These characters do not belong to me, and I intend no infringement upon the rights of the creators, producers, or anyone else involved in the production of The Sentinel. This was written solely for the enjoyment of other fans.

This story was originally published in the zine Senses of Wonder II. Many thanks to my betas Debra and Lisa, as well as to Kathleen, who was the impetus behind the zine creation. Also kudos to my fellow Lurkers who made it all possible.

This story was inspired by the country song, "Riding with Private Malone", sung by David Ball and written by Wood Newton and Thom Shepherd.

PART ONE
Death is a very dull, dreary affair, and my advice to you is to have nothing whatever to do with it. W. Somerset Maugham

Captain James Ellison sometimes wondered what he hadn't done to deserve purgatory? Hell seemed more the logical route for a person who'd been an Army Ranger and participated in his share of covert missions where people died--some by his hand. And if that hadn't clinched it, then his pride and stubbornness for refusing to speak to his father or brother for ten years should've guaranteed a forever stint in Hades. Last he heard, pride was a sin. But then, so were murder, thievery and adultery. He had missed out on those, except for maybe the murder part, but then if he'd committed murder he wouldn't be here, would he?

'Here' being halfway between heaven and hell.

Who would've figured the afterlife would be so damned...boring?

"James."

The rebuke, spoken in a woman's voice with an English accent, made Jim roll his eyes.

"Edwina," Jim said in the exact same tone, sans the accent. "What brings you down from the clouds?"

The proper matron sniffed. "As you very well know, James, heaven in the clouds was a myth propagated by angels who had nothing better to do than tease humans."

"Too bad the angels didn't propagate a myth about purgatory. Something like, 'if you weren't dead already, you'd die of boredom there.'"

Edwina harrumphed and managed to further straighten her already rigid backbone. She looked like she had a pitchfork handle up her--

"James!" Edwina scolded. "It's thoughts like those which have kept you here when others have moved on to their reward."

Jim stood to pace in the white room filled with white furniture and white throw pillows and white rugs. The only good thing was nothing ever got dirty, although that drove Jim even crazier since cleaning was one of the things he did best when he was bored...or worried...or angry...or happy.

"Look, I don't know why I'm here," Jim began and Edwina narrowed her eyes. "I mean, I know I'm dead." He ran a hand over his short hair. "But aren't I supposed to be doing something? Like maybe shoveling coal into a furnace for eternity or playing a goddamned harp."

"James!" This time Edwina's voice actually rose an octave.

"I'm sorry, Edwina. It's just that I'm so sick and tired of doing nothing."

A man wearing a white suit and white tie materialized beside Edwina. "Did you tell him?" he asked her excitedly.

Edwina's thin lips pressed together. "I was just about to."

"Tell me what?" Jim demanded. It wasn't every day one of the representatives from the Council visited some soul in the purgatory section.

"You won," the Council member blurted.

"The Publishers Clearinghouse?" The man did look a little like Ed McMahon.

Edwina almost rolled her eyes--in all the time Jim had been one of her lost souls, she'd never actually rolled her eyes. Not even when he'd asked about female companionship and recalled an especially hot, sultry night in Bali, with a dancer who could do the most incredible things with her...

He caught Edwina's schoolteacher glower and let the thought go, albeit reluctantly.

"The Purgatory Lottery," the white-suited man exclaimed.

"Huh?" Jim grunted.

"He doesn't know what it is?" the Council member asked Edwina, his shock evident.

"I hadn't explained it to him yet, but I shall if you will give me one minute, please," Edwina said.

"Yes, yes, by all means, tell him."

Edwina folded her hands together and faced Jim. "Every year the Council draws one name from all the souls in purgatory to give him or her a chance to help someone discover their true path."

"Huh?" Jim hadn't been stupid when he was alive, but being dead must've killed off a few billion brain cells--he had no idea what they were talking about.

"If the winner of the lottery succeeds at his or her task, then he or she will be allowed his or her heart's desire."

His or her. He or she. Even the afterlife folks had gotten caught up in the politically correct bullshi--stuff.

"Sorry," Jim said with a not-so-sheepish smile.

Edwina arched a pencil thin gray eyebrow and continued. "You, James, have a task to complete on Earth. If you complete it to the Council's satisfaction, you will be given a reward."

Maybe that meant he could either go up or down, or to one side or the other. The geography didn't matter; only a destination other than this limbo did. However, Jim always looked a gift horse in the mouth. "You mean like that angel Charlie in the Jimmy Stewart movie?" His words prompted the memory of "Charlie's Angels", Farrah Fawcett, adolescence, and raging hormones...which gained him another Edwina glare.

"You mean Clarence. And, no, not exactly," the Council member interjected, then drew himself up to stand tall, which was still six inches shorter than Jim's height. "Angels do not have wings."

"Okay, whatever." Jim looked at Edwina. "So what's the assignment, boss lady?"

Being a Purgatory Lottery winner must've given him a little leeway with Edwina, too, or she would've busted his chops for that one.

An oval screen appeared on the white counter and colors filled the ellipse. Green grass and blue sky and gray and red brick buildings. Jim blinked--he'd almost forgotten how beautiful colors truly were. Young people walked, ran and roller-skated--no, not exactly since the skates had only one row of wheels--across bisecting sidewalks. Everybody was laughing and smiling, and Jim found his own lips turning upward. The scene slowly panned across the campus, then stopped and zeroed in on a young man with longish, dark curly hair, who sat on a bench by himself, his shoulders hunched. His bowed pose radiated defeat and despair. The picture zoomed closer and Jim could make out more details. The student wore faded blue jeans with holes in the knees and though it appeared warm outside, he had on a flannel shirt over another shirt. Some coarse chest hair peeped out of the V at the top of his shirts and his jaw and cheeks were shaded with whisker stubble.

Jim stepped closer to the screen and the figure looked up. Dark blue eyes seemed to peer straight at Jim. For a moment, he couldn't breathe. "Who is he?" he asked in a husky voice.

"Blair Sandburg. He is an anthropology graduate student at Rainier University in--"

"Cascade, Washington. I went there myself," Jim finished, his gaze never leaving the screen. "What's wrong with him?"

"Mr. Sandburg is twenty-eight years old. He has been working on his doctoral thesis for four years, but has nothing to show for it. Two days ago he filed an academic codes violation against a student in direct opposition of the wishes of his advisor. Because Mr. Sandburg dared to maintain integrity, his supervisor is threatening to withdraw his fellowship if he doesn't produce the first chapter of his thesis within two weeks."

"That's blackmail." Jim glanced at Edwina, but his attention was quickly drawn back to the young man.

"That is academic politics," she corrected.

Jim scowled, refusing to play semantics with her. "Why hasn't this Sandburg started writing his doctorate?"

"He has been attempting to discover a sentinel, a tribal guardian, who exists in mythology but has not been proven to exist in contemporary society."

"If sentinels are a myth, then he must be a con man or an idiot," Jim said, though doubting his own words.

"He is a genius," Edwina refuted. "He began college at the age of sixteen. By the age of twenty-three, he had achieved his master's degree. If he can find a sentinel, his dream to become an acclaimed anthropologist will be realized."

"So my job is to help him find one of these sentinels so he can attain his dream before he's bullied out of Rainier." His voice came out cynical and hard.

"That's correct," the white-mantled councilman said. "It's your chance to receive your heart's desire."

Jim scrubbed his temples with the heels of his hands. "Give it to someone else," he finally said in a low voice.

"That is against the rules," Edwina said. "You have won the lottery and it is you who must attempt to complete the assignment."

"And if I don't play?"

"That is your prerogative." She peered at Jim, her eyes almost warm. "Give it a chance, James." She paused. "Give yourself a chance."

Jim's throat tightened and he looked away, though it was purely a human reaction--he couldn't hide anything from them.

"You will be on your own, James. No one can help you."

"How will you know when I'm done?"

"We'll know," the Council member reassured.

Jim took a deep breath and nodded. "All right. What do I need to do?"

"Close your eyes," Edwina directed.

Jim took one last look at the white on white, then looked back at the screen where Blair Sandburg was frozen in time. His dark blue eyes seemed to be searching for something. Or someone.

Jim closed his eyes...and found himself surrounded by blurred greens of all shades, and heavy, hot humidity. Vertigo assailed him and the world winked out completely.

"Do you think he bought it?" the Councilman asked Edwina.

The woman's prim and proper facade dropped away and her shoulders sagged. "I hope so. James Ellison has too good of a heart to be wasting away in purgatory, but we cannot interfere. The choice must be his." Edwina smiled. "However, if anybody can help James find his true path, it will be Blair Sandburg."

Blair removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. After grading term papers all night, it was difficult to read the small lettering in the newspaper ads. He couldn't afford this, but he didn't have a choice. He needed a vehicle and his Corvair had been totaled last week, thanks to an ex-girlfriend. Why in the world had he ever loaned it to her?

Because you're a sucker, Sandburg.

Blair was already on the university's shit list because he hadn't kissed the star quarterback's ass. The kid had turned in a paper four days ago, which had been taken word for word from two different sources. Can you say plagiarism?

Telling the department head, Dr. Sidney Lewis, had done nothing but gain him a lecture on knowing when to bend, and how Jeff Donnelly's father was expecting a scout to be watching his son at the championship game next week and how it would reflect on Rainier if they had a quarterback drafted by the pros. Can you say political bullshit?

Morally and ethically outraged, Blair did what any other dedicated graduate student would do--he filed an academic codes violation with the university board. Going against his advisor, who held his future in his hands, hadn't been the smartest thing Blair had ever done. Dr. Lewis, with the dean's hearty backing, had countered by giving him a two-week ultimatum to get the first chapter of his thesis turned in.

Can you say royally screwed?

So, of course, arriving late to class twice in the last week had only added more nails to his academic coffin. Another tardy appearance and his doctorate committee would meet immediately and more than likely dismiss him on the grounds of irresponsibility and academic fraud for not having written anything on his thesis in three years' time.

He took a deep breath and replaced his glasses. Ten minutes later, he had three vehicle ads circled. He picked up the phone in his small Hargrove Hall office and dialed the first number. Sold. Blair put an X through the ad. He called the second one and found out he was ten minutes too late. Another big black X.

A lot like my life lately.

The last item wasn't even close to what he wanted but the money was right.

_For sale. Old Ford truck. $500_

As luck--or non-luck--would have it, the woman said it was still available, but she didn't know the truck's year or even if it ran. Hoping this wasn't a lost cause, Blair hung up after getting directions to her place. He tossed his worn backpack over his shoulder and locked his office door behind him. As he walked across campus to the bus stop, he tried to recapture the joy and excitement which had possessed him the first time he'd set foot on these grounds. He'd only been fifteen at the time but the moment he saw the tree-lined yards, the streams of babbling students, and the library filled to bursting with books, he knew this was what he wanted. More than anything, he wanted to learn about people and life and society and what made it all go around.

Twelve years later, he was no closer to finding what that teenage boy was searching for. Maybe it was time to grow up and move on with life. Only what kind of life would it be once he gave up his dream?

His dark thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the Metro bus, and he climbed aboard and dropped his remaining coins in the meter. An hour and two bus changes later, he arrived at the edge of Cascade where a small, white house surrounded by a weatherworn picket fence stood. He glanced at the address on the hastily written note, then at the number on the porch post. This was it.

Calming his turbulent thoughts with some deep breathing and a mantra of "life sucks, life sucks", Blair walked up to the door and knocked. The door was answered almost immediately by a gray-haired woman with too many creases in a face which had probably been pretty in her youth.

"You must be the one who called about the truck," she said, opening the door. "I'm Louise Harkness."

Blair nodded and smiled. "Yes, I am. Blair Sandburg." He glanced around, feeling anxious and nervous, like someone just walked across his grave. That thought sent a shiver skating down his spine. "Uh, is the truck behind the house?"

"It's in the shed out back." She grabbed a sweater from a hook by the door and tossed it over her hunched shoulders, then joined him on the porch. "We've had it for eight years now, but it's time to let it go." Her face softened and her eyes became distant. "Time to let him go."

Blair instinctively touched her arm. "Are you all right, Ms. Harkness?"

"It's Mrs. Harkness." She waved a blue-veined hand. "I never did like Ms. even though I know that's the correct term nowadays." She led him off the porch and around the back of the house to a large shed. "I lost my husband this summer. And my son eight years ago."

Compassion filled the student. "I'm sorry. Was this your son's truck?"

The woman laughed, but it was a sad sound. "Heavens, no, Scotty wouldn't have been caught dead in a pick-up. It belonged to his friend, Jimmy Ellison. Such a nice young man, but as opposite as two boys could be. He and Scotty were in the Army together."

Blair had a feeling he knew how this story ended and wasn't certain he wanted to hear it. He had enough of his own "bad endings" lately, and a foreboding which said it was only going to get worse.

"They were killed during a training exercise in Georgia. They said it was a helicopter accident."

He noticed something in her voice. "You didn't believe them?"

Mrs. Harkness shrugged her thin shoulders. "Scotty and Jimmy were Rangers. There were a lot of things they couldn't tell me, things I don't think they wanted to tell me." She shivered despite the warm sun. "It doesn't matter. They died serving their country, which is what they would've wanted."

Blair bit his tongue. His mother had disliked authority figures--the military and policemen--and had raised her son to have a healthy dislike for them, too. The more he read, the more he was convinced Naomi was right. Absolute power corrupts absolutely, and in the hierarchy inherent in paramilitary organizations, there was more chance to see that maxim in action.

Mrs. Harkness pointed at the large doors of a shed. "It's in there."

Blair's apprehension grew, but he forced himself to swing open one of the two wooden doors. He peered into the dimness and watched dust motes cavort through the sun's rays. He sneezed.

"God bless you," Mrs. Harkness said. "Oh, dear, I do hope the truck still runs. Jimmy always took pride in keeping it shiny inside and out. My husband, God rest is soul, used to start it once a month or so."

"How long has it been since you were last in here?"

"Eight years. Ever since we got the news," she replied quietly. "Jimmy asked us if he could store it here when he and Scotty left for the last time. But now I'm getting ready to sell the place and I have to find someone who'll take care of it for Jimmy. I have a feeling you will."

Even though Blair had never known the soldier, he felt a strange warmth at Mrs. Harkness' confident words. "I'm going to take the tarp off so you might want to step back. There'll probably be dust flying all over."

"Oh, yes, of course." Mrs. Harkness moved to the side.

Blair placed his backpack against the shed and opened the other door. Rolling up his sleeves, he took hold of the tarp at the back end of the vehicle and removed it. His eyes teared from the dust and he sneezed five times in a row. Once he could see again, he stepped back to view the truck, which looked like a 69 Ford in a two-tone blue and white. Mrs. Harkness was right--Jimmy had taken care of it. Although dust blanketed everything else, the truck looked shiny and new.

"The keys should be inside if you'd like to try to start it," Mrs. Harkness said.

Blair nodded and opened the truck's door. Mustiness greeted his nose, but that would easily be taken care of by rolling down the windows. Sure enough, the keys were in the ignition, probably originally put there by the dead soldier's hand. Sadness rippled through Blair, so strong that he had to glance around to see if anyone besides Mrs. Harkness was watching him. There was no one. It took three attempts, but after the truck got past its initial rough start, the motor purred. Although Blair had never seen himself in a pick-up, he felt comfortable in it, like he belonged here.

He shook his head. Too many sleepless nights were making him loopy. He turned off the engine and re-joined the woman.

"What do you think? Would you like it?" Mrs. Harkness asked.

Blair gazed at the truck and thought he saw a shadowy figure in the cab. He blinked and the truck was empty. Definitely not getting enough sleep. "Yes. I'll take it."

The woman smiled. "I'm glad. I have the registration in the house."

"I don't have cash. Will you take a check?" he asked tentatively.

"Of course," she replied without hesitation. "I trust you."

Blair smiled. "Thank you."

Fifteen minutes later, Blair drove the truck out of the shed, which had been its home for eight years. Mrs. Harkness dabbed at her eyes as he turned onto the street and waved good-bye. He felt more than a little guilty paying only $500 for the classic truck, but if it had been a dollar more, he wouldn't have been able to afford it. He was already going to be living on bruised fruit and day old bakery items until the end of the month. And that was provided he didn't lose his fellowship.

Blair stopped for a red light and leaned over to open the glove compartment. It was empty except for a single white envelope. Frowning, he brought it out and slit it open with his finger. It was obviously a man's bold handwriting on the sheet of paper and Blair began to read.

If you're reading this, it means I didn't make it back from our last assignment. I have no regrets serving my country, only that all the hopes and dreams I had for my life are now gone. Sweetheart was my pride and joy. Please take care of her and she'll always be there for you, just like she was for me. Captain James J. Ellison.

Jimmy.

A car horn blared behind him and Blair glanced up to see the light had turned green. He stepped on the gas and, unaccustomed to the accelerator, he squealed the tires and "Sweetheart" hurtled through the intersection.

"Careful, Chief!"

Blair whipped his head around to see a man sitting in the passenger seat beside him--a man who hadn't been there two seconds ago. Shocked, he swerved to the right.

"Look out!" the man shouted, pressing his hands against the dashboard.

Blair jerked the wheel, barely missing the curb, and the car in the other lane honked and gave him a one-finger salute. His mind reeling, Blair spotted a Walgreen's parking lot and coasted in on autopilot. He set the brake and clutched the steering wheel with trembling hands as he allowed himself a full-blown anxiety attack, complete with hyperventilation.

"Oh, shit," the stranger swore, then glanced upward guiltily and added, "Sorry. A bag. We need a bag." He reached for the backpack on the floor and opened it frantically. Inside was a bag containing day-old Chinese take-out. He took out the half-filled containers and held the bag up to Blair's mouth and nose. "Breathe in here, Sandburg."

It's official. The stress has driven me to insanity and it was a damned short trip.

Blair did as the man told him, but only because the man's hands were wrapped around his which held the bag against his face.

How did he get in here? And how the hell does he know my name?

But the questions were lost in his quest to find air for his starving lungs. Or to be more technically accurate, to remove some of the oxygen from his overfilled lungs. The bag trick worked after a few minutes and Blair tried to lower it, but the man continued to hold it in place.

"I'm okay now." Blair's voice was muffled by the bag.

"What?"

"I said, I'm okay now," Blair repeated, rolling his eyes.

"Oh."

The man released him and Blair removed the bag. Blessed cool air washed across his lips and cheeks.

"You do this often?" the man asked with a little wave toward the bag.

"Only when strange men appear out of nowhere." Blair turned in his seat so his back rested against the door. "How the hell did you get in my truck?"

"Your truck? No way, kid. Sweetheart's mine."

Sweetheart.

"Oh, shit. This whole thing was a scam, wasn't it? Poor Mrs. Harkness and her sob story about Jimmy and Scotty. And I fell for it like an easy mark." Blair buried his face in his hands.

"Hey, you leave Louise and Scotty out of this. This has nothing to do with them."

"You are Captain Ellison, right?" Blair asked, lifting his head to look at his unwanted passenger.

The soldier shifted in his seat. "Well, yeah, sort of."

Blair sat up. "Sort of? How can you 'sort of' be somebody?"

"I mean, I was, but now I'm not. Well, I still am, but I don't really exist."

Blair couldn't believe his catastrophic misfortune. He lost his Corvair; he'd probably lose his fellowship, which meant his doctorate would be put on hold indefinitely; he was conned out of $500; and some crazy man had appeared out of nowhere and was discussing existentialism. Could life get any more weird?

"Are you or are you not Captain James Ellison, better known as Jimmy to Mrs. Harkness?" Blair asked coolly.

"Yes, but--"

"Yes or no. No buts. Is this your truck?"

"Kind of--"

"Yes or no?"

"It was."

Blair glared at the blue-eyed soldier with the military brush cut, camouflage pants and olive green tank T-shirt. And spit-shined black boots. "That wasn't a yes or a no."

"That's the best you're going to get, Chief." Ellison narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms over his broad chest.

Blair groaned and looked out the windshield, only to see two girls staring at him as if he were crazy. He waved and the teenagers moved away, laughing and looking at him like his body had taken a hike without his brain.

"They're a little young for you," Ellison commented dryly.

Blair looked back at Ellison and scowled. "I ought to call the cops and have them arrest you and your accomplice, that deceptively nice little old lady."

"You're not going to have anyone, especially Louise Harkness, arrested. She already lost Scotty. She doesn't need any more grief."

"And don't forget her husband, too. Or was that part of the sob story?"

"What? John's dead?"

Blair snorted. "As if you didn't know."

"I didn't." Ellison rubbed his brow, looking achingly more vulnerable. "First her son, then her husband. Damn. I hope they're not in purgatory, too."

"That's enough!" Blair leaned across the man and opened his door, then pushed against a rock-solid shoulder. "Out of my truck, Ellison. Now!"

Ellison didn't budge one inch.

"Damn it. I'll call the police. I swear I will."

An elderly man with a cane peered into the passenger door at Blair. "Are you all right, young man?"

"No. I can't get him out of my truck," Blair said through clenched teeth.

The man's gaze moved over Ellison. "There's no one but you in there."

"What do you mean? He's right here, not two feet from you."

The elderly man backed away and waved a finger at Blair. "I suggest you discontinue the use of drugs, young man. They'll do nothing but damage your brain."

"What the--" Blair broke off as the man tottered away. "How could he not see you? You're right here!"

"I guess you're the only one who can see me," Ellison said smugly.

Blair's brow furrowed and he jumped out of the truck, remembering to take the keys with him, and approached a mother and her toddler son. "Excuse me, ma'am, but is there anybody in that pick-up?"

Wariness flashed in the woman's eyes, but she glanced over at the truck. "No."

"Uh, thank you. Sorry to have bothered you." Blair's gut churned as he went up to a boy wearing baggy jeans, which looked like they were going to slide off his narrow hips at any moment. "Do you see someone in that truck?"

The youth followed Blair's pointing finger. "What're you on, man? There ain't no one in there."

Blair's suspicion and fear grew as he questioned five more passersby. Doubting his own sanity, he trudged back to the pick-up.

"No one could see me, could they?" Ellison asked.

Blair stared at him, seeing him as clearly as he saw the people going in and out of the drugstore. His niggling suspicion had graduated to full-blown alarm. "Where did you come from?"

Ellison took a deep breath. "Originally from Cascade. Uh, recently from purgatory."

Blair's mind still wasn't ready to accept the unacceptable. "I've never heard of it. Is it in Washington?"

"Actually I'm not sure where it is. They told me heaven wasn't really in the clouds, so I wouldn't even try to guess where purgatory is."

"Do you realize what you just said is a definite sign of insanity?"

"It's the truth." The man's jaw was set in a stubborn line.

Blair slumped in his seat. He had to get home and have something to eat. Maybe his famished brain had created this hallucination. He glanced at the man's impressive biceps and romance-hero chiseled features.

At least my hallucination looks like a walking wet dream.

"I'm going to drive back to my place, then I'm going to eat something and sleep for a long time. When I wake up, I assume you'll be gone," Blair said evenly.

"Don't bet on it, Junior."

Blair pressed his lips together and started the truck. He ignored Ellison's front seat driving as he concentrated on clinging to a tiny thread of sanity. He parked in front of his lackluster apartment building. Although he heard Ellison get out and slam his door behind him, he didn't look back. Maybe if he ignored him, he'd go back to purgatory where he came from.

The security door closed behind Blair and he heard the thump of a body hitting it on the other side. He almost opened it to see if Ellison was okay, but stopped himself. If the man was actually dead, then he should be able to go through doors, right?

"Open the door, Sandburg." Ellison's voice sounded muffled...and pissed-off.

"Screw you and the horse you came in on, Ellison. Get out of my life. I don't need anymore trouble."

A colorful conglomeration of metaphors escaped Ellison, and Blair was impressed despite himself. He could curse in twenty-nine different languages, but Ellison had them all beat, hands down. With a repertoire like that, no wonder he was in purgatory. In fact, it was kind of surprising he wasn't in hell.

Not that Blair believed in purgatory or hell or even heaven. He knew there was something after death, but he'd yet to figure it out. Maybe he could interview Ellison and write an article. Riiight.

Blair began to trudge up the stairs. A movement at the corner of his eye caught his attention. Ellison finally made it through, but he didn't look very happy. In fact, he looked downright angry and a bruise was forming on his forehead.

"I didn't know dead people could get bruises," Blair commented idly.

"You and me, both," Ellison muttered. He rolled his eyes upward. "A tech manual might've come in handy."

Feeling guilty, Blair said, "C'mon up and I'll get some ice for that bump. I'm not sure if the ice will help or not, but then I didn't think ghosts could hurt themselves either."

He climbed the stairs, aware of Ellison close on his heels. Blair'd had numerous conversations with various people from all different cultures in some pretty strange locales, but this one with Ellison ranked right up there.

Mr. Patterson came out of his apartment across from Blair's. "Good afternoon, Blair. How're you doing?"

"Peachy keen, Mr. Patterson," Blair replied drolly.

"'Peachy keen?'" Ellison commented, enunciating carefully.

Blair watched Patterson's face, but either he couldn't hear Ellison or didn't notice him standing there. Blair glanced at Ellison--definitely the former. Nobody could not notice Captain Ellison.

