate sometime after midnight.

Simon released a pent-up sigh. "Okay. All right. Thanks, Patterson. Call me in the morning?"

You bet. I'll keep you up-to-date on the progress of the search. Who're we looking for?

"Jim Ellison and his partner, Blair Sandburg. They were driving a blue and white '69 Ford Ranger, license number 804 GDT, Golf-Delta-Tango. I think they were headed out Highway 10."

Roger that, Simon. I'll be getting back to you.

The phone went dead, and Simon hung it up, staring for a long while at the quiet instrument. "Dammit, Jim. Can't you guys do anything without finding trouble?"

~oO0Oo~

"Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty." Jim gently shook the shoulder of the man sleeping in his lap.

Blair stirred and groaned, sitting up and rubbing at his stiff back. "What time is it?"

"After 8 a.m. You really slept."

"I'm not the only one," Blair grumbled, searching for his thermos of coffee. "Did the storm stop?"

"Yeah, hours ago, around 2:00 this morning. Hungry?"

"Mm-hm." Blair nodded, accepting the banana and trail mix. "Are we going to try and find our way out now?"

"Eat first. I'll do a little reconnaissance and see if I can figure out where we are and how to get back." Jim pushed a larger hole in the snow cave's entrance and crawled out. As he stood, he realized just how cramped their quarters had been for the last twenty hours. Stretching out aching muscles, he walked several yards south of their position, scouting out the trail markers with his sentinel vision. Satisfied that he knew the way out, he walked off the trail to relieve himself, then returned to the shelter.

Blair was munching trail mix while holding the breast pump to his chest when Jim returned. The soft whir of the battery operated motor sounded loud in the close confines of the snow cave. Jim smiled. "How come you open up your shirts for that thing, but not for me?"

"You're a lecherous old man, anybody remind you of that lately?" Blair smiled up at him. "I couldn't take it anymore; they hurt," he explained apologetically. "So, did you find our way out?"

Jim settled next to his partner and wrapped an arm around him, pulling him close. "Yup. The snow's deeper, but I can still make out the trail markers. How much longer?" he asked, indicating the pump.

"Oh, give me another five minutes for the other side, just enough so I don't ache. I'm so ready to get out of here."

"Ditto that sentiment," Jim replied, beginning to pack up their accessories. By the time he was finished, Blair was tucking the pump back in his pocket and buttoning up his shirts and coat.

"Ready when you are, Fearless Leader." Blair crawled out of the cave, stretched and donned his backpack.

Jim followed suit and was soon headed down the trail.

"Hey, Jim!" Blair shouted, waving his arms above his head.

The Sentinel turned, looking a bit puzzled. "What now, Chief?"

"The tree?" Blair pointed to their prize. "We're not leaving it. Not after all that!" He began brushing the heavy snow from its branches.

Jim gave an expressive sigh and headed back toward their camp. "This is the last time I let you talk me into this," he snorted, lifting the wet trunk to his shoulder and starting out again.

Blair took up the rear, as before, chuckling under his breath. Jim was too easy where his Guide was concerned.

They were nearly out of the woods when Jim stopped, cocking his head, listening. "You hear that?"

"Hear what?" Blair strained his ears in the quiet of the mountains.

"A chopper."

Just as the words left Jim's mouth, the soft sound of distant helicopter blades reached Blair's ears. "What would a chopper be doing out here?" he wondered.

"Probably Simon, sending out a search party. We are just a tad overdue, you know. Let's get this thing back to the truck." Jim hefted the tree again and finished the short hike back out to the road.

As they were tying the tree into the bed of the pickup, a helicopter flew over. Jim and Blair both waved their arms in the air, Jim indicating that the chopper could leave, they were okay.

~oO0Oo~

"Patterson to base. Is Captain Banks there?"

Roger that, Patt.

"Tell him his men are okay, and are heading out on their own. Over."

Great news! Banks says 'thank you'. Over.