Once inside his efficiency apartment, Blair dragged an ice cube tray out of the freezer compartment of the ancient refrigerator. He wrapped the ice cubes in a washcloth and handed it to his unexpected visitor.

Ellison pressed it against his forehead and sighed. "If nothing else, it feels good."

Blair used the bathroom and took some time to splash cold water on his face. When he returned, he wasn't surprised to see Ellison still standing in his dining room/living room. He opened the fridge and pulled out the last two beers. Did ghosts drink beer?

"You want one?" Blair asked, holding a bottle up.

"Yeah, but I'm not sure if I'm supposed to."

"They didn't bother to give you a manual, so I say screw 'em. It's their fault if you break a rule you weren't told about."

Ellison grinned. "I like the way you think, Chief."

Blair opened both bottles, handed one to Ellison, and plopped onto the sofa, which pulled out into his bed. Ellison sat at the other end.

"To weird shit," Blair said, raising his bottle.

"Here, here."

They clinked bottles and each took a sip.

"I'd almost forgotten what it tastes like," Ellison said with a beatific smile.

They sat in silence for a minute or two, merely sipping their beers, and Blair studying Ellison, while Ellison studied the apartment like it was the eighth wonder of the world.

"So what're you doing back on earth?" Blair asked curiously, as if he conversed with a dead man every day.

"I won the lottery," Ellison replied with a shrug.

"There's a lottery in heaven?"

"Not heaven, purgatory. That's where I was."

"What's purgatory like?" Blair asked. He turned sideways on the couch and folded a leg under his butt.

"White and boring. At least, that's what it was for me. But I didn't see anyone but Edwina and every once in a while someone from the Council would come visit."

"Who's Edwina? And what's the Council?"

"Edwina was my keeper, for want of a better word, and the Council members were purgatory's representatives to God. I think."

Blair's head dropped onto his arm, which rested along the sofa back. "Man, either this is the weirdest dream I've ever had or this is really happening."

"Tell me about it. I told them I didn't want this chance but they made me come here anyhow."

"Chance for what?"

Ellison waved his beer bottle. "Who knows? Redemption? Forgiveness? A three-day Disneyworld pass? They weren't very clear on it."

"Sounds to me like they weren't real clear on anything. So why me? Why did you pop up in your old truck and I'm the only one who can see you?"

"Must be another one of the game's rules. Hey, I was surprised you could see me. I figured I'd be invisible to everyone. But then, I didn't think I could be bruised or drink beer, either." He suddenly grinned. "I wonder if that means I could eat a Wonderburger, too."

"Gross, man. Those things are like grease bombs; a heart attack waiting to happen."

Ellison arched an eyebrow. "So what's it going to do--kill me?"

Suddenly uncomfortable, Blair stood and paced the small area between the sofa and the kitchen. "Let's say all this is true. Why me?"

"I told you. It was the lottery."

"That explains you, but not me." Ellison glanced away and Blair knew he was hiding something. "Tell me, Ellison, and I might be persuaded to buy you a Wonderburger."

"You fight dirty, Sandburg." Ellison set his beer between his thighs and pressed the ice to his forehead. "What's your dream, Chief?"

"Huh?"

"You heard me. It's not a tough question. What's your dream?"

Blair halted his restless motions and settled on the couch. He tilted his head back against the cushion and closed his eyes. "I want to get my doctorate in anthropology."

"So why haven't you gotten it?"

"I haven't found the one thing I need to prove my thesis: a sentinel."

"You mean, like a guard or watchdog?"

"I mean a person possessing enhanced senses--all five of them. There're stories about them from South America, Africa, and New Zealand, but those stories are looked upon as myths and legends from superstitious people. My dream is to find a sentinel and write my dissertation on him or her."

"And how long have you been looking?"

"Too damned long. My committee has given me two weeks to come up with a sentinel or lose my fellowship."

"Can't you just change your subject?"

"Yeah, right, just snap my fingers and have one all ready to go. Do you know how many people have to approve my subject, not to mention how many weeks it takes to put together a feasible project?"

Ellison scowled. "No. Why'd you waste so much time on this sentinel thing? If you couldn't find one within the first year or two, you should've looked for a new subject then."

Sandburg's face took on a decidedly mulish expression. "You asked me what my dream was, I told you. You don't have to diss it. I get enough of that from the faculty."

Ellison's harsh angles eased and he reached out to touch Blair's shoulder, but stopped an inch shy of his target. He drew his hand back and picked up his beer. "Believe it or not, I'm here to help you attain your dream."

"If you don't have a sentinel tucked in your back pocket, I don't know what you can do."

"I don't either, Chief, but that's my assignment, whether I want it or not."

"So what happens if we fail?"

"'We?'"

"We're talking about my life and your death. I'd say it's a 'we' thing, wouldn't you?"

Ellison thought for a moment, then nodded. "I guess so."

"Do you have any special powers? Other than going through doors after several unsuccessful attempts?" Blair smiled, relaxing slightly around his otherworldly visitor.

"You'll be the first to know, Chief." This time Ellison didn't pull back and he gave the student's nape a friendly squeeze.

Jim hadn't felt anything as soft as Blair's silky tendrils for over eight years. Or smelled anything as sweet as the student's shampoo and natural earthy scent. It was as if his senses had been shut down the whole time he'd been in purgatory, and now they were springing back to life, even more powerful than he could remember them being while he was alive. If his keepers were actually punishing him, this was the perfect method--tempt him with vivid sensations before shoving him back into white nothingness.

But if Edwina and the Council weren't jerking his chain, then Jim was truly being given a chance to find a little peace for the remainder of his afterlife. Although Jim couldn't figure out why they'd give someone like him this chance. He'd been responsible for the lives of his men. Every one of them, including his best friend Scotty, had died when the helicopter crashed in the jungles of Peru. Jim had been injured, but not severely. He remembered a native tribe had found him, but could recall nothing beyond that.

He shoved himself to his feet. "So what are your plans for the rest of the day?"

Blair shrugged. "Relax, a quiet supper, then I'm going to bed."

Jim gazed at the dark circles beneath the student's eyes and the fatigue in his movements. "That's a good idea, Chief. Tomorrow we can start fresh."

"You'll be here in the morning?"

"I don't have any place to go. I mean, it's not like I can go visit old friends. I'll probably work on my 'ghostly' tricks, like walking through walls and doors."

"So why don't you sink through the floor to the apartment below?" Blair suddenly asked.

"Because I want to stay here," Jim replied automatically.

"Bingo. Give the man a prize." The younger man's smile chased away some of the shadows in his eyes.

"So how do I go through walls? Because I want to." Jim nodded excitedly. "Mind over matter."

Jim closed his eyes and wished himself through solidness. The next moment he felt himself falling, then found himself sprawled across a pink sofa with his feet draped over the back and his head hanging off the seat cushion so he was looking at an upside-down woman wearing a green and yellow bathrobe, eating Malted Milk Balls and watching a talk show about peeping Toms.

"Fuck!" Jim swore and didn't even call up an apology to Edwina.

The woman staring at the TV didn't miss a beat as she popped another Milk Ball into her mouth and chomped down. At least she couldn't see him. That, however, was his only consolation.

Grunting, he managed to maneuver himself around until he did a sideways somersault off the couch onto the floor, which thankfully remained solid. But so did the coffee table where his head connected with a thunk. He sat on the floor, rubbing the new bump rising above his ear. One hour as a ghost and already he had two injuries. It made him wonder if he was going to survive his earthly stint as a spirit.

A loud knocking on the door interrupted Jim's chagrin and the woman glanced up, as if surprised she had a visitor. She stuffed the carton of Milk Balls behind the chair's cushion, pulled her robe snug around her chest and scuffed to the door in her fuzzy slippers. She left the chain on as she cautiously opened the door.

"Why, Mr. Sandburg, what're you doing here?" she asked, her voice sounding too much like Minnie Mouse. Or a thirteen-year-old girl with her first crush.

"Hi, Mrs. Tooley. I was just wondering if you were okay. You see, I thought I heard something--"

Jim couldn't stop a slight grin as he rose and strode across the room to stand beside the woman. "Hey, Chief."

Blair nearly jumped a foot in the air and opened his mouth, but Mrs. Tooley was closing the door so she could undo the chain lock. Then she opened it wide.

"Are you all right, Mr. Sandburg? You look like you've seen a ghost," the woman said in a motherly tone of voice.

Blair attempted a laugh that didn't even make it to a chuckle. "It's probably just my lunch coming back to haunt me." He glanced deliberately at Jim on the word "haunt."

Jim grinned back unrepentantly.

"Well, as long as you're all right," Blair said as he started backing away.

Mrs. Tooley stepped out into the hall and grabbed his arm before he could flee. "Why don't you come inside for a little while? I was just watching the most interesting TV show about men who liked to spy on women." The matron on the wrong side of middle age giggled. "The show is actually quite risqu."

"Uh, I really can't, Mrs. Tooley. I have--"

"Nonsense. I insist." She tugged him closer and closer to her apartment entrance, like she was reeling in a prize rainbow trout.

Then Blair had to ruin Jim's amusement by looking at him with eyes so pitiful, he had to do something to help the poor kid. Three long strides took Jim to the hidden Malted Milk Balls carton, which he promptly opened and upended. Balls went bouncing and rolling everywhere. Mrs. Tooley's mouth formed an O and she released Blair.

"I have to go. Bye," Blair said quickly as he spun around and dove for the stairs.

"Coward," Jim called after him. He set the now-empty carton down as Mrs. Tooley followed its movement with a wide-eyed gaze.

Oops. She's only seeing a carton floating through the air.

"Sorry," Jim said with a wry grin, then strode through the open door to follow Blair.

The door to Blair's apartment was closed, giving Jim a chance to practice his new skill. He concentrated and walked right through the solid wood. On the other side, Blair was slumped on the couch, his expression numb. "Are you okay, Chief?"

"Uh, yeah. I mean, it's one thing to suggest mind over matter. It's a whole other thing to actually see it in action." Blair ran a hand through his tangle of curls. "When you went right through the floor, I thought I was going to lose it. You really can control that kind of stuff, huh?"

Jim shrugged. "I guess so." He touched the newest bump above his ear and winced. "Now if I can just figure out how to stop banging into things with my head, I'd be set."

Blair shook his head, rose and gathered fresh ice in the washcloth, then handed it to the soldier. "Here."

"Thanks."

The two men retired to the sofa, one at either end.

"I don't think I'll try that floor thing again. Falling into a strange woman's apartment is not my idea of a good time," Jim commented.

"Especially when it's Mrs. Tooley's," Blair added, shuddering.

"At least she didn't see me. I guess being dead has its perks, huh?"

"You don't seem dead to me. You seem real and alive."

"Only to you. To the rest of the world, James Ellison died in a South American jungle."

"No. To the rest of the world, you and Scotty died in a helicopter crash in Georgia," Blair said softly.

Jim's chest constricted. Why didn't being dead make the pain stop? He shrugged, forcing nonchalance. "SOP. We were on a covert mission."

"Fuck standard operating procedure. Don't you think Mrs. Harkness and your family have the right to know the truth?"

"Maybe Louise and the families of the other men, but I don't care about mine." He clenched his jaw.

Blair's mouth dropped open. "Why not?"

"That's none of your business, Sandburg. Didn't you say you were going to eat then go to bed early?"

"Well, yeah, but that was before you did your David Copperfield act and ended up in the apartment below."

"Now I'm back. Go ahead and eat."

Blair pushed himself to his feet, groaning. "You hungry?"

Was he? Jim thought about that for a few moments. "Yeah. What're you having?"

"I make a pretty mean stir fry," Blair said.

Jim's mouth watered, reminding him he hadn't eaten food in eight years. "Sounds good."

Blair opened the fridge to pull out the last of the fresh vegetables. Just as he was about to begin chopping them, the phone rang. "Hello." His annoyed expression was replaced with a smile. "Kelly. When did you get into town?"

Jim frowned and wandered closer to the kitchen. He tilted his head slightly to hear the woman's voice at the other end.

"Late last night and I have to leave tomorrow morning, but I thought we could like get together tonight. Talk about old times," she said, her tone growing husky with the last sentence.

"Hey, that sounds terrific." Blair paused. "Uh, you mind pizza? I'm still a struggling grad student."

"I'm not and I can afford Luigi's." She delivered a throaty laugh, which made Jim clench his teeth. "And I have this suite at the Lexington we could check out later."

"I'm down with that." Blair lowered his voice, "Very down."

"Why don't you meet me at Luigi's in an hour?"

"I'll be there," Blair assured. "It'll be great to see you again."

"I'm looking forward to it."

Jim didn't miss the sexual promise in her voice.

Blair hung up the phone and threw the veggies back into the fridge. Renewed energy vibrated off him. "Sorry about supper. I've got a date."

"I thought you were tired," Jim growled.

"She's an old friend and it's been a long time since I've--" Blair arched his eyebrows suggestively. "--been on a date."

The ghost rolled his eyes. "You're going to get some."

"That's putting it a little crudely since she's an old friend, but basically, yeah." He grinned boyishly. "You gonna be okay by yourself?"

"I think I can handle it," Jim replied dryly.

"Yeah, well, be careful."

Jim almost laughed, but the student seemed sincere, and that made something warm flare in Jim's chest. "Nobody can hurt a ghost," he said offhandedly. He didn't want to leave but there didn't seem to be any point in sticking around. "Have fun, Chief."

Jim flowed through the door, although it took a little more concentration this time.

Wine, woman, and sex. So far, two out of three accomplished, Blair thought. Comfortably stuffed after a sumptuous meal and completely relaxed for the first time in weeks, Blair knew he had Kelly to thank. They had dated pretty hot and heavy before Kelly had gotten her law degree, then she'd snagged an excellent job working for three different environmental groups. Neither Blair nor Kelly had been looking for anything more than companionship and sizzling sex. It seemed little had changed.

Kelly leaned forward, her fingers walking onto the back of Blair's hand and up his arm. "What do you say to a little more privacy? We can buy another bottle of wine and take it to my room?"

They'd gone from catching up, to a discussion of the professors at Rainier, to mutual friends throughout the evening. The sexual innuendoes had begun an hour into their conversation. As they'd eaten dessert, Kelly had removed a shoe and slid her foot under Blair's pants leg and up his calf. At this point, Blair wasn't certain he could stand without hurting himself.

"Just give me a minute," Blair said, his cheeks warm. He reached for his glass and downed the remaining ice water.

Kelly laughed and removed her wandering foot. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

Blair laughed. "Let's just say between classes and all the bullshit, there hasn't been a whole lot of time for...recreation."

The blonde smiled and caressed the side of his face. "Then we'll have to...recreate all night."

Just when Blair was getting himself under control, the images Kelly inferred brought a certain part of his anatomy back into the game. He groaned inwardly. "Let's get out of here."

"It's about time."

Blair rose and gallantly helped Kelly to her feet, unable to keep from staring at her form-fitting sheath dress, which left little to the imagination. Stifling yet another moan, he maneuvered Kelly in front of him as they walked out. The evening air helped to cool Blair's ardor--and other things--so by the time they got to the nearly deserted parking ramp where he'd left the truck, his pants had lost some of their tightness.

"I never pictured you in a pick-up," Kelly said, sliding across the bench seat to take the middle position.

"It's not exactly my style, but it is a classic."

"I like the seat. Easier to get close." Kelly's hand landed on his thigh and slid provocatively toward his groin.

Blair's cock jumped at her proximity. "You keep that up and we'll never get back to your place."

Laughing quietly, she shifted even closer and her fingers curled around him. "I'll keep it up. Just like old times."

Ensuring no one was nearby, Blair figured starting out with a quickie wasn't a bad idea--it would take the edge off. Besides, it had been a long time since he'd done it in a vehicle. "Oh, yeah," he breathed. He leaned forward and moved his lips over hers. His hands refused to remain on the sidelines--one headed to the bare leg beneath her short dress hem and the other to a nicely rounded breast.

Kelly arched, pressing herself fully against him. Blair slid his hand up her nylons to find the top connected to a lacy garter belt. Blair groaned deep in his throat and his fingers searched for her heat source. He encountered more bare skin.

She drew back long enough to say, "I took them off in the ladies room."

"Geezus," Blair said, starting to undulate his hips as Kelly kept a firm hold on his erection. He wasn't going to last long and he didn't want to come in his underwear. "Pants," Blair gasped. "Off. Now."

Kelly quickly and expertly unbuttoned his trousers and slid down the zipper.

"Not in my truck!" a voice boomed out.

Blair pitched backwards, cracking his head against the side window. "Jim." His voice almost squeaked.

"Who's Jim?" Kelly asked, frowning as her fingers froze a mere inch from his rapidly withering erection.

"Tell her who Jim is," the person--ghost--in question taunted from the passenger side of the truck.

No, no, no! This can't be happening.

Blair forced his gaze away from the vexing ghost with the bulging biceps and the worst timing in the world. "Uh, no, not who. Um, it's, uh, gym. Yeah, I, uh, just remembered I have to go to the gym tomorrow."

"You're thinking of the gym right now?" Kelly asked in disbelief, then frowned. "Are you all right? You look like you've just seen a ghost."

Near-hysterical laughter spilled out of Blair. "You're the second person to tell me that today," he murmured. "My stomach suddenly started a protest. Maybe it was something I ate."

Kelly's expression fell. "So the evening's over?"

"No!" Blair calmed his voice and deliberately ignored Jim. "No, it's not that bad. I'm sure by the time we get to your room, things will have settled down."

"Don't bet on it, Junior," Jim said, leaning over Kelly to take a gander at Blair's open pants.

Blair scrambled to zip up his pants, nearly catching Kelly's fingers--and his now not-so-proud manhood--in the zipper.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Kelly asked, laying a palm on Blair's forehead. "You're sweating."

*You would be, too, with a ghost looking at your...what the hell was Jim looking at?*

"Come on, let's go to your hotel," Blair said, trying not to think about anything.

"Good idea. Maybe after you lie down, you'll feel better," Kelly said, staying close to him.

"I'm sure I will."

He started the truck, studiously ignoring his unwelcome passenger. He made it onto the street without incident and headed toward the Lexington Hotel. Kelly shifted against him, her plump breast flattening against his arm, which he could handle, until she started to nibble his earlobe. The nerve endings were definitely getting into it and announcing to the rest of his body how incredibly erotic it felt.

"I've never seen anyone with a tongue that long," Jim commented, peering at Kelly's technique. "You sure she's not an alien, Chief?"

Blair hurled a glare at Jim.

"What's the problem now?" Kelly asked in exasperation.

Blair's expression immediately became contrite. "I'm sorry, Kel. It's not you. It's him--I mean, me."

"That's all right, Blair. After your horrible week, I can understand why you're so uptight. When we get to my room, I'll give you one of my special massages," Kelly offered sympathetically.

The grad student fondly remembered those all-over body massages. "Definitely what the doctor ordered."

"Is that Dr. Ruth?" Jim asked innocently.

Blair narrowed his eyes, wishing he could do more, like give Jim a piece of his mind--or a piece of something else.

Whoa, Sandburg. Jim is a ghost. Kelly is a mortal. Lust after Kelly, not Jim.

Kelly kept all of her appendages within polite-company range so Blair could concentrate on driving. Throughout it all, he was aware of Jim sitting there, staring straight out the windshield. Jim, with his magnificent biceps and godlike chest and superb ass....

Stop! Think breasts, curvy curves, and slender legs.

One glance at Jim's tight, tempting tee and Blair was back to magnificent biceps and godlike chest and... Shit.

Kelly told Blair she'd take care of the valet parking, so the student handed the keys over to an eager red-coated valet then helped Kelly out of the truck. Jim had graciously gotten out so Blair didn't have to pull her "through" his body--not something Blair had been looking forward to doing.

"I'm going to make sure this kid doesn't hurt Sweetheart," Jim said, glaring at the high school boy with Sweetheart's keys in his hand.

"Good idea," Blair said. Out of sight, out of temptation.

"Coming back to the hotel?" Kelly asked.

"What?"

"You said, 'good idea'. Were you talking about coming back here?"

"Uh, yeah, that's right. It was a very good idea."

"Keep it up, Chief, and she'll call Conover and they'll bring you a little white jacket," Jim said.

Blair clamped down on his teeth so hard, he thought he cracked one. "Come on, Kelly. We have a date with destiny."

Jim rolled his eyes. "Geeze, Sandburg, you'd think someone with a master's degree could be a little more original."

Blair didn't look at the ghost. If he and Kelly could make their escape quick enough, maybe Jim wouldn't be able to find her room. He wrapped an arm around her waist and directed her into the lobby. Once there, he couldn't stop from glancing back at Jim who was sitting in the front seat of Sweetheart, his mouth moving and his hands gesturing as the kid parked the truck. For a moment, Blair sorely wished he could hear the ghost's ranting.

"Let's go," Blair said, urging Kelly toward the elevators at a near-run.

Kelly smiled and her eyes smoldered. "Now this is the Blair I remember."

The trip up the elevator and into Kelly's room went without incident and Blair breathed a sigh of relief. Just because Jim was here to help him find a sentinel didn't mean the ghost could interfere with his sex life, which for the past few months had been pretty dead itself. Besides, any more ill-timed interference and Blair would end up with a terminal case of blue balls.

As soon as the door was locked behind them, clothes flew helter-skelter. Blair's shirt and tie landed on the sofa; Kelly's dress on a lamp; Blair's shoes and socks near the coffee table; Kelly's shoes were tossed into the air to land behind them someplace; and Blair's pants ended up hanging from the chandelier light fixture. With Blair in his boxers and Kelly in her stockings and garter belt, they fell onto the king-sized bed in a tangle of arms and legs and lips. Blankets were bunched beneath and around them. The temperature shot up twenty degrees in a matter of seconds.

Blair knelt above Kelly, straddling her thighs and cupping her breasts, rolling her nipples between his thumb and forefinger. She dove into his boxers and Blair nearly put out his back, arching into her oh-so-soft hand. It wasn't going to take much to make him go off like Old Faithful.

"You two kids didn't waste any time, did you?"

Shocked, Blair jerked up...and tumbled off the bed. His yelp was muffled by the bedspread, which wrapped around him like a mummy's casing.

"Take it easy, Chief." Jim chuckled. "You young people just don't know how to savor lovemaking."

"Get out of here!" Blair yelled.

Kelly's mouth dropped open. "What?"

Blair had never heard a more ominous tone in a one-syllable word. He held out his hands in supplication. "No, Kelly, I didn't mean you. Honest. I was talking--uh, I was talking to myself."

"You want to get out of here?" She charged off the bed in her full half-nude glory and grabbed one of his shoes. She threw it at him. He dodged. "Then get out! Now!"

"Kelly, please, I'm sorry." She glared at him, his other shoe already in her pitching arm. "I've just been under so much stress--"

"I don't think she'll fall for it, Chief," Jim commented from where he slumped comfortably in the chair facing the bed.

She flung his other shoe at Blair and struck his arm.

"Ow! Damn it, that hurt!" he said, rubbing his forearm.

"Good. You expect me to fall for that load of bullshit you're shoveling?" she shouted.

"Told you," Jim said to Blair, with only a mild "I-told-you-so" tone.

"Shut up," Blair hollered at Jim.

Kelly narrowed her eyes and, if Blair weren't so angry with Jim, he would've enjoyed the swaying of her naked breasts with each panting breath. But, then, if Jim weren't there, Kelly's bosom wouldn't be heaving quite this way either.

"I don't know what's going on with you, Blair, but you're certainly not the guy I used to know," Kelly said. "I think you should leave."

"Ah, Kelly," Blair almost groveled. "You're right. I haven't been acting like myself. Give me another chance. Please."

The woman weakened.

Jim snorted. "I can't believe she's going to fall for it."

Blair managed to ignore Jim, focusing completely on Kelly. "C'mon, sweetums. One more chance. For old times' sake."

"'Sweetums'? I think I'm going to puke," Jim said, rolling his eyes.

Only through years of meditation was Blair able to keep his gaze on Kelly and not react to Jim's words.

Kelly nodded. "All right, Blair. But if you trip out on me again, you're out of here, got it?"

"Got it." He took her hand and led her back to the bed. "Now, where were we?"

They knelt in the center of the bed, kissing and touching. The only problem was, even though Blair kept his back turned to Jim, he was intensely aware of the ghost's presence, so much so that his hands weren't enjoying Kelly nearly as much as they had earlier. After weeks of no entertainment other than his right hand--and sometimes his left, if he was feeling kinky--Blair should've had no trouble returning to his previous excited state. However, his dick had another agenda. Suddenly it didn't want Kelly's body--it wanted one that was bigger and more muscular and with a fellow dick to say hello to.

Blair groaned and dropped back on his heels. "Shit. I can't do this, Kelly."

She echoed his groan and flopped onto the bed. "If I didn't have such a healthy self-image, I would be thinking I lost my touch."

"No, your touch is just fine." He smiled slightly. "It's me. I guess with everything that's been going on, I'm just not up to this."

"Definitely not up," she said, eyeing the front of his loose boxers.

"I am sooo sorry."

"You should be. I could've called a few other guys, but we hadn't seen each other in months and I knew you were always up for a good time."