"No problem. Just tell him he owes me one. Over and out."

~oO0Oo~

"You had us worried, gentlemen," Simon admonished two hours later, when the errant duo finally returned to Cascade.

"Sorry, Simon. We didn't mean to cause trouble," Blair apologized.

"You never do. It just seems to find you wherever you are."

"We got our tree. . . ." Blair offered, by way of explanation.

"And it had damn well better be the best tree you've ever had, after putting us through hell last night."

"Give the kid a break, Simon," Jim broke in. "It wasn't his fault we got stuck in that storm. You know I've had survival training; there was no need to get worried. And we did get ourselves a fine specimen of a Christmas tree," he added, dragging the seven-foot evergreen through the door and into the loft. It had been a job of monumental proportions getting the thing up two flights of stairs, almost worse than the original trek out of the woods.

Mrs. McGinty opened her door at the sounds from the hallway. Baby Laurene was tucked securely in her arms. "Look who's home," she cooed at the child. "Your daddies are back."

Blair stopped in front of her apartment and eagerly held out his arms. She placed the squirming bundle back where it belonged, smiling sweetly. "She had a rough night last night, but she seems better this morning. Only a little fussy."

Blair buried his face in the blankets, kissing the tiny cheeks and clucking softly. "It's so good to be home, Sweetie. Did you miss your daddies? We sure missed you." He nuzzled closer, drinking in the sweet baby scent. Finally, he looked up. "What was the problem last night?"

"Oh, she was just a little colicky. Had a hard time getting her down for the night. She probably just missed her routine and her daddies," Mrs. McGinty said.

"Thank you so much for taking care of her for us. At least I knew there was one less thing for me to worry about. Sorry if we scared you. The storm came up so suddenly. . . ."

"Hush, young man." Flo put her fingers against Blair's lips to still them. "She was no trouble at all. I worried about the two of you, but I knew that Captain Banks would be able to find you and bring you home."

"Yes, ma'am." Blair beamed at her. "Would you like to come over and help decorate the tree?"

"I'd love to," she agreed, following Blair down the hall to Apartment 307.

Christmas Eve:

"What a wonderful idea to have our annual Christmas party here," Megan enthused, sipping on a spiced rum and admiring the tree. "So this is the tree you nearly died to bring home?"

"'Nearly died' is exaggerating just a bit," Blair corrected, watching as Laurene's chubby arms waved at the brightly colored miniature bulbs that lit the tree. She cooed and bubbled, smiling in delight at the shiny glass ornaments and glittering tinsel. "We got caught in a snow storm, but we were quite comfortable in the shelter we dug out of the snowbank."

"Yeah, once I got you warmed up," Jim reminded him, sneaking up from behind to wrap his arms around Blair's waist.

"No! No-no-no, Muffin." Blair pulled the silver strand of tinsel from their daughter's grasp before she could put the tidbit in her questing mouth. "Yeah, well, there was that, all right," Blair agreed. "But once Jim got me nice and hot, we were pretty comfortable. It was just a matter of waiting out the storm."

"Well, I'm very glad you're both all right." Megan smiled, and took another sip of the rum.

"I'll second that," Simon agreed, joining the little group. "You boys put on quite a spread," he said, indicating the extensive buffet on the kitchen island and counters. "This spiced rum is the best I've had in years. Just like my Daddy used to make."

"You can thank our neighbor, Mrs. McGinty, for the bulk of it. We filled her shopping list, and she spent all day yesterday cooking and preparing for this party."

"So, where is she?" Simon asked, looking around.

"She flew down to San Francisco for the holidays to be with her son," Blair explained. "It was Jim's Christmas present to her. She's been so wonderful to us ever since Laurene was born, she deserved something special."

Simon turned to his detective. "Well, well, well. . . The softer side of Ellison, eh?" He laughed, slapping his friend on the back.