"I usually am, but not tonight." Blair glanced at the chair Jim had been in and found it empty. Blinking, he searched the room, but the ghost had disappeared. Feeling strangely bereft, Blair picked up his discarded clothing and donned them.

Kelly drew a hotel robe on and walked him to the door. "It was good to see you again, Blair."

"At least we were able to catch up on a few things." Blair leaned forward and kissed her swollen lips lightly. He expected some kind of jolt in his groin, but nothing happened. "Bye."

"Good-bye."

Blair left, knowing it would be a long time before Kelly called him again, if ever.

How could he be lusting after a ghost? It was ridiculous, insane, impossible. But then, looking at it that way, seeing a ghost was all those things, too.

Sighing, he trudged down the hallway and took the stairs instead of the elevator. The emptiness of the stairwell fit his mood.

Blair awakened as the sun's rays filtered through the slats of his cheap vinyl blinds. He blinked once, then closed his eyes and rolled onto his side, barely suppressing a groan at the early hour. After the fiasco with Kelly, he'd gone to an all-night caf to drink coffee and ponder the imponderable--mainly, one Blair Sandburg unable to perform for a beautiful, sexy, willing woman. When he'd arrived home, he was surprised Jim wasn't around. By the time he went to bed--two hours later at four a.m.--Blair's scientific mind had convinced him that Jim had been a product of his exhaustion and stress.

Today was Saturday and he could sleep past the current seven-thirty. Although, with the fall semester nearing its end, he had one hundred plus papers to grade, not to mention preparing the final tests for his two classes so he could administer them the following week.

His eyes flew open and he jerked up as his troubles hit him like a ton of bricks. His head swam in dizziness for a moment, then righted itself. Going to Dr. Sidney Lewis about Jeff Donnelly had turned out to be a mistake. Sidney had turned out to be more politician than academician. Maybe if this had been Donnelly's first and only mistake and he was doing satisfactorily in his other classes, Blair might have been able to live with the kid getting only a slap on the wrist. But that wasn't the case. Righteous anger filled Blair anew. He hadn't been able to let it go like Sidney asked--hell, ordered--him to do. Just because a student had a rich daddy and a penchant for throwing a football, he thought the rules didn't apply. They would find out when the board met on Wednesday night to discuss Blair's allegation of Jeff Donnelly's plagiarism.

But because Blair had gone against Dr. Lewis and filed a formal complaint, he was being forced to produce the first chapter of his doctorate within two weeks or face his committee's censure.

Unable to think coherently, he decided he needed caffeine and sustenance to tackle this problem.

The rich scent of freshly brewed coffee tickled his nose and he was surprised he could smell Mr. Patterson's--or maybe it was Mrs. Tooley's--coffee so clearly.

"Here you go, sunshine," a voice sing-songed.

Blair snapped up, narrowly missing upsetting the steaming cup held in front of him.

"Hey, watch it, Chief. This is the first pot I've made in years and I gotta admit, it's pretty good."

Blair stared at the blue-eyed man as yesterday's events tumbled back. Captain James Ellison--Jimmy--hadn't been a figment of his imagination. Or a delusion caused by fatigue. He was real and he was here.

And he was dead.

"Fuck," was the first word that came out of Blair's mouth.

Jim arched an eyebrow and his eyes twinkled. "Not in over eight years. They frown on that sort of thing in purgatory."

Blair was never his sharpest first thing in the morning, and this morning was no exception. His brain did, however, figure out there was coffee near by--like right in front of him. He took it from Jim's hand and swallowed a long drawn-out sip.

After the influx of caffeine and a mental replay of Jim's words, Blair nearly snorted coffee out his nose. "No sex?"

Jim shook his head like a judge handing down a death sentence. "Nope. The only woman I ever saw was Edwina and, well, let's just say she wasn't my type."

Blair disentangled himself from the blankets with a little help from Jim and struggled to his feet. With the sofa bed pulled out and one James Ellison in his abode, the efficiency apartment seemed Lilliputian. It also made Blair more aware of Jim's presence--like he needed to be any more aware. "Is that why you were playing voyeur last night?"

"I didn't want you getting stains on Sweetheart," Jim replied, his mouth twisting with distaste.

"Okay, I'll buy that," Blair said, nodding. "So why were you in Kelly's room?"

Jim swallowed some coffee. "I wanted to make sure you were all right. I mean, I'm kind of your guardian angel, right?"

Blair narrowed his eyes. "And that was your only reason?"

"What other reason would there be?" The ghost stood. "Shower and dress while I make breakfast. Then when you're done, we'll go look for one of those sentinels."

Blair couldn't help but laugh at Jim's simple optimism. "If you can find me a sentinel, you'll definitely get that chance at redemption, or whatever."

"Yeah, whatever." Jim didn't sound too confident this time. He shook his head, as if tossing aside some depressing thought. "Get moving, Chief. Daylight's a'wastin'."

Blair grinned and headed to his tiny bathroom. Although he'd been pissed off at Jim last night, his relief at seeing him this morning made it easy to forgive him. Besides, if he were the one who hadn't had sex in eight years, Blair might've been tempted to become a voyeur, too. If he was still sane.

Fifteen minutes later, Blair emerged with a towel around his waist and one over his shoulder to absorb the dripping water from his long hair. The smell of bacon, eggs, and toast filled the apartment. When he rounded the corner, he found Jim with his back to him, buttering toast and swaying his hips as a Santana song flowed out of the radio. Dressed in the army pants and tight tank top, the dancing was so incongruous Blair almost laughed.

Blair's smile grew as he watched Jim stir the scrambled eggs and toss two more slices of bread in the toaster, and the ghost's whole body joined in the impromptu dance. As Blair watched Jim's camo-clad backside shimmying to the music, his mouth grew dry. His attraction to the ghost flared hot once more. But before Blair could regret coming into the kitchen wearing only a towel, Jim froze and spun around, his eyes wide.

Startled and embarrassed to be caught staring at a dead man's ass, Blair brought his gaze back to Jim's face and started clapping. And he learned something new about ghosts--they, or at least this one, could blush.

"I, uh, hadn't heard Santana in years and when it came on, I, well, I guess, I got a little caught up in the music." Jim sounded like a kid caught with his dad's Playboy magazines.

It took only two steps to join Jim, and Blair punched one of those magnificent biceps lightly. "Don't worry about it. After eight years, you deserve to have a little fun."

The red in Jim's cheeks faded slowly and Blair couldn't help but wonder anew about a spirit who could bruise and blush. And look so sexy dancing...and cooking...and sitting...and standing.

Jim's gaze swept over him and Blair would've sworn he saw arousal spark in his eyes.

"Get some clothes on. Then we eat," Jim said.

Blair leaned over the stove, glancing at the eggs and bacon. He hadn't had either in his fridge. "Hey, where'd you get the food?"

Jim shrugged. "After I left you and your paramour, I toured the city and picked up a few things."

Blair stepped back, his eyes wide. "You robbed a store?"

Jim shook his head, scowling. "Of course not. That's against the law."

"Then how--?"

"Look, I didn't steal it from a store." Jim glanced away, unable to hold Blair's gaze.

"Then who did you steal from?"

"I told you, I didn't steal it. Just take my word on this, okay, Sandburg?"

Blair crossed his arms, eyeing Jim closely. "All right. For now." Suddenly Blair sneezed once, then a second time, rattling his lungs and head.

"Bless you," Jim said. Strong hands settled on Blair's towel-covered shoulders. "Are you coming down with a cold, Chief?"

"Nah. I'm fine."

"You won't be if you don't get dressed," Jim scolded. He gave Blair's shoulders a squeeze, turned him around and gave him a gentle shove. "Go."

Even though his skin tingled where Jim's hands had rested, Blair couldn't help but tease the Army captain. "Yes, Mother."

Jim merely glared at him.

Blair quickly dressed in many layers, knowing the day would be cool and damp. He couldn't afford to get sick.

What if Jim actually found a sentinel? Gods, that would be a freakin' miracle, after all these years of searching. Of course, it might be a moot point if the powers-that-be took offense at Blair upholding academic standards.

He tied the laces of his Nikes and hurried back into the kitchen, where Jim had the food divided between two plates. Jim had made up the sofa bed, so he and Blair settled on the couch to eat.

"This is great, Jim, thanks," Blair said, his spirits higher than they'd been for some time.

Jim grinned. "Not bad for being out of practice, huh?"

"Did you like to cook when you were, uh, you know?" Blair had a difficult time wrapping his mind around the fact that Jim wasn't alive.

"Not really, unless I was cooking for more than myself," Jim replied. "It just seemed to be a lot of work if it was only me eating it. Usually I ate in the mess hall."

"How long were you in the Army?"

"Sixteen years, if you count the last eight." Jim stood. "You done, Chief?"

Blair wolfed down the remainder of his scrambled eggs and handed Jim the empty plate. He could get used to Jim cooking and watching out for him. He blinked, wondering where that had come from. Blair hadn't needed anyone since he was sixteen years old.

"Now what?" Blair asked, following Jim to the kitchen sink.

Jim turned on the hot water tap. "You tell me. Where's the best place to find a sentinel?"

"If I knew that, I wouldn't need your help," Blair answered.

Jim suddenly yelped and jumped back from the sink as he clutched his hand.

"What is it?" Blair demanded.

"The water's scalding hot."

Blair glanced at the water running out of the tap and frowned. The landlord was too cheap to set the water heater thermostat very high, so the water rarely got too hot. On a good day, it was slightly above lukewarm. Blair swiped a hand through the flow of water. Warm, but nowhere near hot.

"Careful," Jim growled, grabbing Blair's forearm.

"It's not that hot," Blair said quietly.

"Then why is my hand so red?" Jim held out the injured hand and, sure enough, it was a painful pinkish-red.

Blair flicked the faucet handle to cold and tested the water before instructing Jim to put his hand beneath the stream. The ghost moved tentatively, swishing his hand under the water before finally holding it under the tap. Suddenly, Jim leaped back again, flinging droplets at Blair.

Alarmed, Blair grabbed a towel and wrapped it loosely around the ghost's hand. "What?"

Jim's teeth unclenched enough to reply, "Freezing. Hurt like a son-of-a-bitch."

Blair reached over and turned off the faucet. He gently guided Jim to the sofa and pressed him onto it. "Just put your head back and relax a little. Try some deep breathing exercises."

Jim glared at him--those glares were getting to be a habit.

"Look, this has to be a ghost thing. The water wasn't that hot or that cold. Maybe because you've spent the last, uh, eight years in purgatory, you're having trouble with human sensations," Blair said, his hands flying with his words. "C'mon, take a deep breath, then let it out slowly." He stopped abruptly. "Uh, you do breathe, right?"

Jim inflated his lungs and let out a gust of air. "Yeah. That's kind of weird, isn't it?"

Blair laughed nervously. "What isn't weird about this whole situation?"

"Good point." Jim closed his eyes and tipped his head back against the sofa. He began to breathe in slow, measured motions.

Blair lowered himself beside the man--ghost, he reminded himself--and spoke in low soothing tones as he unwrapped the towel from Jim's hand. "That's right. You're doing great, Jim. Isolate the pain, breathe into it, then push it out when you exhale."

Jim didn't try to draw his hand away from Blair as the student examined the reddened flesh--ghosts had flesh?--and watched the angry color fade before his eyes and became a normal pale skin color. Blair continued to hold his hand in both of his, skimming his fingers across Jim's cool palm and long, slender fingers, then turned it over, mapping the back of his hand, too. He could feel and see tiny scars scattered across it. The man had lived and died as an Army Ranger--it shouldn't surprise Blair that he had so many scars.

"It feels a lot better, Chief," Jim said softly.

Blair raised his head and saw Jim peering at him with penetrating blue eyes. The student stood, releasing his hand. "Yeah, it healed while I watched. It was pretty cool. Must be an afterlife thing." He walked backward into the kitchen. "Hey, how's your head?"

Jim smoothed a hand over his skull and smiled in surprise. "Fine. Both bumps are gone."

Blair gave him a quick smile. "Must be celestial recuperative powers. I'd better take care of the dishes so we can get going."

Jim stood and followed him, making Blair's heart race.

"What's wrong, Chief?" Jim asked as they stood by the sink.

"What do you mean?" Blair kept his gaze aimed at the soapy water as he washed the dishes.

"Your heart sounds like it's going to jump out of your chest."

"You can hear my heart beating?"

Jim tipped his head. "Yeah. I can."

"Could you hear Mrs. Tooley's yesterday?" Blair asked, his curiosity overcoming his uneasiness.

"No, I don't think so. Just yours." He frowned. "I'll give it a try." He cocked his head once more and his expression became intense. "No, but I can hear her TV. She's watching one of those stupid talk shows again." He grimaced. "And eating more Malted Milk Balls."

"You can hear all that?" Blair vibrated with excitement. "It must be an angel thing."

"Whoa, Chief. I'm no angel. That's reserved for those who make it into heaven."

Blair's enthusiasm faded. "I don't understand why you didn't go there."

Jim clenched his jaw. "Because you don't know anything about me, Sandburg."

The student drew back and pressed his lips together. Jim was right. He didn't know anything about the person James Ellison had been while he was alive. Sure, he'd been in the Army and in the elite Rangers, but that didn't automatically make him an honorable warrior. A lot of military types had dictatorial personalities to match their chosen career field. However, to be fair, although Jim did seem a bit anal--and possessed a voyeuristic tendency--he didn't seem to have the high-handed behavior that Blair associated with soldiers.

They finished the dishes in silence, then Blair grabbed his backpack and made sure it contained everything he would need. He glanced back at Jim, who stood with his arms folded across his chest, his eyes curtained. "Let's go."

Jim nodded once and followed Blair out of the apartment. Although Jim could've easily walked through the solid door, the student waited until he'd come through the doorway before closing and locking it. It gave Blair the illusion that Jim was real and normal.

"How've you been handling your search?" Jim asked as they trotted down the stairs.

Blair shrugged. "Internet--"

"Internet?"

"Yeah, you know, the information highway."

"You're losing me here, Chief."

"Sheesh, that's right. You've been out of touch for eight years." Blair warmed to his subject, even though he had a class of only one. "Almost everyone has a computer or access to one now. Using phone lines, people can access the Internet, which has literally hundreds of thousands of sites about anything you can imagine, and a lot of things you can't." Blair backhanded Jim's chest, striking pure muscle. "When we get to my office, I'll show you."

Jim didn't appear too excited about that prospect. "So, how else are you trying to find a sentinel?"

"Ads in papers and magazines, and word of mouth. I've found quite a few people who have one or two enhanced senses, but nobody with all five."

"I didn't even know there were people with one or two hypersenses."

"Oh, yeah. You know, like coffee tasters and perfume sniffers. Many musicians have a broader than average range of hearing. Some surgeons have sensitized sight and touch."

"Did you figure all that out with your research?"

Blair nodded. "It's amazing how cooperative people are." He chuckled. "Of course, the human race is made up of beings who like to talk about themselves, and when they have an avid audience, it's hard to get them to shut up."

"So why don't you?" Jim asked.

Blair stumbled slightly. "What?"

"Where'd you grow up, Sandburg? Where're your parents? What's your favorite color? Favorite movie?"

"Everywhere. My mom's in Nepal. Blue. Tie between 'Star Wars' and 'Indiana Jones'." Blair gave Jim an impish grin. "Harrison Ford is hot."

"Whoa, Chief. You seemed pretty excited with Kelly last night."

"Hey, I like Meg Foster and Jennifer Lopez, too." Blair paused on the sidewalk outside of his building. "Does that bother you?"

Jim smiled and his gaze did a rapid reconnaissance of the student's compact, masculine body. "Not at all." He guided Blair across the street with a hand on the small of his back. Both of them ended up on the driver's side of the truck. "Damn, I wish I could drive it just one more time."

"That'd look real cool--a truck going down the road with nobody behind the wheel," Blair said, although he could sympathize with the soldier. He unlocked the driver's door and scooted in, then watched Jim walk slowly around the front of the truck. The ghost ran his hand across the hood, his expression poignant...lost. Blair gripped the steering wheel as he imagined himself in Jim's position.

As he leaned over to open Jim's door, he collided with a solid body. Blair let out a yelp of surprise, then whapped Jim's arm. "You scared the crap out of me!"

"You said the mind over matter stuff was cool."

"It is, but warn me next time you play ghost."

"I'm not playing ghost, Chief." Jim turned to stare out the side window. "I am a ghost."

Blair drew his tongue along his dry lips. "I know," he said softly. "And it sucks, man." He started the truck and put it into gear. "We'll go to my office first since I have to pick up some papers. I could've checked my email at home this morning, but figured since I had to go in anyhow, I'd just do it there."

As they drove to Rainier, Blair kept the conversation light. By the time they arrived at Hargrove Hall, both men were trying to best each other with outrageous stories.

"Seriously, man, the chief insisted that I marry his second wife," Blair said as he parked the truck. "It was an honor to be offered one of the chief's wives, but there was no way. She must've been seventy years old. So, I ducked out in the middle of the night before the wedding. I met the rest of my group back at our original campsite a few days later. I guess the chief wasn't very happy with me, but that was nothing compared to my, uh, 'fiance'. She was looking forward to marrying a young stud. Rumor was the chief couldn't keep her satisfied."

Jim snorted. "How do you get yourself in those positions, Sandburg?"

"My charm and good looks. And years of yoga," Blair tossed over his shoulder as he got out of the truck.

Jim got out of the truck in the conventional manner, much to Blair's relief.

"Yoga?" Jim repeated. "Sounds interesting." He waggled his eyebrows.

Blair jabbed him with an elbow. "Behave yourself."

Jim grabbed the offending arm and used his other hand to tickle Blair, who began to wiggle and laugh breathlessly.

"I give," Blair gasped out.

Jim ended the pleasant torture. "I hope so, Chief."

Blair froze, his mouth dropping open, as Jim swaggered ahead.

"Come on, Chief. You have to teach me how to play with the Internet," Jim called back.

Jim was happily surprised by the wake-up-and-take-notice actions which were going on in parts of his body. The fact that he could touch Blair and Blair could touch him tempted him, especially since the attraction seemed to be mutual. And mutual attraction could lead to some mutual gratification. But what if sex with a mortal was against the rules?

Suddenly the scent of chlorine stung Jim's nostrils and worked its way down his throat and into his lungs. A black chill swept through him as the colorful world shimmered around him, turning into shades of gray.

"What's wrong?" Blair asked, his voice sounding far away. "Jim, damn it, where'd you go? Answer me!"

The grayness transformed to greens and indistinct shapes became distinguishable even as humidity wrapped around him. The jungle. He glanced down and saw not combat boots, but black paws. But it didn't feel strange. Urgency tore at his heart and he started loping through the dense undergrowth, following a mental thread which grew thicker and thicker. Then he saw it--a wolf standing behind a tree, peering around the trunk.

Jim stopped and twitched his tail, his nostrils flaring as he scented the animal. It was intimately familiar.

The wolf tilted his head slightly, pricking his ears forward. His tongue lolled and he looked like he was smiling.

Then Jim and the wolf were running at one another and jumping and colliding...

"Jim, where are you, man? Shit, where did you go?"

Blair's panicked voice drew Jim back from the incandescent white light and a touch on his arm helped him complete the return journey. He became conscious of worried blue eyes staring up at him.

"Gods, you scared me," Blair said, his relief palpable. "You started shimmering, then disappeared. I thought--"

Jim's knees trembled. "I'm okay. I just--the chlorine smell. I felt like I was drowning."

Blair's hand went to Jim's arm, squeezing it reassuringly. "Did you drown when you...when you died?"

Jim shook his head. "No, that's what's so strange. I don't remember exactly how...but I know I didn't drown."

"Hey, Mr. Sandburg. Are you okay?"

Blair looked past Jim. "Oh, hi, Eddie. I'm just, uh, trying a different kind of meditation."

Jim looked over his shoulder at a skinny young man, probably an undergraduate. The boy's expression held more than a little morbid curiosity. Jim could imagine what Blair must've looked like as he talked to the fountain.

"My mom learned it someplace in Israel," Blair added glibly.

"Oh, okay. Cool." Eddie lifted a hand in farewell and turned away. "See ya Monday, Mr. Sandburg."

"Bye." Blair glanced around then sent Jim a crooked grin. "That must've looked pretty strange."

"Yeah. We'd better get to your office before you have to come up with any more stories."

They continued on across the street and climbed the stairs to Hargrove Hall. Blair stopped in front of a door marked Artifact Room, and which had a paper taped to it with "Blair Sandburg" written on it.

"Nice place, Chief," Jim said dryly.

"Wait until you see the inside," Blair tossed back, his eyes twinkling. He unlocked the door and swung it open.

Jim peered into the space, which looked to be about ten by ten feet and was filled to overflowing. Books, artifacts, magazines, and papers lay scattered over the floor and desktop. The ghost wrinkled his nose at the mess. Either a hurricane had just blown through or Blair Sandburg was a slob.

Blair didn't even seem to notice the disaster area and went around to the chair behind the desk. He dropped into it, and tucked his backpack on the floor by his feet. "Sit down," he said, waving to the only other chair in the room piled with more books. "Just set those anywhere."

Jim rolled his eyes and stacked the books on the floor beside the desk, then sank into the chair. "Ever heard of organization, Sandburg? Handy little thing--you'll know where everything is."

"I already know where everything is. It's called the Blair Sandburg filing system. Scoot over here, Jim," Blair said, motioning to a place beside him. "I'll show you the marvels of the Internet."

After a moment's hesitation, Jim used his heels to roll himself and his chair to Blair's side. Their shoulders touched as he leaned forward to peer at the screen. Blair explained everything as he went. Jim's fascination grew as Blair cruised through anthropology sites, bulletin boards and live cams, and the grad student stifled his smile.

"You wanna give it a shot?" Blair asked.

Jim nodded eagerly. Keeping his eyes on the computer, he closed his fingers around Blair's hand and the mouse beneath it. Blair could feel the warmth of his palm and the roughened skin of his fingertips. Weren't ghosts supposed to be cold and incorporeal? But Jim wasn't, and neither was his breath across Blair's neck and the heat radiating from the muscular thigh pressed against his.

Blair turned and found Jim's startled face close to his. If he leaned just an inch or two forward, he could touch Jim's lips and find out if they were as alive as the rest of him. Jim's pupils dilated, covering nearly all of the cerulean irises.

Abruptly, Jim looked back at the screen and lifted his hand from Blair's. He cleared his throat. "Are you going to let me try it or not, Sandburg?"

Blair lifted his hand off the mouse. "Sorry. I was just thinking."

"I could tell."

The blue eyes that met Blair's both smoldered and twinkled. Oh, yeah, Jim knew exactly what he was thinking, all right. Blair recalled how Jim had looked at him last night while he'd been trying for some action with Kelly, and he felt the renewed tug of temptation. How could Blair even be considering making it with a ghost? Besides if they did the dirty deed--if it was possible between a ghost and a mortal--wouldn't that spoil Jim's chance at heaven?

Blair shook his head. "So, what're you waiting for, Ellison? An engraved invitation?"

"I'm waiting for you to move your cute little ass so I can play, Chief."

Jim's words resonated with sexual innuendo, but before Blair could close his gaping mouth, Jim deftly rolled the student and his chair a few feet away. "Don't you have papers to correct or something?"

Blair nabbed his backpack, glad to have something else to think about. "Oh, yeah, that's right. Papers to correct and tests to organize."

"Get to it then, Chief."

Grinning, Blair performed a sloppy salute. "Yes, sir, Captain Ellison."

Jim whapped the back of his head as he chuckled, then went back to his new toy.

Three hours later, Blair returned from the copy machine with enough tests for the students in his two classes. Although it was a Saturday and few people were around, he locked the door behind him. It wouldn't do for someone to catch him talking to himself. He placed the tests in the file cabinet and re-locked it. Leaning a shoulder against the cabinet, he stood behind Jim, watching the ghost perform with amazing dexterity as he searched the worldwide web. Jim's slender fingers danced across the mouse and Blair had the sudden urge to have those same fingers play across his bare skin.

You're lusting after a ghost, Sandburg.

But he's real to me. Too real.

"Having fun, big guy?" Blair asked, deciding it was time to sidetrack his thoughts.

"This is great. How do you get anything done when you have all this at your fingertips?" Jim replied as he kept his gaze aimed at the monitor.

"You set limits. Like I would say three hours surfing the net is more than long enough."

"I want to check out this one site first, Chief." Jim swept the mouse across the pad and his right forefinger pressed the left button.

This time Blair laid his hand on Jim's, but not before preparing himself for the moment of contact. "Enough, Jim."

"But, Chief..."

"Jim, you're whining."

"Am not."

"Are, too."

"Am not."

"Are, too."

Jim finally took his eyes off the screen and glared at Blair. "Give me back my mouse, Sandburg, and nobody'll get hurt."

After shocked hesitation, Blair bent over laughing, resting his forehead on one of Jim's broad shoulders. Jim's muscles tightened, then relaxed and his quiet chuckle told Blair he was finally seeing the error--and humor--of his ways.

"This stuff's addicting," Jim said, waving toward the computer.