"Yeah, underneath that tough guy image, he's just a big pussy cat," Blair smirked.

"Okay. Enough of that," Jim growled, trying to restore some dignity.

Laurene started fussing, working her way up to a full-fledged howl.

"If you'll all excuse me," Blair interrupted, "I need to feed and change Laurene. I think she's about ready to go down for the night."

"Is she sleeping through the night already?" Simon asked.

"I wish," the anthropologist sighed, wrestling with the wailing baby. "It's a struggle to get her to sleep at all in the evenings." He excused himself and headed toward the nursery, closing the French doors behind him.

"Blair's looking very well," Megan commented, remembering how rough the last two months had been on the young man. "I'm so glad he's doing better."

"You and me, both," Jim agreed. "I don't ever want to go through that again."

"You don't want other children?" Megan wondered, looking a little surprised.

"I did, once," Jim murmured, "but not after what Blair went through during and after his pregnancy with Laurene. I can't put him through that again."

"What if he wants to?" Simon asked.

"No! And that's final!" Jim was furious. "I'm not risking him again for anything."

"Hey, this is supposed to be a party. You know, fun?" Joel Taggert walked over to the group after hearing the raised voices. "What would Blair say if he heard you arguing on Christmas Eve?"

"He'd ream me a new one," Jim smiled apologetically. "Sorry. I guess expanding our family isn't a good conversation topic for this evening. Would you all excuse me for a few?" he asked, smiling and exiting the small group.

Jim wandered over to where Joel's girls were sitting, playing a game of Monopoly with Henri and Rafe. "Looks like the girls are beating the pants off you guys," he commented, eyeing the pile of money and cards the children possessed.

"Yeah, guess we weren't cut out to be real estate moguls," Rafe sighed, paying out more rent on property owned by the twins.

"Say, Jim," Henri looked up from the game board, "are you worried about this Y2K thing? I mean, do you think we'll have blackouts? The computers will all shut down?"

Jim shook his head. How many times had Blair explained this to him? "No, I don't think there will be any real global problems. Companies have been working for years to correct the problem, and most of them are ready. There may be scattered outages, but nothing more. At least, that's what Blair seems to think."

"What do I seem to think?" As if saying his name conjured the anthropologist, he suddenly stood in their midst. "Laurene went to sleep for a change," he added in an aside to Jim.

"That's a relief," Jim agreed. "We were discussing the Y2K thing," he said in answer to Blair's question.

"Oh, that's just so much a media myth," Blair sighed. "There was a problem that needed fixing, but it's under control. All these people with their dire end-of-the-world predictions are just scaring people needlessly." He dropped down on the couch, running a hand through his mop of curls.

"Getting tired?" Jim came to settle next to his lover, wrapping a protective arm around him.

"Yeah," Blair admitted. "It's been a long week."

"So, you guys have plans for the millennium New Year's party?" Rafe turned to look at their hosts.

Jim's eyes grew wide, and he shook his head, waving a hand at Rafe to shut up. "Don't get him started," he stage whispered, pointing to Blair who was obviously getting ready to speak.

"The millennium isn't until next year," Blair corrected. "That the millennium is this year is another misconception perpetrated by the media."

"But we're changing to the year 2000," Brown protested.

"Yeah, and the first year of the new millennium will be in 2001," Blair informed him. Having rendered the small group speechless, he continued. "Counting began with the year One," he explained. "There was no year 'Zero'. One through one hundred was the first century, one hundred one through two hundred was the second century, and so on. The 20th century ends with the year 2000, and the next century, the next millennium, begins in 2001."

Jim shook his head again. "We've had this argument all year, leading up to this," he sighed. "I've just given up and yielded to the greater wisdom of my younger, but wiser, partner here."

"And well you should, Jim," Blair laughed, "because I'm right, and you know it."

"See what I put up with?" Jim held up his hands in surrender. "It's no use arguing with him. You'll lose. He's like a dog with a bone on this millennium thing, so just nod politely and change the subject."

"So," Brown said, quick to take the hint, "when do you guys open presents? Christmas Eve or Christmas morning?"

"Naomi always let me open one on Christmas Eve," Blair told him, "but I grew up with the Christmas morning tradition."

"Aren't you Jewish?" Rafe looked surprised.

"Yeah, but Mom was an equal-opportunity holiday activist. We celebrated pretty much whatever came along."

"We always waited until Christmas morning," Jim added. "Steven and I used to sneak downstairs to shake the packages really early, but Sally was always up with hot chocolate to serve us. We were never actually successful in getting a peek under the wrappings." He grinned at the memory.

"And now that you two are together, I guess it's a Christmas morning tradition, then?" Rafe asked.

"Looks like," Jim agreed.

Blair yawned and stretched, untangling himself from Jim's embrace. "Sorry, guys, but I'm beat. Laurene's been keeping me up nights, so my energy reserves are a little low." He rose, making a circuit of the room, giving his apologies and telling everyone good-night. He then made his way to the loft stairs, and slowly climbed the flight to the bedroom.

Simon came over to the couch, where Jim was still surrounded by a small pack of detectives. "Gentlemen, perhaps it's about time we give our hosts a break," he said, clapping a hand against Brown's shoulder. "We've already lost one of them, and Jim, here, looks like he's being sociable just to be polite."

Jim smiled up at his captain sheepishly.

Megan sauntered over, her mug of spiced rum long-since empty. "It was a wonderful party, Jim. Thank you for inviting us all. I do think we've overstayed our welcome a bit, though."

"No, don't say that, Megan," Jim protested. "Laurene's been keeping Blair up lately--she's been a little fussy the last couple weeks--so he crashes whenever the opportunity presents itself. Don't let that run you off."

"Well, you're looking a little under the weather yourself there, Jimbo. I think the Captain's right; it's time we let you boys get some rest." She began gathering up mugs and plates, and carrying them into the kitchen.

She was soon joined by Joel Taggert, who helped her scrape the dishes and load the dishwasher. "Great party, huh?" Joel grinned broadly at his Aussie colleague.

"Sandy always sees to it that the parties here are special," Megan agreed. "Too bad he's had such a rough time of it lately. I thought things were getting better."

"Sounds like Laurene's got a case of colic to me," Joel diagnosed. "Karey had a bad case when she was around two months old. Thought we wouldn't survive the wailing, but she stopped when she turned three months--just like someone flipped a switch." He turned on the appliance, then ushered Megan out of the kitchen. Gathering up his daughters, he said his good-byes.

"It was good having you over. Tell Rebecca we missed her, and that we hope she's feeling better before the new year." Jim clapped his old friend on the back.

"You take care of Blair and that baby," Joel admonished. "Don't let all that crying get to you. It will end."

"It's a relief to hear that." Jim said sincerely.

"Have a Merry Christmas, Jim," Megan said in parting, giving the detective a quick peck on the cheek. "Give Sandy a hug and kiss for me." She tossed a cheery wave of the hand over her shoulder as she made her exit.

Jim closed the door, and leaned against it, exhaustion catching up to him. Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself away from the support, and headed for the bedroom stairs.

Christmas morning:

Soft strains of "The First Noel" drifted through the loft, finally waking the sleeping Sentinel. He rolled over to find Blair's side of the bed empty. Peering through the railing, he saw Laurene blissfully nursing, with Blair curled up on the couch wearing his robe and a pair of socks. The Christmas tree lights were on, and the piles of gifts beneath the tree glinted and twinkled from the multicolored reflections on foil wraps and ribbons. Blair's eyes were closed, but he was humming softly along with the carol.

Jim tiptoed downstairs and into Blair's old bedroom, where they had stashed the joint Christmas present they had bought for themselves: a state-of-the-art digital video camera. Jim had plugged in the charger the evening before, and now snapped the battery in place. Walking out of the small room, he zoomed in on the father and daughter nestled on the couch. He panned to the lit tree, and the gifts beneath, but soon came back to his main subjects.