Still chuckling, Blair raised his head. "No shit. I was afraid I was going to have to line you up with ISA--Internet Surfer's Anonymous." He lowered his voice, "Hi, my name is James Ellison and I'm an Internet surfing addict."

"Ha ha. That's a good one, Shecky." Although Jim's voice was sarcastic, his eyes were lit with amusement.

A pressure on Blair's fingers made him glance down to see his hand was still clutching Jim's. Without thought, he returned the squeeze, and their gazes met once more. Looking into Jim's glowing eyes, Blair saw the reflection of his own intense attraction. Jim Ellison was beautiful...gorgeous...sexier than Kelly...and a ghost.

"This is crazy," Blair whispered.

Jim brought his other hand to Blair's face and splayed his fingers across one cheek, caressing the smooth skin above the raspy whiskers. "Yeah, it is."

Blair turned and kissed the center of his palm. "We're making a big mistake."

Jim tugged Blair down onto his lap so the student was straddling his hips. He slipped his hands beneath Blair's many layers to touch bare skin. "Definitely."

Relishing the feel of Jim's big hands running up and down his chest, Blair snagged Jim's tank top to pull it out of his pants and return the favor. He slid one hand across Jim's flat abdomen and up to the center of his smooth chest. "I mean, you're a ghost," Blair said in a husky voice.

"That's right, I am." Jim yanked Blair's shirts off and tossed the clothing on the floor. He leaned forward to kiss the center of his hairy chest, then moved from one nipple to the other. He tipped his head back to gaze up at Blair and his eyes reflected lust and mischief. "But I'm a horny ghost."

Blair chuffed a laugh and all his excuses why they shouldn't do this were plowed under by all the reasons they should. He leaned back, trusting that Jim wouldn't let him go, while the Army officer tasted every square inch of Blair's chest then moved up his neck, licking, nipping and sucking. Blair's cock twitched in protest at its confinement and his hands quickly undid the button and lowered his zipper.

"You smell so good, Chief," Jim murmured as he leaned over Blair's belly and nuzzled the hair that arrowed down to his groin. "You were driving me crazy last night."

Blair could see the outline of Jim's erection pressing against his pants and he curled his fingers around it, making Jim groan.

"Oh, God, Jim, c'mon." His hands scrabbled at the buttons on Jim's fly. "Help me out here, man."

Between the two of them, they were able to open his camo trousers and Blair dived into his boxers to ease out his cock. At the same time, Jim's fingers closed around Blair's length. Stroking one another, Jim drew Blair close and their lips and tongues tangled in a wet, sloppy, ravenous kiss.

After Blair's frustrating night, feeling Jim's hand on him and being able to touch Jim was enough to bring him quickly to the finale. Before he was done, Jim was adding his own release to the sticky puddle between them.

Jim sagged forward, his forehead resting against Blair's collarbone. Blair wrapped his arms around him, massaging his back and merely feeling Jim's weight against him. It was intimate and comfortable and a little bit arousing even though he'd just experienced one hell of an orgasm.

"Wow," Jim said, his warm breath wafting across Blair's chest hair.

"Yeah, wow," Blair whispered close to his lover's ear. "You'd think I was the one who hadn't gotten laid in eight years."

Jim laughed. "God, you're easy, Chief."

"Tell Kelly that."

Jim's arms tightened around the smaller man's waist. "I'm sorry about last night, Chief. But it was making me crazy seeing you with her even though I had no right to be. Hell, I'm supposed to be dead, but I sure as hell don't feel like it."

"I know," Blair breathed, close to his ear. "I-I don't like to think about that because to me you're warm and alive." He smiled. "And you have a cute blush."

Jim raised his head to send Blair a mock glare. "You're saying I have a cute blush?"

"Only when you're caught shaking that sexy ass of yours, Ellison."

Jim's face reddened.

Blair chuckled, and framed Jim's face in his hands and kissed one flushed cheek then the other. "Yep, definitely a cute blush." He sat up and let out a yip. "Ah, shit, we're getting glued together here, Jim."

"I can take care of that," Jim said with a sexy growl. He began to clean Blair's chest with his mouth and tongue.

Blair closed his eyes, letting his body feel every stroke of Jim's sinfully erotic tongue. His cock began to take a renewed interest in the proceedings and he watched Jim's impressive erection grow and lengthen. What was it about Jim Ellison that hit every one of his buttons?

Jim licked a nipple clean, then suckled it gently, ensuring it was spotless. He shifted to the other peaked nubbin and repeated his thorough--and lascivious--process. By the time he was done, Blair was bucking against him, wanting to find that friction that would bring the pleasure his body craved again.

Jim lifted Blair onto the desk, then spread some of the lotion sitting on the desk over their cocks. Blair wrapped his arms and legs around Jim then hauled him down on top of him, aligning their erections. With shirts gone and pants and underwear around their knees, Jim began to move.

"God, Blair, I didn't expect this...to find someone like you," Jim panted. He slid his hands up Blair's sides and neck to bury his fingers in the silky curls. "I don't know why...I was...given this chance."

Blair didn't want to be reminded of what Jim was, and drew Jim's face close so he could press their lips together and twine their tongues. Blair got lost in their combined flavors...

Sweaty and slick from their second round, the two men separated ten minutes later. Jim rose and made a face at the sticky mess. Blair laughed at his expression, which earned him a glare. "Hey, don't blame me," Blair said.

Jim's glare deepened.

"At least not totally, man." Blair grinned and extended his hand to Jim, who took it and pulled Blair to his feet and all the way against his chest. His very damp, slimy chest.

The student grimaced. "Yuck."

"Hey, don't blame me," Jim threw his words back at him, his blue eyes twinkling.

Blair smacked Jim's arm. "I've got some paper towels around here someplace." He found his stashed supply and handed Jim a few. While they cleaned up, Blair noticed Jim scowling and the cautious way he wiped his chest. "What's wrong?"

"These are rough," Jim complained, holding out a brown paper towel. "Feels like sandpaper."

"Man, you ghost types sure are sensitive, aren't you?"

Jim waggled his eyebrows. "You should know, Sandburg."

Blair groaned.

They donned their shirts, and buttoned and zipped their pants.

Blair hiked his backpack onto a shoulder and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Nothing happened last night," he confessed.

Jim appeared startled by the admission. "But when I left, you and Kelly were on the bed."

Blair glanced down and his cheeks warmed with embarrassment. "I couldn't do it, thinking you were watching us. Then when I saw you were gone, I, uh, I realized it was you I wanted, not her." He raised his head to see a brilliant smile on his lover's face.

"I'm glad," Jim said quietly.

Feeling inordinately pleased, Blair grinned. "Ready to go?"

"Where to now?"

"Check my mailbox. There weren't any emails, but maybe somebody answered one of my sentinel ads."

Jim snorted. "Wanted: One Sentinel. Five Heightened Senses Required. Terms negotiable."

"You think you're pretty funny."

Jim gave him an innocent look, which didn't look innocent at all on his sated expression. "I know I am." He grinned and wrapped an arm around Blair's shoulders. "Let's go."

Blair opened the door and froze.

There stood Jeff Donnelly and two other young men who had all their brains in their brawn.

"Hello, Jeff," Blair said.

Sensing Blair's guardedness, Jim's protective instincts flared. He growled deep in his throat and placed himself between Blair and the three tall, husky boys. Blair glanced at him, surprise written in his expression.

"Hey, Professor." The one Blair called Jeff swaggered into the office, looking around. "Nice place. Fits you." He picked up a book on the desk, shrugged and tossed it on the floor.

Blair took a step toward him. "What do you want?"

Jeff widened his eyes in feigned shock. "Me? What could I possibly want? I'm almost guaranteed a draft slot with the NFL, which has been my dream since I was six years old. Once they see me play Friday, I'll be on my way."

"If you play."

"No 'if' about it, Professor." Jeff said the title like it was a derogatory term. "You see, you're going to withdraw your complaint. You're going to realize the error of your ways."

Blair laughed. "Whatever you're smoking, you'd better quit. You're the one who messed up, not me."

Jim tensed at the narrowing of Jeff's eyes. The kid and his silent goon squad were up to something, and Jim had a feeling it involved a felony or two.

"No, you're the one who messed up, Sandburg." All of Jeff's feigned amusement fled, leaving cold determination in its wake. "And you're the one who's going to quit."

Jim heard Blair's heart miss a beat, then kick into double time.

"I think you should leave before you get yourself in any more trouble," Blair said, none of his trepidation echoing in his firm voice.

Jeff's two buddies lunged for Blair, each grabbing an arm and bending it behind him. Blair's face paled as he grimaced, but he didn't make a sound.

Jeff's smile returned--a flat smile, which reminded Jim of a Russian sniper he'd known. "I think it's you who's in trouble, Professor Sandburg." He moved with amazing speed, swinging his fist into Blair's belly. The grad student doubled over with a groan and would've fallen if not for the other two boys holding his arms.

With a roar of rage, Jim charged the football player...and his arms swept right through his body. "Dammit!"

Blair lifted his gaze to Jim and in his eyes were desperation and more than a hint of fear.

"James. You cannot touch any mortal but Blair," Edwina's voice floated to him.

Jim searched the office wildly, but couldn't see her. "But they're hurting him!" he shouted at the ceiling.

The grad student was peering at him in confusion. "Jim?" he asked softly.

Jeff seized a fistful of Blair's hair and jerked his head up. "What was that, Professor?"

"You're only making things worse for yourself," Blair spoke to Jeff, the tendons bulging in bas-relief on his neck.

Jeff looked at his two accomplices and grinned. "I don't see how it can be any worse for me, but the professor here now, we can make things a lot worse for him."

The boys laughed.

Jim surged forward.

"You cannot interfere in mortal matters," Edwina reiterated firmly.

Jim's hands fisted at his sides and he shook with futility. "They won't let me help you!"

"Look at me," Jeff ordered sharply.

His full lips set in a firm line, Blair stared at the student defiantly.

"All you have to do is withdraw your complaint and give me a passing grade," Jeff stated.

"I can't do that."

Jeff's right hook snapped Blair's head back and Jim heard his teeth clack together from the blow. Jim's temper exploded and he reached for a handful of books to throw at Blair's assailant. His hands passed through them. He concentrated, hoping to use his mind over matter trick to pick them up. Again, his fingers went through the books like they were wisps of fog.

"You are not allowed to harm a human in any way, James." Edwina's voice sounded contrite.

Jeff delivered two more blows to Blair's face, then slammed his fist into his belly again. The younger man nodded to his two cohorts and they released Blair, letting him slump to the floor.

Seething with impotent rage, Jim knelt beside his supine friend, his fingers skimming over his bloody and battered face. "God damn you," he shouted in Jeff's face.

The bastard didn't even blink. Instead, he drew back his booted foot and kicked Blair in the chest, forcing air and a weak groan from the semi-conscious grad student. With a roar, Jim vaulted toward Jeff, aching to hurt him like he hurt Blair, but he continued through the student as if he wasn't even there and crashed into the desk. From his crumpled position on the floor Jim bellowed his frustration.

Jeff leaned close to Blair. "Do what I told you or the next time you won't get off so easy."

The three young men sauntered out of Blair's office, slamming the door behind them. Jim didn't waste a glare on them but scrambled to Blair's side. With trembling hands, he checked the grad student for major injuries, but while there appeared to be deep abdominal bruising, a loosened tooth, a cracked rib and numerous bumps and bruises, there didn't seem to be any internal damage. He breathed a sigh of relief and placed his arm behind Blair's neck and head and raised him so he was partially sitting up.

"Hey, Chief, can you hear me? Blair, c'mon, buddy, you need to open your eyes for me," Jim said. He gently tapped Blair's cheek and the anthropologist's eyes flew open as his heart hammered. "Shhhh, it's just me. They're gone, Chief."

Blair closed his eyes momentarily. "Oh, shit, I hurt."

"They did a number on you, Chief." Self-recrimination filled Jim. "I tried to stop them, but I couldn't."

Blair lifted a hand and laid it against Jim's cheek. "Not your fault."

"They finally throw a rule at me and it's one that damn near gets you killed."

"Hey, hey, Jim, don't. I'm okay. A little bruised, but I'll live."

"This time," Jim said grimly. "We need to get you to the hospital."

"No hospital."

"Sorry, Chief, but you have at least one cracked rib and maybe a concussion. Can you get up?"

"Yeah." He started to push himself upright and groaned as he fell back into Jim's arms. "Maybe with a little help," he amended wryly.

Jim wrapped an arm around Blair's waist and helped him up. Blair swayed for a moment, but Jim held him safely. "Easy, Chief, I have you."

They started to the door and Blair stopped. "I need my backpack."

Jim snagged a strap with his foot and dragged it closer, then picked it up and hoisted it over a shoulder. "I hope we don't run into anyone. They'll see a levitating backpack," he growled.

"Cool. Did I ever tell you about the time my mom levitated?"

"Hang onto your strength, Junior. You're going to need it to get to the truck. You can tell me your levitating mom story later."

Moving slowly, Jim aided his friend out of Hargrove Hall and to the parking lot where the truck sat alone. Being one o'clock on a Saturday, students were just starting to rise and there were few people around. Jim, however, listened and watched closely for any sign of Blair's attackers returning, but it appeared they were gone.

"I'm not...going to be able to drive," Blair rasped out through clenched teeth. "I can b-barely keep from throwing up, or passing out, right now."

Jim's mind raced. "I'll have to drive then."

"But--"

"It's either that or call an ambulance."

Blair nodded reluctantly. "Help me into the driver's side."

"You can't--"

"I have an idea."

Grumbling, Jim lifted Blair bodily onto the driver's seat, then set his backpack on the passenger side next to him.

The younger man pushed himself over, leaving a narrow space between himself and the driver's door. "Get in."

Jim frowned, but climbed in and shifted in the small space carefully, not wanting to hurt Blair.

"You'll drive but I'll keep my hand on the wheel," Blair said, looking as if a slight breeze would topple him.

"So if anyone looks in, it might look a little strange, but it'll still look like you're driving."

Blair attempted a smile, but with his swollen lips, the expression appeared more like a lopsided grimace. Jim narrowed his eyes, anger coursing anew through his veins at the battering the student had received.

Blair dug the truck keys out of his backpack, his breath hitching in his throat as he did. He handed them to Jim. "Home, James."

"Hospital first," Jim stated without room for argument. He started the truck, his pleasure at driving Sweetheart tempered by the reason for it. With part of his attention focused on Blair, he drove to the hospital, forcing himself to follow the traffic laws to the letter.

Twenty minutes later Jim pulled into Cascade Hospital's emergency lane and opened the door. "I'll go get someone."

The anthropologist grabbed his arm. "They won't be able to see or hear you," he said huskily. "I'll have to get in there by myself."

Jim swore under his breath. Being dead sucked.

Helping Blair as much as he could without being obtrusive, they trudged to the automatic glass doors. As they opened, a nurse came rushing toward them with a wheelchair. Jim stepped out of the way before she ran him down.

"You don't look very good, young man," the nurse, a pretty woman with dark hair and eyes, said.

Blair managed a weak grin. "I don't feel very good, either."

The nurse took hold of one of Blair's arms to help him in the chair and Jim took the other. He brushed Blair's cheek with his fingertips before moving aside so she could push him into the ER unit.

"My name's Anne. What's yours?" she asked.

"Blair Sandburg."

"Well, Mr. Sandburg, it looks to me like you were mugged. Shall we call the police?"

"Yes," Jim replied firmly.

Blair shook his head and said just as vehemently. "No."

"Those three kids beat the shit out of you, Chief," Jim said, his eyes flashing. "Turn the punks in before they do more than use you as a punching bag."

"I can't," Blair said, but couldn't add more without the nurse questioning his sanity.

Although Anne didn't seem to like it, she didn't try to change his mind. She wheeled him through a pair of swinging doors into an examination room. "I'll get the doctor."

The nurse left, her rubber-soled shoes squeaking on the shiny floor and making Jim grimace.

Jim hunkered down directly in front of Blair and clasped the wheelchair's arms. "What the hell's going on here, Chief? Have the cops bust their asses for what they did to you."

"It'll be my word against theirs," Blair replied, his face pale where it wasn't bruised or cut.

Jim rubbed his brow. "Damn. They'll use each other as alibis."

"Exactly."

"Son of a bitch." Jim shot to his feet. "There must be something we can do."

"Hope the board makes him ineligible for that damned football game."

Jim pinched the bridge of his nose. "After you're feeling better, you'll have to give me the full story, Chief."

"I will," Blair promised.

Jim tilted his head. "The doctor's coming. That nurse who brought you in is telling her you're probably a victim of an assault."

Blair stared at Jim. "How far away are they?"

"I don't know. Forty, fifty feet."

The anthropologist's eyes narrowed, but before he could comment, the doctor and nurse entered.

Jim stood back as the doctor--Dr. Phillips--examined Blair and ordered a series of x-rays. She determined he didn't have a concussion, but would probably have a headache for a day or two. He followed Blair when he had his x-rays completed, watched him closely while he filled in the paperwork required for his visit, and listened intently to the doctor's directions after she returned to the exam room. He'd had medic training in the Army--he'd make sure Blair was well taken care of.

"Do you have anybody to take you home?" Dr. Phillips asked as she scribbled out a prescription.

Blair's gaze drifted to Jim, who smiled and nodded at his friend who had his injuries tended to with antibiotic cream and butterfly bandages.

"Yes," Blair replied.

"Good. Anne can call your friend to come pick you up," Dr. Phillips said.

"Can't I drive myself?"

"I don't recommend it with these painkillers."

"But I haven't taken one yet."

Dr. Phillips frowned. "How far away do you live?"

"Not far. My friend is working and I hate to bother him since he needs the money."

Jim crossed his arms as he watched Blair expertly obfuscate his way through the doctor's objections.

"All right," Dr. Phillips said reluctantly. "But as soon as you get home, eat something and take a painkiller." She tore the prescription off the pad and handed it to Blair. "After you get dressed, get this filled, then go home and get some rest. Remember, a painkiller every four to six hours for the first day or two, then only as needed. No lifting or sudden movements. And if you start feeling nauseous or dizzy, get back here immediately. Understood?"

"Yes," Blair replied.

Dr. Phillips wrapped her arms around the clipboard and held it against her chest. "You should report this to the police, Mr. Sandburg."

"It wouldn't do any good," Blair said wearily, reaching for his shirts.

The doctor sighed. "It's your decision." She turned and left the room, but Anne remained.

"Dr. Phillips is right," Anne said. "You should talk to the police. Or if you don't want to make an official complaint, I have a friend who's a policeman and he just happens to be here right now." She rested a hand on Blair's gown-covered shoulder. "He won't bite. Honest."

"It wouldn't hurt, Chief," Jim said softly from where he leaned against the wall.

"Okay. Can you have him meet me by the pharmacy? I have to get this filled," Blair said.

Anne smiled. "I tell you what, I'll send him in here and I'll take this down to the pharmacy for you, then you can just pick it up on your way out."

The corner of Blair's lips tilted upward. "Looks like I've been outmaneuvered."

Anne took the prescription. "It'll be okay. He'll be here in a minute or two."

The nurse went out, leaving Jim and Blair alone. Jim helped him remove the hospital gown and don his shirts. He eased Blair's hand through a sleeve. "Easy, Chief, no rush."

At least Jim could help his injured friend now, though it did little to assuage his guilt for not being able to protect him earlier.

"Talk to me, Chief," Jim said. "You're being too quiet here."

Blair blinked and brushed back the uneven strands of hair, which had come out of the band. "I hate this."

Jim intentionally misunderstood. "I'll retie it for you." He removed the hair band and finger-combed the tangled silken curls, massaging Blair's scalp gently as he did. Blair tipped his head back against Jim's touch and if he'd been a cat, Jim would've sworn he was purring. He smiled, reveling in the sight and scent of his friend's hair. God, he loved how the lights captured and wove the strands with gold and red glints. He felt himself being pulled into the soft nest of a hundred subtle colors and jerked slightly, bringing his attention back to his task. He tied Blair's hair into a neat ponytail and stepped around to face him. "Okay?"

Blair grasped Jim's hand. "More than okay. Thanks."

Jim's cheeks heated and when he saw Blair's little smile, he knew there was another "cute blush" on his face. "Don't say it, Chief."

Blair's grin grew. "Say what?" he asked innocently.

A soft knock sounded on the door a moment before it opened. A tall black man entered, looking around. "Am I interrupting anything?"

Blair released Jim and shook his head. "No."

"I thought you were talking to someone."

"Just myself."

Jim stood beside Blair who remained seated on the exam bed as he warily watched the newcomer approach.

"I'm Captain Simon Banks with the Cascade Police Department. My friend Anne suggested I talk to you," he said.

Jim relaxed slightly. He trusted Banks--his eyes were honest and sincere.

"Blair Sandburg." They shook hands and Jim could tell Banks was keeping his grip loose in deference to Blair's injuries. His estimation of the police captain went up another notch. "I really don't have anything to tell you. Anne thought I should talk to you, though."

Banks kept a comfortable distance between them, somehow knowing that would calm Blair. "Why don't you tell me how you got all those bruises?"

"Would you believe I tripped and fell?"

Banks' dark eyes twinkled. "No."

Jim could sense Blair's anxiety and when the younger man got off the bed, Jim grabbed an arm to support him. His friend leaned into him, trusting him. He noticed Banks reach for him, but pull back at the last moment when Blair steadied. The captain was staring at him oddly and Jim realized he could see Blair standing as if leaning against someone or something.

"Are you all right?" Banks asked.

"I'll be fine." Blair waved off his concern. "Look, Captain Banks, I appreciate your coming in here and I appreciate Anne trying to help, but there's nothing anyone can do."

"How do you know? Have you given anyone a chance?"

"It'd be their word against mine, and I'm just a lowly grad student who already has his ass in hot water with the university."

"What do you mean?"

"It's a long story and I'm too tired to tell it," Blair replied.

Jim could tell the pain was starting to bother him. "Ask him to come over to your place tomorrow so you can explain then."

"Are you crazy?" Blair asked, turning to Jim. "He won't believe me."

"Excuse me?" Bewilderment filled the captain's eyes as he glanced between Blair and Jim, even though he couldn't see the soldier.

"Don't talk to me or he'll think you're crazy," Jim said quickly to Blair. "Have him come by about one tomorrow afternoon."

Although Blair didn't like it, he asked Banks, "Could you stop by my place around one tomorrow? I'll explain everything then."

Captain Banks crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes as he appeared to be judging Sandburg. "All right. One o'clock. What's your address?"

Blair gave it to him. "I'll see you then."

"Can I give you a lift home?" Banks asked.

"Uh, no, that's okay. My place is only ten minutes away. I'll be fine."

The captain opened the door and Blair hobbled out with Jim close beside him. Although Jim wanted to wrap his arm around the younger man to help him, he knew there were too many people around. The pharmacy was on the second floor and the two men were alone for a few moments in the elevator.

"I trust him, Chief," Jim said.

"You just met him."

Jim shrugged. "Gut instinct."

"Okay, so I tell him, then what? He looks into it and Jeff and his buddies cover for each other. It comes down to the same damned thing, my word against theirs." Blair gasped as his frustration made him take too deep of breath.

"Take it easy, Chief. Breathe shallowly."

"Easy for you to say. You're not the one with a busted rib."

Guilt stabbed Jim. "I'm sorry. If I could, I'd have taken those hits for you."

Blair leaned more heavily against Jim. "I know you would've. I-I'm just sore and tired and I want to sleep for a week."

Jim carefully held him close and kissed his forehead. "I know."

The elevator opened and Blair straightened, drawing away from the ghost. Jim remained close to Blair as the student picked up his prescription, then they walked slowly to the truck, which someone had moved to the curb. Jim drove back to Blair's building the same way they'd made it to the hospital. It was a long, tedious journey up to his apartment, and they paused often so Blair could regain his breath.

Once inside, Jim quickly pulled out the sofa bed and settled Blair comfortably with all the pillows he could find, as well as extra blankets. He carried a glass of water and a painkiller to his friend, then took the empty glass back to the sink after Blair had taken his pill.

"Thanks, Jim. I owe you," Blair said, his voice edging toward exhaustion.

"No way, Sandburg. You don't owe me anything," Jim said, sitting on the edge of the sofa bed. He brushed his fingers across Blair's sweat-sheened brow. "I want to help you, although I sure as hell haven't done a very good job, have I?" Bitterness dripped from his words.

Blair forced his eyes open and laid a hand on Jim's thigh. "It wasn't your fault, man. And if you hadn't been there, I would've never gotten to the hospital or back here."

Jim tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling, which was a dingy tan rather than eye-blasting white. If he was still in purgatory, he wouldn't be sitting here feeling so damned helpless...just like when the chopper went down and he could do nothing but hold his men until they died, one by one. He fought the tide of anguish washing through him and choked back a sob.

"Jim?"

The worry in Blair's tone brought Jim back to the present and he sent his gaze to his friend with the angry-looking cuts and bruises marring his strong, beautiful face. He laid a palm against Blair's cheek and the younger man leaned into it. "It's all right, Chief. I'm right here."

Blair gripped Jim's wrist and fear filled his expressive eyes. "You started shimmering again, like you were going to disappear."