He walked quietly over to the couch, zooming in close on his blissful lover and their daughter. He grinned as heavy lids lifted off the dark blue eyes, and Blair smiled up at him.

"Merry Christmas, Jim." He ran a hand over the soft, silken curls on Laurene's head, looking down at her earnest little face as she fed.

"What are you doing up before dawn?" his puzzled partner wanted to know. Despite the question, Jim kept on taping the scene before him.

"You know how it goes, Jim," Blair explained patiently for the camera. "Laurene can't tell time. When she gets hungry and fusses, I have to come feed her, or risk you waking up all grumpy."

"I don't wake up grumpy," the videographer protested.

"I beg to differ," Blair countered with a smile. "You're like the big old papa bear, and you do get grumpy."

"Well, seeing as how we're all up anyway," Jim said, changing the subject, "how about we start opening all those presents?"

Blair gently pried Laurene from her breakfast and pulled his robe closed. "Why don't you help her open them? I'll take the camera."

Jim faded out and put the camera on pause, setting it on the coffee table. "Sounds like a deal," he said, holding out his arms for the squirming bundle. When he had settled on the floor next to the tree, Blair picked up the camera.

With Laurene secure in the cradle of one arm, Jim drew a package to him and toyed with the wrapping, trying to get the baby interested in the proceedings.

Laurene stared intently at one shiny ornament, and babbled her delight. "Ahahahahahah." Both men laughed at their daughter's first attempt to express herself, before Jim tried once again to interest her in the gifts. Finally, he began opening them with abandon, enjoying himself as much as if the gifts had been meant for him.

When he was finished, he found himself surrounded by a pile of wrapping paper, bows and toys. Laurene had fallen asleep in his arms, but Jim was still grinning like a little boy.

"You know, Jim," Blair observed from behind the camera, "I think this Christmas was more for us than for her."

"What's wrong with that?" Jim replied with a sparkle in his eye. "I think she enjoyed it."

At that moment, Laurene woke up. Screwing up her tiny features, she let out a giant sized wail. Jim knew immediately what was going on. "This one's yours, Chief," he said, holding the smelly baby at arm's length.

"You're a big boy, now," Blair chided. "You can change a simple diaper."

"This is no simple diaper we've got here," Jim complained. "This smells like a major sewage spill."

"You're such a wimp." Blair chuckled and set the camera down. "Give her to me." He took the squalling baby from his partner's arms. "You've really got to remember to dial back when this happens," he said, rising from the floor and heading to the changing table situated in the corner of the room near the bookcases.

"There's no dialing that back," Jim complained.

Laurene appeared to agree, crying lustily until Blair had wiped her bottom clean and wrapped her in a dry diaper, disposing of the dirty one in the sealed diaper bin.

When the baby had finally settled down again, Blair yawned and looked longingly at the stairs to their bedroom. "Think we could get another forty winks before we have to really get this day started?" he asked.

"I think that could be arranged," Jim agreed, guiding his partner and daughter to the stairs, and following them up.

January, 2000:

"Blair?" Jim shook his soundly-sleeping partner. It was 2 a.m., and Laurene was wailing. The Sentinel didn't need the intercom system they'd recently installed to hear that healthy set of lungs howl from the nursery below.

Blair stirred and murmured, turning over to snuggle deeper under the blankets.

"Blair. Wake up. Laurene's crying."

"You take care of it," came the groggy, muffled response.

Jim just shook harder. "I have to get up in a few hours and head into work. You take care of it."

Sighing heavily, Blair peeled back the warm covers, exposing himself to the cool air. Shivering, he pulled on a pair of socks and slipped into his robe. Running a hand through his wild mane to tame the sleep-tousled curls, he shuffled to the stairs.

"Could you step on it, please?" Jim grumbled, covering his head with the blankets in an effort to muffle the cries.

Too tired to throw back a witty retort, Blair descended the stairs, leaning heavily against the banister to support himself. Opening the French doors to the nursery, he was faced with the full volume of Laurene's distress.

Picking the infant up, he carried her to the changing table, checking her diaper, which was still dry. He settled in the rocker, pulling open his robe to nurse. Laurene, however, had other ideas.

After several attempts at offering his breast had been refused by the fussy baby, he stood and began pacing the room, bouncing Laurene and whispering soothingly to her.

"Shh, shh, Sweetheart," he crooned in Laurene's ear. "Your papa has to go to work soon. You need to be quiet so he can sleep." He stroked her hair, a gentle petting motion that frequently quieted the crying. Laurene kept wailing. "Please. Please," Blair begged, almost too tired himself to go through this again.

Since Christmas, Laurene had become increasingly fussy, especially in the evenings. Little seemed to soothe the crying once it started. Blair had spent many nights in the nursery, trying to quiet their daughter so that Jim could get his sleep. It had been over a week since he'd gotten more than a couple hours' sleep in a row. Daylight catnaps seemed more the norm than the exception, and the lack of rest was beginning to show.

Laurene's cries finally quieted to whimpers. Exhausted, Blair sank back into the comfort of the rocker, and once again pulled open his robe. This time he met with success. The baby latched onto the leaking nipple and began to suckle. Blair let his head fall back against the chair's cushion and closed his eyes. That was how Jim found them in the morning.

He came downstairs, dressed and ready to start his day. Noting that Blair had once again failed to have breakfast started on time, he poked his head into the nursery, prepared to growl his displeasure. The sight that greeted him melted the anger, and he smiled.

Blair was sprawled in the rocker, tousled hair a tangled cloud around his face, his robe open, revealing the soft mound of a small breast, nipple puckered in the cool air. In his arms rested their daughter, sleeping soundly and snoring like a soldier.

Jim noted the lines of weariness etched across Blair's youthful features. Even in sleep, the exhaustion his partner felt still showed clearly. He entered the room and carefully lifted Laurene from his partner's arms. The slight jostling woke the sleeping infant, but once she was laid in her crib, she closed her eyes and went back to sleep. He adjusted the robe, fastening it shut, then wrapped an afghan around his love. Lifting Blair's feet, he scooted the footstool beneath them, then tiptoed out of the room, closing the doors behind him.

Early February:

"Dammit, Blair! Can't you do anything around here?" Weary from overtime work on a serial rape/murder case, Jim came home to find their apartment in shambles. Stacks of unread mail tilted ominously on the table by the door, threatening to slide onto the floor at the slightest touch. Newspapers, magazines and books were strewn on every available tabletop. The trash overflowed, and the smell from the garbage under the sink was almost enough to drive the Sentinel back out into the hallway. Dishes cluttered the sink, overflowing onto the counters. In the midst of the chaos, Blair dozed on the couch, still dressed only in his robe and socks--the standard uniform of the day for the exhausted anthropologist.

Jim's stormy entrance woke the cause of all the recent family tension. Laurene began to wail her displeasure. Crossing the room with long strides, Jim entered the nursery, picking up the squalling baby. A quick check of her diaper eliminated that as her distress. He bounced the baby in his arms, trying to quiet her cries.

A bleary-eyed Blair shuffled into the doorway. "Hi, Jim. Sorry about the mess. I promise I'll get it all cleaned up. I've got an appointment to take Laurene into the doctor tomorrow."

"It's about time," Jim snapped. "I haven't had a decent night's sleep in nearly a month."

"You're not the one who has to stay up all night trying to quiet her down," Blair retorted.

"No, but she keeps me up most of the night, anyway. As long as I have to go to work and bring in this family's paycheck, it's your job to take care of that baby and our home."