Jim lay down beside the younger man, and kissed his cut and swollen lips gently. "Shhhh. I don't plan on going anywhere for a little while."

"Hold me. Please."

Unable to trust his voice, Jim nodded. He removed his boots and swung his legs onto the bed. He lay on his back and carefully gathered Blair in his arms. His lover shifted so he lay with his head on Jim's chest and an arm draped across his waist.

"Don't leave," Blair whispered.

Jim felt his warm breath and warmer lips on his chest. He inhaled Blair's scent, and listened to his friend's respiration even out and his heart slow as he fell asleep. Jim's arms tightened around his precious charge, and he swore this one wouldn't die.

Not like all the other friends he'd lost.

Blair awakened to warmth and an unusual sense of serenity. Unwilling to burst the bubble of peace surrounding him, he lay there with his eyes shut and soaked up the rare feeling. As his mind rolled back the foggy curtain, he realized the heat was coming from a body he was cuddled against.

Jim.

Blair opened his eyes, only to find himself face-to-chest with his ghost lover.

"Evening," Jim greeted with a little smile. "How're you feeling?"

Blair lifted his head and an arm, and groaned. "Like I was hit by a bus."

"Not quite." Jim's fingertips feathered across Blair's face. "But you do look like you went a few rounds with Ali."

"And came out on the losing end." Blair pushed himself up to a sitting position and Jim followed, wrapping a supporting arm around the younger man. "Shit."

"I'll make something so you can take your painkiller with some food," Jim said. He rolled off the bed and gazed down at Blair. "Do you need to use the bathroom?"

"Oh, yeah," Blair said with a grimace, extending a hand which Jim clasped to help him off the bed. The student wrapped an arm around his ribs. "Damn. This sucks."

"Need some help in there?"

Blair smiled crookedly. "I think I can handle it, but just in case, stay in shouting distance."

"You got it, Chief. Just say my name and I'll come running."

Something niggled at Blair's memory, but he couldn't recall what it was, although it involved Jim....

"Chief?"

Blair blinked to find Jim directly in front of him. "Yeah?"

"You going to stand there all day or hit the latrine?"

"I'm going, I'm going."

He felt Jim's concerned gaze on him as he trudged the short distance to the bathroom and had to admit it felt good to have someone worry about him. Someone who cared about him, and who he cared about. He used the toilet, then flushed. As he ran the faucet and waited for the water to warm, he forced himself to survey the damage to his face. It wasn't pretty--a butterfly bandage in the middle of a reddish purple bump on his right cheekbone; another butterfly above his left eye; his lower lip nearly twice its normal size; and a lavender bruise on the side of his chin. He looked like one of Dr. Frankenstein's rejects.

If my face had looked like this earlier, Jim wouldn't have looked twice at me, much less jumped my bones. Of course, it was a mutual jumping at the time.

He snorted a soft laugh.

"Are you all right in there, Chief?" Jim called from the kitchen.

"Uh, yeah, fine." Blair quickly washed his hands and his face. As he dried his face, he suddenly realized how quiet his chuckle had been. How had Jim heard him?

The niggling sensation returned, but this time Blair figured out what was bothering him. He'd been blaming Jim's sensitive hearing and touch on him being a ghost, but what if he was like that before he died? What if it wasn't death, but part of who and what James Ellison was while he was alive?

That thought sent excitement coursing through him and kicked up his heart rate.

A knock on the door startled him and he opened it to find a worried Jim on the other side. "What's wrong?" Blair asked.

"That's what I was going to ask you. Your heartbeat shot up," Jim replied as he scrutinized Blair.

"Could you hear this well before you, um, before you--you know?"

"Before I died?" Jim asked. Blair's mouth grew dry as he nodded. "I can't remember."

"What?"

Jim shrugged. "It's like I said, Chief, I don't remember. I mean, some of the guys used to say that if the Cap didn't hear, smell, or see anything, we were safe."

"So you probably did have hypersenses." Despite his injuries, Blair bounced on the balls of his feet. "Do you realize you could be who I've been looking for these past few years?"

"Even if I was one of these sentinels, which I doubt, I've been dead for eight years. You can't write your doctorate on a dead sentinel."

Jim's blunt words nearly doubled Blair over, just as Donnelly's fist had doubled him over. But this ache was deeper and laced with loss.

"I warmed some soup for you," Jim said, oblivious to Blair's distress.

Blair forced a smile. "Sounds good. I want to throw on some sweats first, though."

"Where are they?"

"In the closet."

"I'll get them."

Jim returned a few moments later with gray sweatpants, a fresh T-shirt, and a baggy Rainier sweatshirt. Jim helped him change, his touch impersonal but gentle. By the time Blair was wearing the comfy clothes, the painkiller's effects had completely worn off and Blair had begun to tremble.

He leaned into Jim's welcome support as he shuffled into the living room where Jim assisted him back onto the sofa bed. Blair sat up against the couch, his legs stretched out beneath the blankets. The sun had set only moments earlier, leaving the western horizon ablaze with orange and red. He leaned over to turn on the side table's lamp, but hissed in pain when the motion aggravated his cracked rib.

"Whoa, Chief. I'll get that for you." Jim flicked the light on, casting shadows about the apartment. "I'll get you a bowl of soup and one of your pills." He came back moments later carrying a steaming bowl.

"I won't be able to eat all this, Jim," Blair said.

"Eat what you can and take your pill. It'll probably knock you out for the night."

Blair began to eat, cautiously lifting the spoon and blowing on the broth to cool it. "Aren't you hungry?"

Jim, sprawled in the old chair, shrugged. "I think it's like the doors--mind over matter. If I tell myself I'm not hungry, I'm not."

Although it felt odd to be eating alone with Jim watching him, Blair finished the tasty soup. Under Jim's watchful eye, he took his painkiller.

"What're you going to do tonight?" Blair asked.

Jim rinsed out the soup bowl and laid it in the sink. "I don't know."

The ghost's uncertainty made him seem oddly vulnerable. "Why don't you stay here? We could watch some TV."

A dazzling smile lit Jim's face. "Okay." Three long strides brought him into the living room and he dropped into the ratty overstuffed recliner.

The old nineteen-inch TV sat on a shelf made of bricks and boards. Nothing fancy, but it worked. Blair flicked the remote and the TV came on. He started surfing. "Tell me if you see anything worth watching."

A lush jungle filled the screen and the narrator was saying, "In the mid to late 80's there was a concerted and combined effort between the DEA and the armed forces to put an end to the drug trade between the United States and South America."

"Keep it here, Chief," Jim said, leaning forward and planting his elbows on his thighs.

Blair observed Jim while the ghost watched an abbreviated history of the battle between the South American drug cartels, which brought heroin and cocaine into the States, and the U.S. authorities. As the program wound down, there was a short segment on how many men had been lost in the war against drugs and a line of names started rolling down the screen.

Jim's name wasn't there; neither was his friend Scott Harkness's. The U.S. Army continued to deny the sacrifices made by their loyal soldiers.

Blair shut off the TV.

Jim continued staring at the blank screen, his face so pale it was almost translucent. And it scared the hell out of Blair.

"You said you died in a Peruvian jungle?" Blair asked hesitantly.

A long moment of silence. "That's right."

"What happened?"

The ghost finally drew his gaze away from the screen, but instead of looking at Blair, he stared at his hands on his knees. "I don't know, exactly. I remember feeling the chopper dip and the pilot tried to bring it back up, then the rotor started shaking and we were dropping like a rock." Jim swallowed audibly. "I don't know if I was actually knocked unconscious, but when I opened my eyes and looked around, half my squad was dead. I had some cuts and bruises, and a sprained wrist, but other than that, I was lucky." His voice dropped. "I didn't feel that way, though."

Blair wrapped an arm around his ribs and asked quietly, "What happened to the ones who were still alive?"

"I got them out of the chopper, except for Harry. He died while I was dragging him out." Jim was clenching and unclenching his hands restlessly. "Sarge was the next to go. He held onto my hand until the end. Bailey breathed his last with my hand on his chest--I felt his heart stop. Then Scotty--"

Jim's voice broke and for a moment, Blair thought he would finally release his grief, but he only continued. "Scotty and I'd been friends since officer candidate school, both tried for the Rangers, and ended up in the same squad. When he took leave to visit his folks, I'd take leave and go with him. Louise and John were the kind of parents I always wanted." He cleared his throat noisily. "John used to tease Louise about me being Scotty's long-lost brother. He was the last to die. I held him in my arms all night, feeling the strength leave him, watching death creep over him. Right after the sun rose, he opened his eyes and looked at me. He said--" Jim's voice broke, "--he said 'Don't blame yourself, Jimmy. Everything happens for a reason. I love you.'"

Blair felt his own eyes fill with moisture. "Did you love him?"

"Yes." The one word was ripped from Jim's throat.

Blair held out a trembling hand. "Come here," he whispered.

Jim stood and clasped his hand, and allowed himself to be tugged onto the bed beside the younger man. He curled up beside Blair, his head resting in Blair's lap and an arm wrapped around his hips. "I didn't want to live after that. All my men and my best friend were dead. Why didn't I die, too?"

"Didn't you say you died there?"

Blair felt Jim nod. "I did, but I don't know how. I remember I was kneeling beside Scotty's grave when these natives stepped out of the brush. At first I thought they were going to kill me and I was glad. But then they motioned for me to come with them. I didn't. I couldn't. I wished I was dead."

Blair's heart hitched into his throat. "Could you have 'willed' yourself to die?"

"I don't know. Maybe. I don't remember."

The student stroked Jim's short, soft hair as he tried to imagine Jim being surrounded by the graves he'd dug for his men and blaming himself for their deaths. If he'd been a sentinel, he might have had a zone-out and never came out of it. Could a sentinel die during a zone-out? It was one hypothesis Blair didn't care to test.

"It's all right, Jim. That's in the past. You're here now," Blair crooned.

Jim turned his head to gaze up at Blair. "But for how long? And where will I go when I leave here? Hell? Heaven? Back to purgatory?"

Blair's chest constricted and his throat clogged with unshed tears. "I wish I could say you can stay here forever." He leaned down and brushed Jim's dry lips with his own. "But what I want doesn't matter."

Jim lifted an arm and clasped the back of Blair's neck. He massaged it tenderly. "Why couldn't I have found you before, when I was--"

"Alive?" Blair's voice was a mere croak.

"Yes."

Blair didn't have any words to soothe the soldier or himself. He snuggled further down on the sofa bed and Jim carefully maneuvered an arm around him and drew him close.

"Sleep, Chief," Jim said and kissed his brow.

Blair couldn't contain his wide yawn. "Will you be here in the morning?"

"If I have a choice, I will be."

Jim's promise eased Blair's worries and the painkiller carried him into oblivion, although he never lost his awareness of his lover even in slumber.

Jim awakened to an odd sensation early the next morning and it took him a few moments to figure out what it was--a full bladder. In the eight plus years he'd been in purgatory and the nearly forty-eight hours since he'd been back on earth, this was the first time he'd felt the need to relieve himself. He reluctantly extricated himself from Blair's tentacled embrace and hurried into the bathroom. Jim breathed a sigh of relief as he flushed the toilet. After buttoning his fly, he washed his hands and gazed at his image in the mirror. His eyes widened at the sight of the early morning growth of whiskers--another first since he... Jim thrust the unwanted thought and speculation aside, and wiped his hands on the towel.

He returned to the sofa bed where Blair shifted restlessly. Jim laid back down beside him and Blair rolled toward him, burrowing into Jim's side with a muzzy sigh. The soldier smiled at the younger man's response to him, but it was tempered with sadness.

Wide awake, Jim stroked Blair's bed-warm curly hair and breathed in the now-familiar scent of his mortal lover. Why had Edwina sent him down here, to this place, in this man's life? Blair Sandburg was a bittersweet reminder of what Jim surrendered when he died in the jungles of Peru. But more than that, it taunted Jim with what-might-have-been if he hadn't willed himself to die. And, yes, that's what must have happened. The death of his comrades and friends had shattered Jim, just as the crash had shattered the helicopter. He hadn't been able to see beyond his grief, hadn't been able to see a future beyond the bloody corpses and crude graves. It was as if his world had been reduced to death and destruction and overwhelming guilt.

This exasperating, tantalizing, garrulous, lovable graduate student opened Jim's eyes and heart. Finally, when Jim found reason to live again, he was eight years too late. His chest ached with the knowledge that his time with Blair would soon come to an end. He would have to accept his death as he had accepted--embraced--it in Peru. But he didn't want to. This time he wanted to fight for his life, for the years he'd carelessly thrown away. But how did one fight for life when he was already dead?

His arms tightened around Blair involuntarily and the younger man groaned slightly. Jim immediately eased his hug and dropped a light kiss on Blair's brow. "Sorry, Chief," he whispered. As he studied Blair's sleep-lax face, Jim felt something open within him, something intoxicating and alive and wondrous...and frightening. And he refused to analyze it any closer, afraid of what he would discover.

He continued to hold Blair, aching for more but eternally grateful for this short reprieve he'd been given.

After both Jim and Blair ate brunch--scrambled eggs with peppers, onions, and cheese--they settled on the sofa side by side. Jim had carried Blair's backpack to the couch and balanced it on his lap as Blair opened it to pull out the test booklets which needed grading.

"Can I help?" Jim asked.

With his hair tied back and his glasses in place, Blair smiled slightly. Jim's heart did a little somersault at the unintentionally sexy portrait. Even with the bruises and cuts, Blair heated his blood.

"You can stop looking at me like that," Blair teased. "I'm still not up to a repeat of yesterday."

Jim brushed the side of his lover's face. "I can't help it. You make me want to do things that are illegal in half the country."

Blair chuckled and ended with a grimace as he wrapped an arm around his still-tender ribs and abdomen. "You're just horny."

"Only around you." Jim's voice slipped down to a husky tone.

Blair stared at him, his expression softening. "It would be so damned easy to fall in love with you."

Jim blinked, startled by his honesty. "Don't," he said firmly, fighting the clench in his chest.

"I won't, if you won't." Blair studied him for a moment longer, then settled back and opened the first test booklet.

Jim stifled a sigh and turned on the TV, finding a Seahawks game just getting under way. Half an hour later, he rose to use the bathroom. When he returned, Blair was watching him closely. "Since when did ghosts have to take a leak?"

"Since this morning," Jim answered wryly.

Blair's scrutiny unnerved him.

"What? I have something hanging out of my nose?"

"Your beard is starting to grow."

"Yeah," Jim muttered. "I noticed it this morning, too."

"Why?"

"Because I looked in the mirror."

Blair backhanded his side. "No, smart ass. Why is it happening now?"

Jim shrugged. "Beats me."

Enthusiasm lit Blair's intelligent eyes. "What if you're becoming human?"

"How?"

"I have no clue, but think about it, Jim. You get here and nobody but me can see you. But you can eat and drink like a living person."

"And make love," Jim added, his eyes twinkling.

Blair's cheeks reddened. "And make love. Now, you're starting to exhibit even more mortal characteristics with the beard and the bodily functions. Can you still go through solid objects?"

"I don't know. I haven't tried it lately."

"Try it."

"No."

"Why not?"

"I don't want to," the soldier said petulantly.

"Please."

Jim took one look at his pleading expression and folded. "I'm screwed."

"Not yet." Blair waggled his eyebrow, which sent another part of Jim's anatomy waggling. The ghost stood and Blair grabbed his arm. "Where are you going?"

"To the door. There's no way I'm going to 'drop in' on Mrs. Tooley again."

Blair grinned. "Good point."

Jim paused by the door and closed his eyes to increase his concentration. He took a step, then another and another. He opened his eyes to find himself in the hallway. Placing mind over matter, he re-entered the apartment to find a dejected grad student.

"What's wrong?" Jim asked, although he suspected the answer.

"I had a theory."

"You wanna share it?"

Blair blushed scarlet. "I thought that since you were becoming more human, maybe you were transforming. You know, coming back to life. But since you didn't have any trouble going through the door, that's not happening."

Jim had come to the same conclusion, and that was the reason he didn't want to test it. He was afraid the hope that he was being "resurrected" would be crushed. Which is exactly what happened.

"I'm sorry," Jim said helplessly.

Blair managed a weak smile. "Not your fault, man. I shouldn't have gotten so wired." Although he turned his attention back to the test booklets, Jim could hear the increased hammering of his heart.

Jim shifted until their thighs touched and he rested his arm along the back of the couch. He relaxed when his lover leaned into his side like he belonged there.

An hour later, Jim noticed the scent of cigar smoke and remembered the policeman they'd met yesterday exuded the same scent. "Captain Banks is here."

"How do you know?"

"I can smell his cigar smoke." Although aware of Blair's astonishment, he didn't show it as he helped Blair stack the test booklets in Graded and Not Graded piles. "Don't try to talk to me in front of him," he reminded the younger man. "You don't want him to think you're loony tunes."

"But you will stay here, right?" Blair asked anxiously, grasping Jim's wrist.

Jim swept a wild curl back from Blair's brow and allowed his fingers to linger a moment. "I'll be right beside you the whole time."

"Thanks." Blair gave Jim's arm a quick squeeze.

A knock sounded.

"Tell him the whole story, Chief," Jim advised as he helped Blair to the door. "Don't let Donnelly beat you again."

Blair's throat worked with a hard swallow. "I'll tell him."

Jim reluctantly released him and Blair swung the door open to reveal Captain Banks dressed in blue jeans and a Cascade PD sweatshirt. "Hi, Captain. C'mon in."

"Sandburg," Banks said and stepped inside. He glanced around the small apartment, which to Jim looked even tinier with three bodies in it.

"Uh, can I get you something to drink? Water? Coffee? Some guava juice?"

Banks' eyebrows arched, but he shook his head. "No thanks, I'm fine."

"Have a seat."

Banks cautiously lowered himself to the worn chair and leaned forward, clasping his hands and hanging them between his knees. "I don't usually make house calls," he began after Blair eased down on the couch. "But Anne took a liking to you."

"And you like Anne," Blair said with a quick smile.

Banks' lips quirked upward. "That's right." He sobered, looking much like a responsible captain with the police department. "Why won't you swear out a complaint against whoever did this to you?"

Blair glanced at Jim, who sat at the other end of the couch, not wanting to distract the student. Jim nodded at him encouragingly. Blair turned back to Banks. "It was three students. This past week I filed a complaint against one of them because he totally plagiarized a paper. I mean, he didn't even try to hide it. It was like so blatant."

"So this kid beat you up because of that?"

"Yes, but there's more to it." Blair licked his dry lips. "The student is Jeff Donnelly and he's--"

"Rainier's star quarterback," Banks finished. He whistled low. "And the game coming up is the biggest of the year."

"Yes, sir. He brought two of his buddies--I don't know their names, but I've seen them around. They're on the football team, too. Jeff tried to persuade me to withdraw my complaint." Blair's voice oozed sarcasm.

"Couldn't you have just given him an F on the paper?" Banks asked.

"Yes, but that's not the issue here, Captain. It's the fact that this kid knowingly and willingly broke one of academia's most important rules."

Banks narrowed his eyes. "This is the first year Rainier has had a chance at the Northern Tier college title. Without Donnelly, Rainier's team wouldn't have made it this far. Couldn't you have looked the other way?"

Jim tensed, but Blair's reaction far surpassed his.

Blair's eyes sparked and his lips thinned. "So you think I was wrong, too?" The younger man rose to his feet, more steady than Jim would've thought. "I can't believe this. You're a cop. If there is strong evidence against a suspect, you arrest him or her. Or do you arbitrarily decide who's charged with a crime?"

"That's not the same thing." Banks' eyes glittered with anger.

"Wrong. It is, Captain Banks," Blair stated flatly. "A student broke a rule and that entails consequences. It is not my fault the suspect in this case is the star football player; the rules do not differentiate the science geek from the super jock." He gasped, as if suddenly remembering he was still hurting.

Both Jim and Banks lunged for the student, but he raised a hand to halt their assistance. "I'm all right," Blair said with a husky voice, then continued, "The person who upholds the rule is not the guilty party here, and to blame me for what Donnelly did is unfair and a damned shitty thing to do."

Jim's admiration for the gutsy student, already significant, climbed higher. Although Banks was nine or ten inches taller than Blair, the younger man wasn't intimidated. In fact, the captain, too, seemed impressed by the smaller man's tenacity and integrity.

"Were there any witnesses besides Donnelly's buddies?" Banks finally asked.

"No, sir," Blair answered.

"Did Donnelly make any other threats?"

"Not exactly, but I have a feeling if I don't withdraw my complaint by Wednesday, he's going to try something else."

"Why Wednesday?"

"The board meets that night to decide what to do. The evidence is indisputable so the board will have no choice but to suspend Jeff, which means he won't be able to play in the game Friday."

"Tell him about the pro scout," Jim prompted quietly.

"And according to Jeff, there's supposed to be a scout coming in to watch him," Blair said.

"Damn it." Banks removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "There's not much I can do even if you swear out a warrant. More than likely the charges will be dropped because of lack of evidence against Donnelly and his friends."

Blair sagged onto the couch and Jim scooted over to sit close to him, offering silent support. "I was afraid of that," the anthropologist said miserably.

The captain replaced his glasses. "I'm sorry. You're right. If someone violates a law knowingly, he should be called on it. I guess I was just caught up with college bowl fever."

Blair smiled slightly. "You and everyone else in Cascade." He sobered. "Maybe the timing sucks, but Donnelly violated the rule, not me, and I'm not going to feel guilty for doing the right thing."

"And you shouldn't, son," Banks said gently. "Have you ever thought about becoming a cop?"

Flustered, Blair shook his head. "Uh, no. My mother thought the pigs--uh, police were all jackbooted thugs."

Banks' eyes widened slightly. "Do you believe that?"

"Maybe not all of them."

Banks laughed. "I like you, Mr. Sandburg."

"Blair."

"Blair," Banks said, nodding. "And I have to tell you I think you're right about this Donnelly kid. I think he'll up the ante on Wednesday."

"What can I do?"

Jim laid a hand on his friend's knee. Blair clutched it firmly.

Banks' gaze slid to where Jim and Blair's hands were clasped and he frowned. "Are you all right?" the captain asked.

Blair nodded. "What can we do about Donnelly?"

"Legally, nothing, unless you sign a complaint, but even then, it's not going to stick." Banks pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and handed Blair a business card. "I want you to call me if Donnelly tries anything else."

"By that time, it'll be too late," Jim grumbled. Blair squeezed his hand.

"I will," Blair said to Banks.

The captain rose and Blair pushed himself upright with Jim's help. The student walked Banks to the door. "Thanks for coming by."

Banks shrugged. "I wish I could do more. As much as I'd like to see Rainier win the championship, I'd be happier to nail Donnelly for assaulting you."

"I appreciate that, Captain Banks."

The student and the cop shook hands, then Banks left. Blair closed the door behind him and leaned against the solid wood.

Jim hurried to his side and took hold of his arm. "Come on, Chief. Time for you to take a painkiller and get some rest."

"I have too much to do. Papers to read--" Blair began.

"No way, Sandburg. In the condition you're in, you won't even know what you read much less be able to grade fairly." Jim gently guided him to the couch and eased him down. He retrieved a pill and a glass of water and handed them to Blair.

Five minutes later, the student was asleep on the sofa, covered with a blanket. Knowing Blair would be out for at least an hour, Jim figured it was time to find some more food. He flowed through the closed door and went to visit his childhood home. Again.

Two nights ago, when Jim had gone to his father's house after leaving Blair and his date in the hotel room, he'd "borrowed" a carton of eggs, some bacon, and a loaf of bread. He'd noticed the student's refrigerator was almost empty, and figured his father could easily spare some food. It wasn't stealing...exactly. Although Jim and his father hadn't spoken in years, William Ellison had been the beneficiary of his life insurance and personal items--except for Sweetheart--after Jim was declared dead. Arriving in the middle of the night last time, Jim had known his father would be sleeping, but didn't have the courage to look in on him. The final words between them had been flung in anger, neither listening to the other. Jim had had a lot of years to think about their estrangement, and the conclusion he'd come to hadn't been pleasant--the argument had occurred because he was too much like his father.

Jim willed himself to walk through the door into his childhood home. In the light of the late Sunday afternoon, it looked and felt different. It was definitely clean, probably due to Sally, if she still worked here. But there was also an emptiness to it, like the silence of a classroom on the weekend. Past echoes of boys' voices and a father's stern reprimand; Sally calling the fragmented family to eat dinner; shouting from behind closed doors between a mother and a father, before she deserted her husband and two sons.

Jim ran his fingers over the balustrade, remembering he and Stevie sliding down the banister when they knew their father was at work. He recalled the laughter and the time Stevie had hurt his ankle, but Jim had taken care of it--had taken care of Stevie. Jim could almost smell the sugar cookies Sally used to bake, timing them so when the boys arrived home from school, she'd just be pulling them out of the oven. Stevie would try to steal Jim's last cookie and sometimes he let him because it made Stevie feel good to get one over on his big brother.

But all that changed as the boys grew into adolescence and everything became a competition, impelled by their father. Jim stopped letting Stevie steal his cookies and Stevie stopped looking up to his big brother. One thing on top of another until Jim refused to play the game any longer, which in his father's eyes, made him a loser.

The house was silent and Jim wandered into the living room, startled by the bleakness of every piece of furniture and every item in perfect order. Barren. That's what his father's home had become. Or maybe it had been that way all along and Jim hadn't recognized it as a child. Small, framed pictures set just so on the mantel and a bookshelf were the only things that gave the room any type of personality. His feet carried him to the bookshelf where he touched a three by five of Stevie and himself dressed in miniature tailored suits. There was another of the first Christmas after their mother had left--neither he nor Stevie appeared excited by the car models and clothes they held up to the camera.

Then a picture of Stevie with a blonde girl--both were dressed up. Probably a prom date. Jim had already been gone from home for two years by the time Stevie was a high school senior. He hadn't seen his brother since. Many more of Stevie, wearing his high school graduation gown; in a dorm room studying at his desk; receiving his college degree; and finally a wedding picture of Stevie and the blonde girl from the prom, followed by progressive pictures of two children from infancy to childhood, a girl and a boy. His niece and nephew. Jim gasped and pressed a hand to the wall. Life for the Ellisons had gone on; another generation of Ellisons was being raised to carry on the name.

Jim felt a heavy weight press down upon his chest as he attempted to breathe. He closed his eyes against the assault of a past he hadn't known, and calmed the frantic wings beating in his stomach. When he reopened his eyes, he had his emotions under tenuous control.

He crossed to the mantel and was shocked to find a gallery dedicated to the estranged son. The most prominent picture was of him wearing his olive green dress uniform with a black beret placed jauntily on his head. His half-smile appeared both self-conscious and smart-alecky. On one side were pictures of him as a boy--his first communion; wearing a baseball glove and cap; posing in his football uniform the year they won the championship--the game his father was too busy to attend; he and his best friend Ricky with their arms around each other's shoulders, grinning at the camera. On the other side of his official military portrait were snapshots from Jim's Army footlocker--he and his squad at the officers' club getting shit-faced; Jim wearing filthy battle fatigues and a triumphant grin at the finish line of an obstacle course; he and Scotty in much the same pose he and Ricky had been in fifteen years earlier.

The sound of footsteps startled him and he whirled around, accidentally knocking a framed picture to the floor. But Jim hardly noticed as he stared at his father, who no longer held any resemblance to the son of a bitch who'd played his children off one another. The man in front of him was slightly stooped and his thin hair was mostly gray. His clothes, though of good quality, were older and hung from his gaunt frame. The only things that remained the same were the glasses and the blue eyes, which were like looking in a mirror.

William Ellison froze one step into the living room and his gaze seemed to flicker over Jim, making the ghost shiver. The elder Ellison walked unsteadily toward the mantel, one trembling hand extended. "Jimmy?" came his hoarse whisper.

"Dad." Jim's voice was equally husky. He reached out toward his father, but the older man walked past him and knelt beside the fallen picture.

His throat so tight Jim couldn't even swallow, he squatted down beside his father and watched as William picked up the frame with hands dotted with age spots. The older man stared at the crack down the middle of the glass, bisecting Jim's visage. William traced Jim's face beneath the glass.

"I'm sorry, Jimmy," his father whispered. "I wish..." The elder Ellison took a shaky breath. "I'm sorry," he repeated in a soft voice.

For a long minute, William remained kneeling on the floor with Jim frozen beside him. Finally, his father pushed himself to his feet and Jim reached out to help him, but his hand passed through his father's shoulder. Moisture blurred Jim's vision.

"Have to get a new frame," William murmured. He shuffled away, clasping the broken picture to his chest.

Unable to move, Jim listened to him open the foyer closet door, don a coat, then leave the house. He listened to his father shamble down the sidewalk, the older man's uneven breathing and the occasional sniff accompanied by a hand dashed across his face. Jim stretched out his hearing, following William's progress as he moved farther and farther away. Then everything blanked out.

A car horn blared and Jim flinched as his hands went to his ears. A deep pounding started in his temples, causing him to gasp at the overpowering headache. It was the same type of headache he got when...

Jim's stomach convulsed and it was only by sheer strength of will that he didn't vomit. This wasn't the first time this had happened. He recalled long-range reconnaissance missions where his men would look to him, to find out if there was anybody nearby. Sight, sound, smell--Jim had used all three instinctively to search their surroundings. But doing so sometimes resulted in odd blackouts, that lasted anywhere from a few seconds to five minutes.

His father hadn't returned and there didn't seem to be much change in the afternoon sunlight, so Jim figured he hadn't been out of it for long. Trying to ignore the throbbing in his head, he awkwardly rose and scrutinized the room from a new perspective. This was the room of a lonely man who surrounded himself with missed opportunities. What had happened to the man Jim had spent twenty years despising? Where was the cold son of a bitch who took Stevie to Europe when he'd promised the trip to his oldest son?

Blinded by his childhood perceptions, Jim had allowed his feelings toward his father to stagnate and rot. Things had been so clear-cut back then, but hadn't Jim learned that not everything was black and white in this world? He'd grown up, yet he'd never given his relationship with his father--and brother--a chance to grow with him.

Another lost chance in this purgatory of his own design.

Jim stumbled into the kitchen and debated whether to "borrow" some more food. When he'd been there Friday night, he'd felt an adolescent's satisfaction in taking the food and imagining William Ellison's blustering reaction. However, Jim suspected this man who was now his father would gladly provide if he knew the who and the why.

He found two plastic grocery bags and filled them with some meat from the freezer; fruit, yogurt, and vegetables from the refrigerator; and rice, pasta, and canned goods from the pantry. A small bakery box of buttermilk donuts beckoned and, somewhat guiltily, he added it to the bag. Spotting a notepad on the refrigerator and a pen on the counter, Jim considered leaving his father a note. But what could he say? Nothing would give either of them atonement. Besides, a note would only upset his father.

Jim realized it would be difficult to get back to Blair's without anyone seeing two bags moving down the sidewalk by themselves. He'd have to stick to the alleys and use his heightened senses to alert him to someone's presence.

Although he could go through solid objects, the food couldn't, so Jim opened the kitchen door and slipped out. But not before one last bittersweet look.

Blair awakened to the smell of something good--really good. It took him a moment to place the scents. Stir-fried chicken and vegetables. He opened his eyes to find he was lying on the couch, a blanket tucked around him. Jim's handiwork, no doubt. He could count on one hand the number of times someone had cared for him, and those times it had been his mother, never a friend or lover.

He carefully levered himself to a sitting position and blinked sleep from his eyes. The blanket hung over one shoulder and puddled in his lap. He catalogued his aches and pains, as well as the muscle stiffness. Maybe not better, but definitely not any worse.

He glanced around. There was no one in the kitchen, which made him frown with confusion. The sound of the bathroom door opening and Jim stepping out made Blair smile in relief.

"Hey, you're awake," Jim greeted with an almost shy smile.

"So're you," Blair quipped.

"Barely," Jim admitted. "Are you up to eating some dinner?"

"What time is it?"

"Six. You slept for three hours, Chief."

Alarm skittered through Blair. "Shit! I've got papers to grade." He stood too quickly and groaned.

Jim was beside him in a heartbeat, an arm around his waist. "Take it easy, Chief. The papers aren't going anywhere."

"That's the problem," Blair grumbled.

"Why don't you eat first, then you can do some work," Jim suggested.

Blair had to admit his taste buds were taking quite an interest in the mouthwatering smells. He nodded and, although he could've navigated by himself, Jim assisted him into the tiny kitchen. After filling his plate, Blair sat by the small chrome table and Jim brought a glass of water and another pill.

Blair held up a hand. "No way. No more painkillers until bedtime."

Jim didn't argue, but merely placed the pill back in the prescription bottle and joined Blair.

The student frowned as he watched his subdued friend eat. Jim was different--the brash, irreverent ghost was quiet and there were etched lines in his forehead. He didn't meet Blair's gaze, but remained focused on his food like it was the last meal he'd ever eat. And maybe it would be.

Blair's breath caught in his lungs. Jim finally looked at him.

"Are you okay?" Jim asked quietly.

"That depends. Are you?"

"I guess."

Blair studied the curve of Jim's jaw and the creases by his eyes. He was more than likely thinking about the uncertainty of his presence on earth. It bothered Blair, too. But talking about it wouldn't change things or make matters any clearer. His appetite fled, but he forced himself to fork some more vegetables into his mouth. "Where'd you get the chicken?" he asked Jim with a frown.

"Same place as the eggs and bacon," Jim replied nonchalantly, but his eyes wouldn't meet Blair's.

"Where?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes."

"My father's," Jim murmured.

"What?"

Jim set his fork down and rested his elbows on the table. "He had extra, so I borrowed some."

"He lives in Cascade?"

"Yes. I grew up here."

Too many questions clamored to get out, so Blair settled on, "Did he see you?"

"No. But I saw him." Jim's gaze turned inward. "I almost didn't recognize him. He's gotten old."

Blair snorted. "That happens, Jim."

The soldier's eyes flashed with impatience. "Not to my father. He was supposed to be the same unfeeling bastard I remembered from when I was a kid."

Blair gave him a moment, then asked softly, "What happened?"

Jim leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. The meaning wasn't lost on Blair--Jim was trying to protect himself.

"He has my Army pictures on the mantel," Jim said.

"So?"

"They were with my personal possessions when I died. My father got my stuff and made a fucking shrine on his mantel." Long-buried anger reared its ugly head, spurred on by Jim's confusion.

"He loved you," Blair whispered.

Blue ice pierced the student, but he didn't flinch from Jim's glare. "He never told me. Never once said, 'I love you, Jimmy.' Would that have been so fucking hard?"

A lump filled Blair's throat. "Did you ever tell him?"

Jim's glare softened and disappeared, to be replaced with vulnerability, like a child told there was no Santa Claus. "No," he said, his voice breaking. He drew back his shoulders and Blair could see long-standing defensives dropping back into place. "And it's too late now."

"Maybe--"

"No," Jim cut him off, his hand slicing through the air. "What's done is done, Sandburg. The only reason I'm here is to help you."

Blair wanted to argue, but the stubborn jut of Jim's chin told him it would be like pounding his head against a brick wall. "So, don't you think your dad's going to miss all this food?"

Jim shrugged, but Blair was glad to see a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. "Probably. Maybe he'll blame it on big mice."

"Very big mice."

"With long whiskers." Jim reached across the table to tug on a silky curl.

Blair smiled and playfully slapped his hand away. Later, after Jim had more time to process, Blair would start dismantling the wall, brick by brick.

"So you were right. Sue me," Blair said, casting a sidelong glance at Jim.

"I only said you should've taken another day to rest." Jim's gaze deliberately roamed across the graduate student. "Besides, I can think of a lot better things to do to you than suing."

Blair shifted uncomfortably in his desk chair and tried to stifle his aching body's reaction to the heated look. "I'm beginning to think it's the office and not me that makes you so horny."

"How does that explain this morning?" Jim asked with a wicked grin.

Blair's face warmed, remembering how he'd awakened nearly on top of Jim, their groins grinding in tandem. It hadn't taken them long to find release within seconds of one another, making a mess of the sheets and themselves. "You're right. It doesn't matter where. You just find me irresistible."

"Damned right, Chief." Jim pushed away from the file cabinet where he was standing and massaged Blair's shoulders with the magic fingers of a professional masseuse. Jim leaned over and nuzzled the side of his lover's neck. He touched a particularly sensitive area and Blair hunched his shoulders as he laughed. A sudden movement to escape Jim's tickling tongue and pain flared in his torso, reminding him of Jeff Donnelly and what happened in this office two days ago.

Jim's hands stilled and he straightened. "I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay. Really." The anthropologist hated the faint tremor in his voice. Jim's clasp tightened minutely, telling Blair he didn't believe him. "I just started thinking. Bad habit I have." Blair's joke fell flat.

"If he comes back, you have Banks' phone number."

Sometimes it was scary how easily Jim could read him. "I am so looking forward to Thursday."

"The board will have made its decision."

"And I'll be able to concentrate on my sentinel research again."

"Have you started writing your dissertation yet?" Jim asked.

"Hard to do without a subject."

"What about all your research? Can't you at least get the first chapter done using the background information you have?"

Blair nodded somberly. "That's my plan. Getting the paper started will appease my opposition long enough to buy more time to find a sentinel."

Jim gave Blair's shoulders one final squeeze, then walked around to sit in the chair on the other side of the desk. His expression was part hopeful and part apprehensive. "I think I was a sentinel."

Blair's heart stumbled, not because it was news to him, but because Jim was admitting it. "Why do you think that?"

Jim scrubbed his palms across his thighs. "Yesterday, when I was at my dad's, I remembered something from when I was, uh, alive. I could see, smell, and hear things a lot better than the other guys in my unit. But if I concentrated on using my senses too much, I'd have this blackout."

"A zone-out," Blair whispered as he stared at Jim in awe. "A zone-out is something that happens only to true sentinels when they use one sense to the exclusion of the others. What about taste and touch?"

Jim thought a moment. "There would be foods I wouldn't be able to eat because they were too spicy or salty or whatever. The other guys would laugh because to them, the food was bland. And touch..." Jim's cheeks reddened. "Yeah, it was more sensitive, too."

"How so?"

The flush in Jim's face deepened. "You know. Touching and stuff."

Blair smiled at his lover's embarrassment. "Did you get turned on more often, then get frustrated because you were too sensitive to get relief?"

"Geeze, Sandburg, way to be blunt." The red flush moved down to Jim's neck.

Blair laughed aloud at the ghost's modesty, considering their dicks knew each other intimately. "I'm a scientist."

"You're a pervert."

"But I'm your pervert."

"Damned straight."

"Hardly." Blair sobered and forced the next question out. "Are your senses the same as they were before you died?"

"I think so."

"So what I thought was an angel thing is actually a sentinel thing. Do you think you could do some tests for me?"

"You can't use the results, can you?"

Blair picked up a pen and tapped it on his desk in an uneven rhythm. "I don't see how. I mean, I can't tell my committee that my subject is a ghost. They'd flip. But maybe if I can get some general information, I can include that."

Jim slumped in his chair. "So when do you want to do these tests?"

"Not today," Blair said with a grimace. "Another hour of office hours, then we can go home."

"C'mon, Sandburg. Can't you shut down early?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"The finals are Wednesday and if my students have any questions, I want to give them every opportunity to ask them," Blair said stubbornly.

Jim rolled his eyes. "All right, but we've been here an hour already and nobody's pounding down your door to get in." Suddenly he stiffened. "Sounds like you might have a couple of customers."

A few moments later, a knock sounded and Blair grinned at Jim before calling out, "Come in."

It was two students Blair recognized from his Intro class. For the next two hours, Blair kept busy with the continuing stream of students in and out of his office. By four o'clock, he was exhausted.

"That's it, Chief. Time to go home," Jim said in a voice that brooked no argument. Not that Blair planned to argue...

Blair locked his office door behind them and they walked out of Hargrove Hall toward the parking lot where Sweetheart was. Jim suddenly froze and his nostrils flared.

"What is it?" Blair asked in a low tone.

Jim circled around then unerringly pointed to three boys about a hundred yards away, huddled together, watching. "Donnelly and his two buddies."

Dizziness assailed Blair and he reached out for Jim, who clasped his hand. "Can you hear what they're saying?" Blair asked.

Jim tipped his head. "They're laughing." Anger filled his features. "Donnelly is telling the other two how somebody like you isn't going to stop him."

Trepidation evaporated, replaced by indignation. "That's what he thinks." Blair stared hard at the quarterback, though he was little more than a blur.

"C'mon, Chief. Let's go."

Blair allowed Jim to steer him to the truck. Once he was parked in front of his building, the adrenaline fled. Shaky and feeling wrung out, Blair shuffled up to his apartment with Jim close beside him.

"Sit down before you fall down. I'll get a painkiller and some water for you," Jim said, giving Blair a gentle shove toward the sofa.

"No. I have too much to do."

"But--"

"I already have a mother, Jim. I don't need a second one," Blair said more sharply than he'd intended. It was just that he was so agitated, and Jim was the unlucky recipient of his frustration.

Jim stared at him a long moment. "You're right. You're an adult, Sandburg." He headed to the door.

"Where are you going?" Blair asked, his irritation gone and worry in its place.

"For a walk. We've been around each other almost constantly for over three days. Maybe it's time for a break."

"How long will you be gone?"

Jim shrugged. "An hour, maybe two. Do your homework, Chief. I'll make dinner when I get back."

If you come back, Blair thought. "I'll see you later then." He hated how pathetic and lost his voice sounded.

Jim merely turned away and flowed through the door, leaving Blair standing in the middle of the room, his heart in his throat and his chest hurting.

He'd forgotten how good it felt to get plastered, soused, tanked, bombed, ripped, and skunk-drunk. Lost in a dark club filled with nameless, faceless people, Jim realized this was exactly what he needed and wanted tonight. He'd helped himself to shots of JD from the open bottle behind the bar. If anybody noticed the bottle being tipped up and filling a shot glass repeatedly, then lifted and emptied, nobody mentioned it. Of course, half the people in here were pretty well gone already, and the other half were too busy perusing the meat market. Jim had surveyed the crowd himself, and it was his opinion that nobody could even come close to Blair Sandburg. So what was he doing here testing the effects of alcohol on a ghost when he could be with Blair?

A good question that Jim continued to ponder in his increasingly sluggish mind. He had an idea Edwina wouldn't be real happy with him right now. He wondered if she ever drank, and snorted at the absurdity. Edwina was perfect, unlike Jim Ellison who was about as imperfect as a person could get. Yep, he had to start easing away from Blair, give the kid back his independence. Wouldn't do for him to get too close to a ghost. Another snort, this one even louder, at least to Jim. You had your dick against his--it doesn't get much closer than that.

Jim stumbled away from the bar, trying to avoid people, but flowing through them more often than not as he made his way toward the back. Beyond the restrooms was a door marked Private. It took more than one attempt to finally pass through the door and his head took a few bumps while he tried to get it right. On the other side was an amazingly neat office. The desk was clear except for a legal paper pad. He stepped toward the desk and the floor moved beneath him, upsetting his balance. Jim thrust out a hand, which struck the desk and his legs steadied beneath him. Keeping a hand on the desk, he walked around it then dropped into the chair behind it.

Maybe he couldn't talk to other people, but he could write a note to someone. Maybe a couple someones. The fact that he was dead didn't change his mind. Not this time. He jerked open the top desk drawer and nearly pulled it all the way out in his drunken zeal. Although it was dim in the room, he could clearly see the pens lined up in the drawer organizer. Moving with deliberate movements, he managed to snag one.

With enough whiskey in him to pickle a horse, Jim began to write.

Blair awakened to the sound of...singing? Someone in the hallway was doing a horrible rendition of "Black Magic Woman." He huddled deeper into the sofa, which was still a couch and not a bed even though it was after midnight. A thump against the door brought him scrambling out of his nest as he flinched at his rib's protests. The singing stopped and muttering, followed by another thump, sent Blair to his feet. The mutters grew louder and Blair caught the gist of it.

Relieved and ticked off, Blair opened the door just as Jim made his third attempt to go through it. The larger man tumbled inside and into Blair, triggering the younger man's aches and pains. Blair managed to stifle his groans and catch Jim. The overpowering odor of stale liquor made him turn his head away and try to clear his sinuses with some marginally fresher air.

Jim's arms wrapped around Blair and the drunk ghost licked his cheek. "You taste good, Chief. Really, really good."

"Where have you been?" Blair demanded, kicking the door closed behind them.

"A bar. Lotsa people. All of 'em lookin' for love in all the wrong places," Jim sang in an absurdly off-key voice.

"What were you doing there?" Blair began to maneuver a very tipsy Jim Ellison toward the chair. Who would've thought a ghost could be so damned heavy?

"Gettin' drunk. Felt good."

Blair dropped Jim into the old recliner and found himself hauled onto the soldier's lap. Shifting slightly, Blair was startled to find, despite Jim's condition, he was hard. Very hard.

"But you feel even better." Jim sniffed Blair's chest and nosed his way up to his neck. He buried his face in the crook of Blair's neck and shoulder, snuffling and tasting.

Blair shuddered with desire and he felt himself harden. "Whoa, slow down, Jim. I think we need to talk." He attempted to stop Jim from devouring him.

Jim paused long enough to look up at Blair with a lascivious smile. "I'm a man of action, not words." Then he nose-dived back into Blair's hair.

If Blair had any doubts that Jim was a sentinel, his actions quickly scattered them. The ghost was trying to scent and lick him to death. He framed Jim's face in his palms and raised his head. "Look, man, you're drunk. Even if you're horny now, it ain't gonna happen. Trust me. I know."

"Just want to cuddle." Jim wrapped his arms around Blair's waist and tucked him close to his chest. "Love you, Chief."

Oh, shit! No! He's a ghost. He can't stay on earth.

"No you don't, Jim. You only think you do because we had some great sex," Blair said, proud his voice didn't waver.

"Not great. Out-fucking-standing!"

If Jim had been human, his shout would've been heard throughout the building.

"Shhh. You're right. It was beautiful, man," Blair said. His thumbs stroked Jim's whiskery cheeks. Emotions bombarded him, but he ignored them. He couldn't deal with a drunk Jim and intense feelings at the same time. "Would you like to cuddle in bed?"

"Uh-hmmmm," Jim replied, his answer muffled by Blair's flannel shirt.

"Okay, Jim, but you have to let me up. I can't get the bed ready sitting on your lap." He carefully extricated himself from the reluctant ghost.

Jim pushed himself to his feet and Blair grabbed his arm. "Where are you going?"

"Gotta pee."

Blair barely restrained a smile. "Need any help?"

"Nope. Been peein' by myself for years," Jim said with the exaggerated dignity of someone who'd imbibed too much. He staggered into the bathroom.

Mindful of his injuries, Blair carefully readied the bed, half-listening to Jim empty his bladder and flush the toilet. How much had he drunk? A helluva lot by the sound of it. Once the bed was ready, Blair listened for Jim but only found silence. Concerned, he headed to the bathroom. Jim stood in front of the sink, his gaze unfocused.

Never having seen a zone-out before, Blair wasn't certain if this was one or not. If it was, what had made him zone? Sight? Hearing? Taking a deep breath, Blair placed his palm in the center of Jim's chest and his other hand against his cheek. "C'mon back, Jim. I need you to listen to my voice. Concentrate on that and feel my hand touching you."

Jim jerked slightly and blinked. "Blair?"

"You zoned," he said gently. "Are you ready to go to bed?"

Jim nodded and Blair helped him to the sofa bed and eased him to a sitting position. He knelt carefully and unlaced Jim's combat boots. As he did, he felt Jim's fingers slide into his hair and massage his scalp. If there was a heaven, this was close to it. He tugged the first boot off, then worked on the second.

"I never told him," Jim said in a low voice. "I never told anyone. What if they didn't know?"

Blair removed the second boot and rolled off his socks, admiring Jim's long slender feet and well-shaped arches. Was there anything about Jim Ellison that Blair didn't like? "What if who didn't know what?" he asked Jim.

"Dad, Stevie, Scotty." Jim's fingers curled and captured silky tendrils. "You. I have to say the words."

Blair pushed Jim's knees apart so he could kneel between them and work Jim's tank top up over his head, forcing the soldier to untangle his fingers from Blair's hair. "What words?"

Jim remained silent and Blair glanced up, only to be captured by impassioned blue eyes. "I love you, Blair." Jim leaned forward and kissed Blair, opening his lips without opposition. Rich and fiery and mellow--like a single malt Scotch. Jim's kiss intoxicated him. A groan and Blair didn't know if it was his or Jim's...and didn't care.

Separating to find air for their starving lungs, Blair gazed into Jim's eyes. "I love you, too."

"Why?" The single word was filled with anguish.

"Why do I love you?" Blair asked, confused.

Jim nodded.

"Because you're you. Because you take care of me. Because your sense of humor is just as evil as mine. Because every time I look at you, my heart does this funny little somersault."

"I killed my men, my friends," Jim rasped out.

Jim shimmered and Blair frantically grabbed Jim's biceps. "No! Don't you dare leave me! Not now!" Blair's voice broke and he stumbled on, "You didn't kill them. The crash killed them. They didn't blame you. You comforted them and made their last minutes on this earth easier."

"My senses. I should've known the chopper--"

Jim's body softened and glowed beneath Blair's grip and the student tightened his hold and shook him. "Damn it! You. Did. Not. Kill. Them. You couldn't save them. Nobody could save them. Let them go. Let your guilt go!"

Jim solidified and enfolded Blair in his arms tenderly. He remained silent but his big body shook with suppressed grief.

"It's all right, Jim. Let it go. Let it all go."

And this time, Blair held Jim in his arms throughout the night.

Being a ghost wasn't all it was cracked up to be. For one thing, what the hell kind of ghost got a hangover? And if Jim knew anything, he knew what a hangover felt like. And this hangover ranked right up there with the morning after losing his virginity--which he could barely remember--and receiving his officer's commission--which he remembered too well.

A waft of air and Jim sensed another's presence. He cracked open one eye and swiftly slammed it shut. An arrow of pain pierced his skull, even worse than the thunderous throbbing he'd awakened with.