"I'm doing the best I can!"

"Well, it's not good enough." Jim towered over his shorter mate, trying to intimidate with size.

"I'd like to see you do better." Blair refused to be intimidated, standing on his toes to gain some height, and poking an index finger into Jim's chest. "Give Laurene to me," he demanded, taking the baby from Jim's unresisting grasp.

"It's okay, Sweetie," he cooed into the baby's ear. "Daddy's here. He's going to take good care of his little Muffin." Blair prodded Jim back through the doors of the nursery, and shut them behind him.

Jim just stared at the closed French doors for several minutes before heading into the kitchen to dispose of the garbage and clean out the sink.

~oO0Oo~

"So, Blair . . . why are we seeing Laurene today?" Dr. Roberts, the baby's pediatrician, asked. As he waited for the answer, he began his examination.

"She cries all the time--morning, afternoon, night. I can't get her to stop. Jim's not getting enough sleep, and he's getting really . . . cranky," he answered, shooting for a diplomatic tone.

"Barring any other excuses, providing I find anything, my first thought would be colic," the doctor commented. "However, colic usually starts in infants only a few days to a few weeks old and ends around the third month. Laurene is three months old now. When did this start?"

"It started back in early December," Blair mused, casting his mind back to determine the timing. "But it didn't really start getting noticeable as a problem until around Christmas. Laurene's always been a little fussy," he added. "She's got a taste for breast milk, and won't take formula unless she's missed a few feedings. Even then, she tends to spit it up. She can't tolerate a wet diaper, or even a damp one. The slightest sound in the apartment can set her off."

"And this started when she was around two months?"

Blair nodded. "Yeah, I guess that's about right."

"Well," the doctor sighed, "I can't find anything physically wrong with her. I'll have the lab draw some blood for testing, just in case. I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but it's probably something related to colic, and you'll just have to ride it out. Why it started so late, I don't have a clue. I'll call you with the test results in about three days. In the meantime, I'd suggest trying to get some rest. By the looks of you, Jim's not the only one losing sleep. Do you have anyone who could watch Laurene while you clocked in a few solid hours of sleep?"

"I don't know," Blair hedged. "There's our neighbor across the hall, but I really hate bothering anyone. Laurene's a real handful when she cries."

"I think you should seriously consider it, Blair. If your health deteriorates from lack of rest, you won't be in any shape to care for Laurene. Consider, too, that exhaustion tends to decrease the amount of milk you produce," he added for emphasis. "If Laurene is constantly hungry, that could be part of the problem."

"Thanks, Dr. Roberts. I'll see what I can do." Blair wrapped Laurene snugly in her insulated blankets and carried her out of the exam room.

"Don't hesitate to call if you have any questions," the doctor added as Blair made his way toward the clinic's exit.

"Don't worry," Blair responded. "You'll be hearing from me."

~oO0Oo~

"What did the doctor say?" Jim asked that evening over dinner.

"He couldn't find anything wrong with her," Blair explained. "He said it might be something like colic, but colic would have ended by now." He sighed. "He said it's something we may just have to ride out."

"Ride out?" Jim exclaimed loudly. "For how long? I can't take this much longer as it is."

"He didn't say." Blair's answer was softly spoken, his head bowed as he examined the contents of his plate.

"You've got to find a way to make it stop." The tone of Jim's voice was authoritarian, like the Army Captain he used to be.

"Why me, Jim?" Blair suddenly exploded. "Why is it always my problem? I'm not getting any sleep here, either. And if you think I don't work, just because I'm not going into the precinct or teaching at the university, you'd better think again. When Laurene isn't fussing, I try to get some sleep, because I'm the one who stays up with her all night. When I'm not sleeping, and not trying to quiet her down, or feed her, or bathe her, or play with her, I'm trying to keep the damn apartment clean or fixing your meals. If it isn't perfect, well, fuck you! I'm tired of taking all the blame." He pushed back h