"Dial it down, Jim," came a low, sonorous voice.

Dial?

"Picture a dimmer switch in your mind and keep turning it down until the light doesn't hurt."

Squeezing his eyes shut, he worked on visualizing a dial, some drab colored one that didn't hurt to look at. He imagined his fingers turning it down, and the illumination growing dimmer. The sharp ache in his head dulled to a blunt pulsating vibration. He risked opening his eyes again, but this time he could make out a pale oval surrounded by a dark, wispy cloud. "Blair?" The word sounded more like a croak.

"Hey, buddy, good to have you back," Blair said, keeping his voice at a whisper. "Here's some water and aspirin. If the alcohol affected you normally, I assume the curative will, too."

Jim grasped the glass and Blair wrapped his hand around Jim's. The warmth felt good, almost as good as the cool water sliding down his throat and taking the two aspirin with it. He gulped down the entire glassful.

"I'll get you some more," Blair said.

The student moved out of Jim's field of vision, but the ghost listened to his footsteps and the water flowing from the tap to fill the glass. Then Blair was back and Jim accepted the water gratefully, drinking it down without help this time.

Blair took the glass and set it on the side table, then lowered himself to the mattress. He rested his palm in the center of Jim's solid chest. "Better?"

"Yeah," Jim replied. "Thanks."

"What happened last night?"

Jim concentrated past the headache and slight nausea. "Guess I drank a little too much."

"No shit. Why?"

Jim lightly rubbed Blair's blue-jeaned thigh. "I wanted to."

"Why?" Blair pressed, though his voice remained quiet and unhurried.

"Why not?"

"Why?"

Blair wasn't going to let this go and Jim didn't feel like fighting him. Didn't feel like fighting at all--not anymore. Jim clasped Blair's hand, which still rested on his chest.

"I wish I had one pat answer for you, Chief, but I don't." Jim glanced away, unable to bear the compassion and understanding in Blair's dark blue eyes. "I messed up everything, including your dream. If I was alive, you'd have your sentinel to study."

Blair curved his palm along Jim's jaw. "You have helped me. And whether or not you were a sentinel doesn't change my feelings for you. I fell in love with Jim Ellison, the man, not the sentinel."

"You mean Jim Ellison, the ghost."

"It doesn't matter. Man, sentinel or ghost, I love you." Jim opened his mouth to argue, but Blair covered it with his hand. "Even if you were alive, you couldn't guarantee me tomorrow or next week or next year--nobody knows how long they have on earth. You're here now, Jim. Let's not waste it by worrying about the past or the future. Just live in the 'now.'"

Jim sat up and pulled Blair into his embrace, who wrapped his arms around Jim's narrow waist. "Love you, too. And you're right--why waste our time together." The ghost kissed Blair's crown. "What's up first today?"

Blair's hand drifted down to Jim's semi-hard cock and he grinned as his eyes twinkled with wicked mischief. "I'll give you three guesses, and the first two don't count."

After enduring four hours of sentinel tests while recovering from a hangover, Jim should've been cranky and exhausted. Instead, he felt rejuvenated and, odd as it sounded, more alive than he'd ever been. As they'd walked through a small woodsy park about twenty miles out of Cascade, Blair had encouraged him to open his senses. Since it was a Tuesday morning, there were few people about, and Jim and Blair could talk and touch freely.

After Jim's first zone-out, Blair had deduced how he might be able to avoid them--by concentrating a sense on Blair while he expanded another sense to explore his surroundings. With Blair's guidance, Jim managed to isolate nearly forty individual sounds, differentiate forty-five colors, and separate an individual rose scent from the heady influx of odors. Jim's abilities astounded both Blair and himself.

On the way home, Blair nearly bounced in his seat as he drove. His expression was lit up like Bourbon Street during Mardi Gras. "Man, you are amazing, Jim." His eyes widened. "Not that you weren't amazing before--"

Jim, sitting close to Blair, let his hand drift to the soft bulge in his lover's jeans. "I was pretty amazing, wasn't I?" His double entendre was obvious.

Blair laughed, more relaxed than Jim had seen him except in post-orgasmic glow. Like this morning right after mutual blowjobs. "Oh, yeah, no complaints there."

Blair rambled on about the results of some of the tests and Jim smiled tolerantly, simply enjoying the rise and fall of his lover's melodious voice. Each subtle pitch of Blair's voice caressed him and he reveled in the intimate sensation, which felt like Blair was touching him on the inside.

They rolled into Cascade heading toward Rainier. Blair had office hours that afternoon and, since tomorrow was finals day, he wanted to give his students every chance to talk to him about their concerns. Jim didn't mind. He could remain in Blair's office and simply observe his lover, content to be close to him.

Blair turned into a Wonderburger Drive Thru lane, surprising Jim.

"What're you doing?" Jim asked.

"Since neither of us had lunch, I thought I'd splurge," Blair replied with a smile. "Besides, I did promise you a Wonderburger when we first met."

Jim grinned like a kid who was granted his birthday wish. "All right!"

Blair chuckled. He ordered into the tinny sounding intercom and drove to the pick-up window. By the time they arrived at Rainier, the smell had infiltrated the entire cab and Jim was nearly drooling. It had been ages since he had one of the double super special Wonderburgers with the works. Blair had to distract him so he could snatch the bag from Jim and carry it the two blocks to Hargrove Hall. A new urban legend would've been created if Jim had carried it--the levitating Wonderburger bag.

Inside his office, Blair locked the door so Jim could enjoy his burger without someone dropping in. And Jim did enjoy it--murmuring appreciative words and phrases usually uttered to a lover rather than a burger.

"I think I'm jealous," Blair commented, his eyes dancing.

"Why?" Jim asked after licking a smear of ketchup, mustard, and Thousand Island dressing from his thumb.

"You're practically making love to your Wonderburger."

Jim's eyebrow arched. "I've heard it called a lot of things, including Mr. Winkie, but never a Wonderburger."

Blair bounced a balled-up napkin off Jim's head. "You have a dirty mind, Ellison."

Jim widened his eyes innocently. "You were the one who brought it up."

"I am so not going there, man."

"Does that mean I'm not getting any Wonderburger tonight?"

"You'll have to settle for a hot dog." Blair waggled his eyebrows.

"With buns?"

"Oh, yeah."

A familiar tingling invaded Jim's belly and moved down to his groin. He grinned lecherously. "Works for me."

They finished their lunches and tossed the garbage away. Although it was fifteen minutes before his official office hours, Blair opened his door and found a line of students waiting for him.

It was nearing four thirty, half an hour after Blair's office hours ended, when the last of his students left. He dropped into his chair and scrubbed his face. "Why do they always wait until the day before?" He shoved his hands into his hair as if readying to pull it out.

"Don't tell me you never did the same thing," Jim said with a crooked grin.

A knock sounded and Blair sighed, but pushed himself upright.

"Let 'em think you're gone. Office hours are over," Jim said.

Blair shook his head. "No can do. If someone is really sincere about getting a passing grade, I want to do everything I can to help them."

Although Jim wanted to argue, he knew Blair too well. The kid had a heart as big as Alaska and would give his last buck to someone who needed it. Jim couldn't help but feel more than a twinge of pride at how caring his lover was.

Blair opened the door to Jeff Donnelly.

"Hey Professor, how're you doing?" Donnelly asked in a sugar-coated voice.

Jim's protective instincts skyrocketed. He clenched his fists helplessly, knowing he could do nothing if Donnelly started beating the crap out of Blair again. "Call Captain Banks," Jim ordered his friend.

"What're you doing here?" Blair demanded as he backed to his desk, his gaze never leaving Donnelly.

"I just wanted to see how you were feeling and express my sympathies," Donnelly said, his voice oozing insincerity.

Blair reached behind him for the phone and nabbed the receiver on the second try. He picked it up and punched the On button.

"555-3892," Jim said to him, having memorized the number, just in case.

Donnelly took two steps into the office as Blair dialed. "Have you thought about my suggestion?" the football player asked.

"You mean, your blackmail demand?" Blair corrected acerbically.

"How would I blackmail such an outstanding teacher?"

"Get out of here," Blair ordered.

"But I have a question about tomorrow's test."

"Pick up the damn phone, Banks," Jim muttered as he listened to the phone ring at the other end.

"And you say your door is always open to help your students," Donnelly added with a sarcastic twist.

"Yes, I'd like to speak to Captain Banks in Major Crime, please," Blair was saying into the phone.

Jim frowned, knowing Banks hadn't picked up yet.

"That's right, Major Crime, Captain Banks," Blair repeated in a louder voice.

"What're you doing, Sandburg?" Donnelly demanded.

"Calling a policeman friend of mine. He said next time you drop by to call him."

Donnelly's eyes narrowed, but he didn't look as confident without his two sidekicks. "You're making a big mistake."

"Hello, Captain Banks? Yes, this is Blair Sandburg. I just wanted to let you know Jeff Donnelly is in my office right now." Blair paused, as if listening. "Yes, that's right. The same one who beat me up on Saturday. Okay, I'll leave the line open so you can hear everything. How long until you can get here? Five minutes? Great. Remember, I'm leaving my line open in case Jeff Donnelly tries anything."

"You're dead, Sandburg. You are dead!" Then Donnelly turned and fled like a dog with its tail between its legs.

Blair sagged onto the desk as he turned off the phone. Jim sat beside him and drew him close. "You done good, Chief."

"I was scared to death," Blair admitted, his voice ragged.

"But you didn't let the fear control you."

"Only because I knew you were with me."

Jim hugged the grad student, his hands moving up and down his lean, masculine back soothingly. "You would've been fine without me. You've got more strength and courage than a dozen men, Blair."

They remained holding one another for a few more minutes, then separated with unspoken agreement. Silently, Blair gathered his items in his backpack and they left the office, headed for home.

Jim and Blair spoke little as the cloud of Donnelly's visit hovered over them. Blair had gotten a hold of Banks and explained what had happened. The captain made a notation of it, but apologized profusely for not being able to do more. Jim knew Blair was depressed about that, but there was nothing more that could be done.

Jim made vegetarian enchiladas with Spanish rice while Blair graded papers. Although Jim would've preferred chicken or hamburger enchiladas, he felt guilty about reneging on his promise to make dinner last night and knew Blair was less inclined to eat meat twice a day. Although Blair didn't eat much of the dinner, he complimented Jim on the meal.

Jim shooed Blair out of the kitchen and cleaned up, washing and drying the dishes and wiping down the counter and stove. When he was done, he joined Blair, who was typing rapidly on his laptop as he sat on the couch.

"What're you doing, Chief?" Jim asked.

"Inputting the results of your tests this morning." His eyes glittered with enthusiasm. "This is really good stuff, Jim. I can easily write the first chapter with the background information I already have and incorporate these test results into my data."

"But don't you have to support your claims?"

"Yes, but what I can do is hypothesize using your results, and back it up with the dry research stuff. I mean, the zone-out factor. That in itself is totally awesome."

"I can think of a better word for it," Jim said dryly.

"Sorry, " Blair said contritely. "I know how hard this is for you."

"Nah. It's not that bad. Not when I know the mad scientist will reward his subject with a...hot dog."

"With relish."

"Wouldn't want to forget the relish."

"Oh, yeah, man, can't forget that." Blair leaned closer and Jim, never a man to let a golden opportunity pass him by, swooped down to capture his lips. As he tasted and caressed his lover's mouth, Jim set the laptop aside.

Blair didn't even notice.

The next morning arrived too soon. Fortunately, Blair didn't give his first exam until ten o'clock, so he and Jim cuddled until eight thirty. Blair showered while Jim made breakfast, and after eating, Blair cleaned the kitchen so Jim could use the bathroom. For the past three days, Jim found he had to perform the normal morning hygiene regimen, or he wouldn't have been able to stand the stench of himself, not to mention the unkempt whiskers. However, he could still pass through doors and nobody but Blair was able to see him. It puzzled both of them, but neither could come up with a logical reason. But then, they had to admit, what was logical about any of what they were experiencing?

At nine thirty, Jim and Blair headed for the campus. The first test went smoothly with all the students arriving on time. The second final was set for two o'clock, which gave Jim and Blair two hours to eat lunch and begin grading the first group of finals. Jim corrected the multiple-choice, while Blair tackled the five essay questions.

Arriving fifteen minutes early to the lecture hall, Blair and Jim set two chairs off the side of the stage where they could sit side by side and watch the students while they tested.

"Donnelly's in this class, isn't he?" Jim asked.

Blair nodded. "Yeah, though I'm not sure he'll show up. He's already failed the class with the plagiarized paper."

"The board decides on that tonight?"

"Right. But I can't see how they can ignore the evidence. And if they do, the university's academic reputation will be ruined." Blair's eyes narrowed. "As much as I love Rainier, I'd make sure the academic world hears about it."

Jim's hand slid under Blair's hair to cup the back of his neck. "That's one of the things I love about you, Chief. You're willing to take on anybody or anything because of your integrity."

Blair flushed. "I'm not that noble. I just get mad when the system screws up."

"Have I told you lately that I love you?"

"Not for--" Blair glanced at his watch. "--one hour and four minutes."

Jim laughed and embraced his lover. "I love you," he whispered against the silky tendrils.

"Not as much as I love you." Blair kissed him before he could argue.

The arrival of the first student made them part reluctantly. A steady influx of students over the next ten minutes nearly filled the one hundred and fifty seat auditorium. Blair waited until one minute past two, then gained the class' attention.

"The final consists of multiple choice and essay questions. Each part is worth a hundred points--two points each for the fifty multiple choice and twenty points apiece for the essays. Does anyone have any questions?" Blair asked.

Nobody raised a hand.

"You will have a maximum of two hours to finish the test. When I call time, you'll turn them in, if you haven't already done so." Blair stepped up to the end of the first row. "Do not turn the tests over until I tell you to do so."

Blair had the student pass the tests down the row, ensuring no one peeked at the questions. He glanced at Jim and smiled a little smile at Jim's attentiveness to the class. The soldier was definitely in Ranger mode. At the top of the lecture hall stairs, Blair passed out the last set of tests and started to return to the stage. The door opened to admit a late student. Jeff Donnelly.

"Hey, hope I'm not late, Professor. I'd hate to flunk my final," Donnelly said with a false grin.

Although Blair didn't see any reason for him to even take the test, he waved to an empty chair in the front row. "Take a seat."

Blair held his ground as Donnelly jostled past him, but his heart was thumping in his chest. He followed Donnelly and when the student sat down, Blair handed him the test. "Don't turn it over until I say so."

"Whatever you say, Professor," Donnelly said with the same faked deference.

Forcing himself to breathe evenly, Blair returned to the stage and looked down at his watch. "Turn your tests over and begin."

The sound of shuffling papers filled the hall. Blair did a survey of his students and noted all of them had their heads bowed over their tests. Blair looked at Donnelly last and found him checking multiple choice answers so quickly Blair knew he wasn't even reading the questions. Angered by his insolence, Blair faced Jim who was eyeing him closely.

"Don't let him get to you, Chief," Jim said softly. "Let him flunk this test. It'll be another mark against him."

With his back to the students, Blair nodded and whispered, "I can't believe him. He beats me up, then shows up to take his final like he didn't do a damned thing wrong."

"He'll get his due tonight."

The feral look on Jim's face would've frightened Blair if he didn't know the ghost so well. He and Jim moved to their chairs and sat down. Ten minutes later Donnelly stood and swaggered onto the stage to hand in his test.

"You have less than five hours to withdraw your complaint, Sandburg," Donnelly said in a voice low enough that only Blair--and Jim--could hear his words.

"Is that the reason you showed up for the final--to threaten me one last time?" Blair demanded.

"No threat, Professor. Promise."

"I'll see you tonight at seven at the board meeting."

"Don't bet on it, Sandburg." He tossed his test at Blair. "See you later, Professor."

Blair didn't break his gaze with Donnelly until the kid spun around and sauntered away. Once the lecture hall door closed behind him, Blair slumped. "He's going to try something," he said for Jim's ears only.

Jim nodded, his jaw muscle clenched. "Yep. Call Captain Banks and get some protection until the meeting time."

"He won't be able to authorize it."

"Then just call him and tell him what Donnelly said. Maybe he'll keep you company until seven."

"I can't ask him to be my personal bodyguard on his own time."

"He won't mind. Just call him then, okay?" Jim asked, his exasperation clear.

"All right," Blair relented. "After testing is done."

Jim crossed his arms and slumped in his chair, looking like a sulky teenager who didn't get the car for a hot date. Blair rolled his eyes and opened up Richard Burton's monograph. As he re-read passages, he pointed them out to Jim who, despite his pout, couldn't deny his interest. One and a half hours into the test time, students started dropping their test booklets on the table on the stage. At the two hour limit, only a handful of students were left.

"Time's up. Bring your tests down," Blair announced.

Amidst a smattering of grumbling, the remaining students turned in their tests. Once the hall was empty, save for Jim and Blair, the graduate student shook his head at the new pile of tests. "It's a good thing I have two days to get these done and post grades." He began to gather the booklets with Jim's help and stuffed them into a box he'd brought specifically for that purpose.

They returned to Blair's office, not surprised to find the hallway devoid of life. It was finals week and there were no more scheduled test times until the evening. Inside the office, Jim pointed to the phone. "Call Captain Banks."

"Yes, sir," Blair said wryly.

Jim framed Blair's face in his hands and tipped his head upward to meet his eyes. "I'm only worried about you, Blair. I don't want you to die, too."

"I don't want that either, Jim, but to be honest here, I'm not scared of dying, knowing I'd be able to join you."

"But we don't know we'd be together."

Blair grasped Jim's wrist and smiled gently. "We would."

"But I'd rather live and be with you."

"Sometimes we don't have any choice, man." Blair raised himself on his toes and kissed Jim's lips chastely.

Jim's thumbs brushed Blair's cheeks tenderly. "No matter what happens, I'll always love you."

Blair's heart ached at the poignancy in Jim's voice. "And I'll always love you."

Jim rested his forehead against Blair's and the graduate student instinctively knew Jim was imprinting his scent. All too soon, Jim drew away. "Call Captain Banks."

Blair did so without comment, but had to leave a message since the policeman wasn't in his office.

"What do you say we blow this gin joint?" Blair asked with a terrible Humphrey Bogart accent.

"I love ya, Chief, but Bogey you ain't."

Blair sent him a rude finger gesture. Gathering all the tests and stuffing them into Blair's backpack, he and Jim headed out to Sweetheart. As they rolled away from the campus, Blair turned the opposite direction, away from his apartment.

"What's up, Chief?" Jim asked.

"When I'm anxious about something, I either meditate or drive. I feel like driving this time."

Jim nodded in understanding and slid over to sit close to Blair. Jim kept checking the mirrors and even turning to look behind them twice.

"What're you looking for?" Blair asked.

"Trouble," Jim replied.

"See any?"

"No."

The traffic thinned as they rolled to the outskirts of the city. Blair took an exit off the freeway leading to a state park about five miles off the interstate. Because a light rain had begun, there was even less traffic than usual on the quiet road. Blair glanced in the rearview mirror. "Nobody behind us."

Jim relaxed beside him. "I figured Donnelly would try something."

"Yeah, me too."

Jim's fingers curved around Blair's leg and Blair grasped Jim's hand. Blair drove with one hand on the wheel down the quiet road, passing a car occasionally. The only sounds were raindrops on the cab's roof and the swish-swish of the wipers. Blair's tension seeped away with the rhythmic rainfall. He knew much of his stress would return by the time he arrived at the meeting, but for now he could just "be" and soak up Jim's nearness.

As Sweetheart rolled down the wet canyon road, Blair tapped the brakes to slow it down. Nothing happened.

Jim tensed beside him. "What's wrong?"

"The brakes. They're not working." Blair pounded on the brake pedal with both feet, but there was no easing of speed. He swerved across the center line around a bend and jerked the wheel back when a vehicle coming from the opposite way bore down on them. "This is not good!"

"Try the emergency brake!"

Blair punched down on that with his left foot, but there was no response. "Shitshitshit!"

A yellow sharp turn sign appeared. Blair knew the hairpin turn and knew there was no way he could manage it at the speed they were going.

"You have to jump, Blair," Jim shouted.

"Are you crazy?"

"It's the only way!"

But it was too late. The turn was upon them and there was no time left for arguing. Sweetheart struck the side railing and broke through it. Blair tried to hold the truck on a straight course down the steep descent but it was impossible. Sweetheart rolled onto its side, then over and over down the hill. Blair's stomach jumped into his throat and his heart threatened to leap out of his chest. The seatbelt held, but the strap dug into his chest, shoulder, and waist. Dizziness assailed him. Then, just when he thought he'd survive, the truck bounced as it rolled and Blair struck his head against the side window. Darkness clouded his vision.

"Chief, c'mon, Chief, wake up! Blair! I can smell gasoline!" Jim's frantic voice penetrated Blair's fog.

"Huh?" Blair murmured.

"You have to get out of here."

Blair felt Jim's hands on him, removing the seatbelt and easing him out of the truck's windshield, which had shattered sometime during the downward plunge. Blair ordered his muscles to work, to move one leg and then the other to crawl out of the death trap. Jim's strong arms wrapped around him. "C'mon, Chief, help me out here. That's right, babe."

Blair focused on Jim's encouraging words and the warmth surrounding him, protecting and saving him. He became more aware--of the raindrops plopping on his head and shoulders, the smell of gasoline, climbing upward away from the truck, and underlying it all, the familiar intimacy of Jim's touch and scent.

"Okay, you can rest now, Chief." Jim eased Blair down onto the ground's downward slant.

Blair's fingers went to his left temple and he felt warm wetness.

"Easy, Blair. It's not too bad. You might have a slight concussion, though." Jim feathered his fingers across his lover's legs, arms, and torso. "I don't think anything's broken, but you're going to be sore."

Blair squinted to focus on Jim's blurry face. "You okay?"

Jim rubbed the back of his neck, but said, "Just a little shook up."

Blair looked past Jim to the crumpled remains of Sweetheart. "The tests. My backpack." He surged to his feet. "Can't lose those."

Jim wrapped his arms around Blair's waist. "You can't go back there, Chief. It could blow any minute."

"But the finals--"

Jim forced him to sit. "Stay here. I'll get them."

Too dazed to argue, Blair watched Jim jog back to the truck. The ghost ducked in through the windshield and came out holding the worn backpack. Jim's gaze shot to the back of the truck and horror filled his face. He threw the backpack towards Blair.

The world exploded.

Blair felt a blast of searing air, then the coolness of raindrops on his face. His mouth dropped open as he stared at the orange flames and black smoke where Sweetheart--and Jim--had just been.

"Jiiiiiiiiiiimmmmmmmm!"

"Are you up to telling me what happened, son?" Captain Banks tried to keep his voice gentle and non-threatening, treating the graduate student like the traumatized victim he was.

A blanket from the EMT's had been wrapped around the kid after they checked him out and cleaned the head wound. He'd been lucky--from what he heard from the eyewitnesses, if Sandburg had taken a minute or two longer to get out of the vehicle, he would've been killed in the explosion.

"We, I mean, I was driving around to relax and unwind," Sandburg began in a halting voice.

Simon tried to recall why the student would've been so uptight. "You have the meeting tonight to determine if Jeff Donnelly remains enrolled at Rainier."

"That's right. He came to class to take the final at two. When he t-turned in his paper, he threatened me again. He said--" Blair's arms tightened around an old backpack he held in his lap. "He said I had less than five hours to withdraw my complaint against him, or else. I asked him if he was, y'know, threatening me and he said no. He said it was a p-promise."

Simon clasped Blair's shoulder and wasn't surprised to feel wracking tremors coursing through him. "It's okay, Blair. You're doing just fine. Did anyone else hear him threaten you?"

"N-no."

Banks frowned when the student didn't meet his eyes. "Are you sure? You said this happened in the classroom. Maybe somebody overheard him."

Blair shook his head. "No. It was in an auditorium and he was right in front of me...close."

"When you went out to your vehicle, did you see anyone around it?"

"No. Even though Jeff had threatened me, I guess a part of me didn't take him seriously. I mean, beating me up is one thing, but actually killing me." Another shudder passed through the student's frame. "I just didn't believe it."

"So you drove out here, trying to relax and clear your head. What happened?"

Blair clutched the backpack close to his chest. "There was a hill and when we were coming down it, I touched the brakes. Nothing happened. I think I tried pressing both feet against the pedal, but still nothing. I tried the emergency brake, but that didn't work either."

The kid's face was pasty white and Simon was concerned he was going to pass out. "It's okay, Blair. Take your time. There's no rush." He squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.

"The truck hit the rail and broke through. We rolled down the hill," Blair finished.

Simon frowned. "You've said 'we' twice, but there wasn't anyone with you, was there?"

"No." The answer came without hesitation. "I meant the truck and me."

The captain would bet his badge the kid was hiding something. "I'm going to need you to come down to the station tomorrow and give your statement. Can you do that?"

"Yes, sir."

"The ambulance is here. They're ready to transport you," one of the EMT's spoke up.

"No, I'm fine," Blair argued. "I have a meeting I have to attend."

"You need to get checked out by a doctor. That's a pretty nasty bump you have."

"I'll take you to the hospital, then get you to your meeting," Simon offered Blair. "Would that work?"

In spite of his haggard appearance, Blair smiled slightly. "Is Anne working?"

Grumbling about smart-aleck students, Simon helped the kid and his backpack into his sedan.

Throughout the next two hours, Simon remained close to Sandburg. He tried to take Blair's backpack when the student was ushered into an exam room, but he wouldn't release it. Puzzled, Simon figured it was merely shock. It was quarter of seven when they left the hospital.

Two minutes after seven, Blair entered the meeting room with Simon at his side. The shaken student from the crash scene had disappeared and now controlled determination shown in Blair Sandburg's features.

When Blair's gaze met Jeff Donnelly's shocked expression, the graduate student smiled coolly.

At the exact same moment, approximately 4,969 miles southeast of Cascade, Washington, a man wearing a loincloth opened his eyes. A steamy, green jungle surrounded him, and a native's wisdom-filled eyes greeted him.

"It is good, Enqueri."

For the first time in months, Blair was almost warm. He was taking advantage of the break between the spring semester and summer session to merely sit on a quiet campus bench and enjoy the rare sunny day. He tipped his head back and allowed the sun's rays to dance across his face in a subtle waltz of heat and light.

A familiar Santana song infiltrated his hearing. "Black Magic Woman." His eyes flew open, but he only saw a student carrying a CD player and wearing headphones with the volume obviously turned to the highest setting.

Blair pressed a hand to his aching chest and felt his thundering heart slow after a few moments. Although it had been seven long months, he couldn't forget. Even with the proof, there were times when he questioned his memory and his very sanity.

His hand went to his backpack and before he realized it, he was pulling out the letter. The letter he carried with him everywhere he went. The letter that proved he had loved and been loved by Jim Ellison. With deliberate care, Blair unfolded the yellow sheet of paper and read it, even though he knew it by heart.

Dear Blair, I was never very good with words but I don't know how long we have together. The first time I saw you, you were sitting on a bench all alone. I couldn't stop looking at you and when you lifted your head, you looked right at me, as if you could see me.

Blair drew his gaze away from the note. He blinked a few times to clear the blurriness and concentrated on the light breeze against his skin. Was Jim looking at him now? He searched his surroundings but there was nothing to see; more importantly, he felt nothing of his ghost lover's intimate presence. After a few minutes, he continued reading.

I knew then you were special. You were someone who deserved to have your dreams come true. I don't know if I succeeded or not in making your dream come true, but I know you made mine come true. For the first time in my life, I know what love is. I know that I would give anything to make you happy and keep you safe. My only regret is that I can't give you my life. But always remember this, I will always be with you, in your heart, just as you will always be in mine. I love you, Blair Sandburg, and I will do so until the end of time. Jim.

A solitary tear dripped onto his shirt, but Blair didn't notice as he tenderly re-folded the note and put it away for safekeeping.

"I miss you, Jim," Blair whispered to the breeze.

He fingered the scar on his temple, a reminder of how Jim had saved his life during the fiery crash. If only Blair hadn't been so worried about those fucking tests. If only Donnelly's goons had been caught in the act of cutting his brakes instead of after the fact. If only... But no amount of second-guessing or hindsight would change that late afternoon in November.

He glanced up to see a familiar car circle into the loop and park. Captain Banks stepped out of the driver's side and waved. Blair scrubbed away his tear tracks and grabbed his backpack. He loped over to the policeman who'd become a good friend.

"Hey, Sandburg. Ready for lunch?" Banks asked. At Blair's confusion, he rolled his eyes. "I called last night. We agreed to meet for lunch?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry, Simon. I guess I'm kind of out of it today."

Banks studied him, his eyes narrowing behind his gold-rimmed glasses, but only asked, "Where would you like to go?"

Blair grinned. "Where else?"

"Wonderburger," the two men said in unison. Although Simon shook his head, Blair saw the twinkle in his eyes.

"Hop in," Simon said with a magnanimous wave. "I'll bring you back after lunch."

"Thanks."

As they drove over to the fast food place, they talked about the weather, the Mariners, and the escalation of violence in the Middle East.

"You want to talk about it?" Simon asked after they'd gotten their drinks and were waiting for their number to be called.

Blair began to shred a napkin. "What's to talk about?"

Simon took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Although you've never said, I know something else happened that night your truck went over the embankment. You were practically hysterical when I got there."

Blair laughed, but it was a bitter sound. "Seeing my truck go up in flames when I could've been inside wasn't enough to warrant a little hysteria?"

"A couple of witnesses said that you hollered a name after the truck exploded. They thought it was Jim." Simon shifted restlessly. "One of them also said he thought he saw some guy dressed like a soldier haul you out, then toss you your backpack."

Blair's mouth gaped. "You never told me."

Simon shrugged, but Blair could tell he was tense. "You said you were alone." The captain fixed his police stare on the student. "Did you lie?"

Blair's heart raced and his palms grew moist. Someone else had seen Jim! What did it mean? "Let's just say for all intents and purposes, I was alone. Besides, no remains were found, right?"

Banks removed his glasses and set them on the table. "I wish you'd tell me what really happened."

"If I tell you that, you'll have me locked up." Blair held up his hands, palms out. "And I am so not into spending the rest of my life coloring between the lines."

"You may be somewhat eccentric, but you're not crazy, Sandburg."

Blair smiled wryly. "Thanks, I think." He took a long pull of his iced tea and leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "Sometimes I look back and try to remember everything that happened. Jeff Donnelly cut my brake lines--"

Simon shook his head. "Pat Hale and Ray Houser cut your brake lines under Donnelly's orders. They turned against him when we threatened them with attempted murder. Between the shit Donnelly pulled on you, the illegal betting and the extortion he was involved in, we got him good."

"Except then he pled guilty and only got his hands slapped," Blair said, his lips twisting in disgust.

"Seven to ten with the possibility of parole in no less than five may not seem like much, but the fact that he lost his shot at playing pro football was icing on the cake. That and all of the powers-that-be at Rainier were falling over themselves trying to apologize to you."

"They did withdraw their ultimatum and gave me more time to work on my doctorate," Blair admitted.

"So, have you found a sentinel yet?"

"No. I've decided that if I don't find one this summer, I'm going to change my thesis to another subject."

"Is that what you want?" Simon asked almost gently.

"Not really, but I don't have a choice."

Their number was called and the conversation was put on hold while they ate.

Blair pushed away a wrapper, which still held half a Wonderburger.

"I'll eat that if you don't want it," Simon said.

Blair pushed the remaining burger toward Simon. "Knock yourself out. I'm not really hungry. I guess looking at a summer with nothing to do but work on my dissertation and help Dr. Stoddard organize his findings from Micronesia is kind of depressing." Blair wasn't looking forward to the easiest schedule he'd had in two years--it gave him too much time to think. He should've gone on an anthropological expedition.

"I have an idea that I've been thinking about for a while," Simon said, nabbing Blair's burger before he changed his mind.

"What is it?"

"I've done a little research into existing anthropological studies."

"You're losing me here."

"What do you think about a dissertation based on the police department? It's a society unto itself and I've never read a good, unbiased article about it. I mean, you do study societies and cultures, right?"

Blair's ever-active mind raced as he considered the possibility. "I could do a study on the closed society and subculture of an urban police station."

Simon grinned. "There you go. I knew you could come up with one of those scientific type titles."

"I'd need to, like, live within the society; see it firsthand and talk to people."

"I could arrange that."

"Really?" Blair felt the first flush of genuine excitement in seven months.

"We could get you an observer's pass and you could be assigned to one of my officers in Major Crime and follow him or her around."

"Cool! How soon could I get started?"

"Give me a week and I can have the ball rolling."

Blair slurped his tea through the straw. "I'll keep looking for a sentinel, but start gathering information on this new subject so I'll have ammunition if I have to request a change at the end of the summer."

"Sounds like a plan, Sandburg."

Simon gave Blair a ride back to Rainier and the student promised to call him next week to schedule a time to come into the station and start the paperwork for his observer's pass. Blair bounced back to his office to check his email. Although he'd only had eight people contact him about possibly having hypersenses in the past seven months, he didn't want to give up yet--even though half of those eight had been cranks and the other half only had possibly one heightened sense.

One email popped up in his mailbox from someone with the screen name Barboletta. Blair frowned, thinking the name sounded familiar, but unable to place it. The post stated that Barboletta thought he was a sentinel and asked if they could meet at a small park twenty miles from town tomorrow at one o'clock.

The same park he and Jim had visited to test his senses.

Blair took a shaky breath, shoving the memory aside. He sent a quick note back saying that would be fine.

Then he shut down the computer and left his quiet office for the silence of his apartment.

Blair parked the fifteen-year-old green Volvo across the street from the impressive colonial style house. He switched off the engine and pocketed his keys but remained sitting in his car. Instead of gazing at his destination, he stared straight ahead, one hand on the steering wheel, the other holding a folded yellow piece of paper with the name William Ellison sprawled across it. Blair had never opened the note, respecting the creator of the letter too much to betray a confidence. Still, it hadn't been very respectful to hold the note for seven months instead of delivering it to the recipient immediately. No, it had been hope that made Blair hang onto it. Hope that Jim himself could deliver it.

The graduate student took a deep breath. He had two hours before he had to be at the park to meet "Barboletta" and some impelling reason made him want to give Jim's father this note today. Blair was a firm believer in feelings and intuition.

He opened his car door, which made an embarrassing screek sound and forced himself out of the vehicle's sanctuary. Putting one foot in front of the other, he found himself on the stoop of William Ellison's front door. He rang the doorbell and it was answered less than thirty seconds later by an Oriental woman wearing a black dress and white apron.

"Can I help you?" she asked in a slightly accented voice.

"I'd like to speak with William Ellison, please."

"Is he expecting you?"

"Uh, no."

"Then I'm afraid--"

"I have a letter from his son," Blair blurted.

The woman's brows furrowed in confusion. "I don't--"

"Who is it, Sally?" a man called from within. Footsteps heralded the arrival of an older man, his shoulders slightly hunched, but his bearing confident, on the verge of arrogant.

"Mr. Ellison, I'm Blair Sandburg. I have a letter which your son left for you," Blair said quickly before he lost his nerve.

The elder Ellison's forehead creased. "I have two sons, Mr. Sandburg."

"Jim. This one's from Jim."

Still bewildered, Mr. Ellison took the letter from Blair's grasp. He unfolded it and began to read. As he did, his face became paler and paler. "Where did you get this?" he demanded, though his voice sounded thready.

"It was in his old truck that I bought."

The older man rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "He says he's sorry he didn't tell me he loved me before it was too late."

Blair felt his own eyes tear. "I'm sorry."

"No, no, that's all right." Ellison swallowed hard. "It's just that it's not too late."

"What?"

"My son Jim is alive. I talked to him three months ago."

The air became too dense and objects blurred and ran into dizzying spirals of color. Alice in her Wonderland had nothing over Blair Sandburg in this suddenly skewed world.

"Mr. Sandburg, snap out of it." A hand slapped his cheek. "Mr. Sandburg."

Blair became aware he was no longer standing but sitting on Mr. Ellison's front stoop and the owner of the house was urging him back from wherever he'd gone. "Uh, I'm okay. I-I was just, uh, surprised."

A pair of hands on either side of him told Blair both Jim's father and the housekeeper were helping him up.

"Put some tea on, Sally," Ellison said.

She nodded and left, but Ellison remained to lead Blair into the sitting room. Despite Blair's shock, he noticed the mantel, which was covered by pictures of the ghost--man--he'd loved. Still loved. He shook off William Ellison's grasp and homed in on the photographs. The largest picture, one of Jim in his uniform, captured Blair's attention and he gently traced his face.

"That's Jim," William said. "You said you didn't know him?"

"No, I couldn't have," Blair said, his voice rough with unshed tears. Using every ounce of strength he had, he turned away from the picture. "You said he's alive?"

"Yes. He was MIA for eight years. Last December he walked out of a South American jungle. He was the only member of his Ranger squad to survive a helicopter crash. He lived with a native tribe all those years." Ellison paused and picked up the picture Blair had touched. He gazed at it, his deep love for his son shining clearly in his eyes. "He doesn't remember much except for the crash and bits and pieces of his life down there."

Blair's gut churned and his head pounded. "Amnesia?"

"Partial amnesia. He told me the doctors figure such a traumatic event could easily trigger it." Ellison placed the picture back on the mantel. "He's resigning his commission and moving back to Cascade."

"Is--" Blair's voice broke. "Is he back yet?"

"I don't know. He said he'd call but I haven't heard from him yet."

Sally arrived carrying a tray with a teapot and two teacups. She set it on a side table and filled both cups.

"Thank you, Sally," Ellison said.

She bobbed her head once and left the room. Ellison handed Blair a cup and took one for himself. "Sit down before you fall down, Mr. Sandburg." A slight smile touched Ellison's lips.

Blair did so and forced himself to sip the tea. "I felt like I knew him," he said, keeping his gaze aimed at his teacup. "I bought his old truck from Louise Harkness."

"Who?"

"Her son was Jim's best friend--he died in the helicopter crash. He had left his truck with Louise and her husband, who died last year. That's why she was selling it."

Melancholy claimed Ellison's face, deepening his wrinkles and aging him at least ten years. "I don't know my son very well, Mr. Sandburg. We, well, we didn't see eye to eye on many things and he left home when he was eighteen. I didn't speak with him again until three months ago."

Blair nodded. Jim had mentioned that he and his family weren't close.

Captain James Ellison had helped him, loved him, and saved his life. Hadn't he? Or had it been some very vivid dream? Had Blair been so desperate for a sentinel and a protector and, yes, a lover that he'd conjured up a man filling all his needs?

"Mr. Sandburg," Ellison was saying.

"I'm sorry. What was that?"

"I asked you what you did."

"I'm a graduate student in anthropology at Rainier University. I'm doing my doctorate on sentinels." Blair paused, then added deliberately, "People with all five senses heightened."

William Ellison jerked back, as if actually dodging a blow. "Heightened senses?"

Blair's eyes narrowed. "That's right. Hearing, sight, taste, touch, and smell--all a hundred times more sensitive than the norm."

"That's quite a fairy tale, young man." Ellison's laugh sounded strangled.

Blair leaned forward, fixing his gaze on the older man's. "It's not a fairy tale, Mr. Ellison." He stood, knowing he had to leave before he said something about Jim's sentinel abilities. "I have an appointment."

Ellison picked up the note from Jim, which he'd set on the ottoman. "Thank you for delivering this." He cleared his throat. "I-I've never been very good with words, but I won't let this second chance get away from us. I want my son to be part of the family."

"And I'd be willing to bet Jim wants the same thing." Blair held out his hand and Ellison clasped it.

The older man escorted Blair to the front door. "Good-bye and thanks again."

"No problem, Mr. Ellison. Good-bye."

"Mr. Sandburg?"

Blair paused. "Yes?"

"What kind of truck was it?"

Blair smiled. "A 1969 Ford. A classic."

"His grandfather had one, but back then it was new. Jimmy loved riding in it. He always said he'd buy one just like it someday." Ellison's eyes glistened. "Thank you."

Blair nodded and retreated to his Volvo, where the shakes hit him. He rode them out, allowing the adrenaline and shock to work through him. After ten minutes, he recovered enough to drive. He fervently wished he didn't have this one o'clock appointment, or he would've gone back to his office to search for information on Captain James Ellison. With any luck, his possible sentinel wouldn't show or it'd be obvious he possessed no heightened senses and Blair could return to the university quickly.

Driving to the park, Blair replayed his time with Jim, looking for something concrete that validated his belief that he'd met and known Jim Ellison. Nobody else had seen him. Nobody else had heard him. Nobody had sensed him in any way.

Duh! The letters! The one he received from Jim, and the one he just delivered to the elder Ellison. Those were real. Those were tangible. Jim had signed them both. Wasn't that proof enough?

Feeling calmer, Blair listened to the radio, not surprised to find he'd put it on the oldies station again. If he was lucky, he'd catch "Black Magic Woman" or one of Santana's other songs every so often.

He arrived at the park ten minutes early. Since it was another amazingly beautiful day, Blair took his backpack and went to sit at a picnic table. He'd brought the newest Anthropology Quarterly Review, but it couldn't keep his attention from going over and over his meeting with William Ellison.

Jim's alive. He's alive.

But did he remember Blair? Jim called his father, but not him. Blair closed his eyes against the landslide of pain. If Jim loved him as much as he proclaimed, and if everything that happened had been real, then he would've called him. His mind went around and around with the illogicality of the problem. Ghosts didn't exist so Jim hadn't existed. But if that were the case, then why did the pictures in William Ellison's home look like the man Blair loved? And who had written the letters?

Jim's alive.

Blair vowed he'd find him and learn the truth one way or another.

"Dr. Sandburg?"

It wasn't his name as much as the voice which uttered it that made Blair's heart race. He knew he had to turn around, but his body seemed to be made of stone. The crackle of dry leaves and dead grass underfoot told Blair the man was coming around to face him. Blair closed his eyes.

"Are you Dr. Sandburg?" The voice reiterated.

Blair thought his heart would trample out of his chest and his lungs would explode. He forced himself to open his eyes, but kept his gaze aimed at the ground--at feet encased in shiny black shoes and legs covered with olive green trousers. Slowly, he lifted his eyes, to the olive green uniform coat with gold buttons, and higher, to the medals on the man's left side and the name tag on the right.

Ellison.

"Fuck," he whispered.

"Are you all right, Chief?"

Chief.

Blair raised his head and met Captain James Ellison's intimately familiar blue eyes.

Soon to be ex-Captain Ellison stared into the dark blue eyes of the long-haired young man. He couldn't have drawn his gaze away if his life depended upon it. In fact, he had the oddest feeling his life did depend on maintaining contact with Blair Sandburg.

"Are you B-Barboletta?" the younger man asked.

Jim canted his head to the side, listening to Sandburg's heart race. "Yes." He smiled, a trifle embarrassed by his uncharacteristic reaction to the younger man. "It's a Santana song."

Sandburg smiled. "I should've known."

"What?"

The anthropologist waved a trembling, somewhat sweat-dampened hand. "Nothing. So, what do I call you?"

Sandburg scrutinized him intently, making Jim uncomfortable, but not in a wholly bad way. In fact, if he was honest with himself, he liked being looked at by Blair Sandburg. "Jim."

The younger man stuck out his hand and Jim clasped it. Unprepared for the tidal wave of awareness that rushed through his veins, Jim gave his hand a perfunctory shake and swiftly released it.

"Nice to meet you, Jim. Call me, Blair." The anthropologist grinned. "Or Chief. Either works."

Jim's face heated under the warmth of his smile. "All right, Blair."

"So you think you have heightened senses?" Blair asked.

"I think so, yeah," Jim replied hesitantly.

"Can you tell me a little about yourself?"

"Is that important?"

Blair hopped down from the picnic table and slung his backpack over a shoulder. "I think it's important to find out people's backgrounds. Would you like to walk while we talk?"

Again that easy smile that Jim couldn't help but bask under. "That sounds good."

"You're in the Army?"

"Actually, today's officially the last day I can wear this uniform, then I'll be out."

"What're you going to do?"

Jim shrugged. "I already bought a condo in Cascade with my back pay, and I still have quite a bit of money left. I thought I'd just try to get used to civilization again."

"So, tell me about Jim Ellison," Blair prompted with a genuine smile.

Jim found himself opening up to this inquisitive, bubbly young man more than he had to the psychologists who'd been brought in to help him readjust to life after eight years in the jungle. He told Blair about growing up in Cascade; his rift with his father and brother; joining the Army and completing Ranger training; his squad and how they died in the helicopter crash; the Chopec shaman Incacha who taught him their ways; leading the young men on hunts because he could track game better than any of them.

"Can you remember anything else about those eight years you were down there?" Blair asked quietly.

Jim shook his head, frustrated. He was a man who liked to be able to compartmentalize aspects of his life and having empty compartments bothered him.

Blair rested his hand on Jim's wrist and Jim automatically turned up his sense of touch to feel every ridge and indentation in his fingers and palm. He imagined he could almost break down each cell making up Blair's skin...

"Hey, Jim, buddy, c'mon back," a soothing voice called to him.

Warm breath wafted across his neck and Jim shivered as he came out of his fugue. "Not again."

Blair rubbed Jim's upper arm. "It's okay. It's something called a zone-out. It happens to--"

"Sentinels," Jim finished with him. The captain's eyes widened. "How did I know that? How do I know about sentinels?"

"Shhhh, relax, Jim. The answers are inside you. Be patient."

Jim studied Blair's hooded gaze. "What aren't you telling me, Chief?"

"Nothing you don't already know." Blair rested his palm on Jim's chest. "In here."

Ignoring his self-preservation instincts, Jim tucked a strand of dark curly hair behind a nicely-shaped ear with two silver hoops. He skimmed a fingertip along Blair's earlobe and touched a hoop gently. The gesture felt so right, as if he'd done it before to this man. No, he couldn't have. He hadn't touched a man this way for...too long.

Jim drew back and was surprised to hear a slight susurration of air from Blair's full, sensual lips. "So, do you think I'm one of these sentinels?" Jim asked.

"I think it's highly probable. Let's do some tests. Tell me how many scents you can detect."

Jim closed his eyes and sorted through the smells coming in. He felt himself being pulled into the different fragrances, and suddenly a touch on his arm brought him back. As he listed the smells, a sense of deja vu washed through him, so strong it made him lose his concentration.

"What's wrong?" Blair asked in a low, soothing voice, which was balm to Jim's tripping heart.

"I don't know. It's like I've done this before, here, with you." He pressed a hand to his suddenly throbbing head.

"Headache?" Blair asked.

"Yeah."

"I've got some tea at home that might help. Would you like to follow me home?"

I'd follow you anywhere, even to death.

Another wash of deja vu swept through Jim, making his head pound even harder. Another fucking migraine.

"I wouldn't be very good company," Jim said.

"I just want to help. We don't have to talk."

Jim couldn't resist him. Didn't really want to resist him. "All right, Chief."

The two men walked in comfortable silence to the parking area. Blair stopped abruptly to stare at Jim's truck. "What's wrong, Chief?"

"Uh, I like your truck."

"Thanks. My grandfather had one just like it. I actually had one, too, before I went to Peru, but the woman I left it with sold it and she couldn't remember the buyer's name." Jim shrugged. "I couldn't blame her. I'd been MIA for a long time."

Blair's heart was again racing and Jim frowned, wondering why a truck would upset him.

"You can follow me," Blair said, then dashed over to his old Volvo and climbed in.

Puzzled by his reaction, Jim got into his truck more sedately. The fact that his head was threatening to roll off his shoulders also kept him from rushing. He had no trouble following Sandburg into Cascade. As they drove through the city, Jim sensed where they were going and even pictured an old apartment building in his mind. When Blair stopped, Jim's breath faltered. The place looked exactly like he imagined.

Ever since he'd awakened from the fever, which Incacha said had gripped him for nearly a week, Jim felt himself pulled back to Cascade. He didn't know why. He only knew he had to return. He had mentioned this to one of the doctors during his debriefing and the man had chuckled, making some comment about homing pigeons going home to roost. Jim didn't mention it again.

He met Blair on the sidewalk and they walked into the building together. Jim removed his black beret once they were inside. He climbed the stairs behind Blair. With every step he took, Jim felt like he was balancing on a tight rope--on one side was insanity, the other all the answers. They stepped onto the third floor and Blair led him to his door.

An older gentleman stuck his head out of his apartment across from them. "Hello, Blair. How're you today?"

"Peachy keen, Mr. Patterson," Blair replied.

Jim drew in a sharp breath. He'd heard those words before from this same young man.

"Who's your friend?" Patterson asked curiously.

"Captain Jim Ellison, Mr. Patterson," Blair introduced.

Jim nodded at the man as sounds became muted then overly loud and back to normal. What the hell was going on?

Blair ushered Jim into an apartment that appeared to be the size of the spare room under Jim's stairs in his loft. The captain looked around, instinctively knowing the sofa pulled out into a bed and Blair slept there. He also had a fleeting image of himself holding Blair on the sofa bed. He shook his head to clear the picture, but only succeeded in worsening the headache.

"Sit down and relax, Jim," Blair said. "I'll put some water on."

Jim hung his beret on a hook beside the door and settled on the sofa. Although the couch was old, it was comfortable. He watched Blair fill a kettle with water and set it on the stove. Before Blair grabbed the tea, Jim knew which cupboard it would be in, same with the cups. Was this some other latent skill coming out? Some weird kind of ESP or premonition?

Blair joined him to wait for the water to boil and sat close beside him. If it had been anyone else, Jim would've taken offense at the proximity, but Blair's nearness felt right. In fact, it would feel even better if he put his arm around the younger man, tucked him against his own body, and kissed him--

Whoa! Down Ellison. You just met him. He's just a kid. What the hell are you doing?

"This is what you call relaxing?" Blair teased. He turned and his fingers went to Jim's tie.

"What're you doing, Chief?"

"I'm helping you relax. Now, relax."

Jim allowed Blair to loosen his tie and undo the first two buttons of his shirt. When the graduate student's fingers went to his jacket, Jim captured his wrists. "I can do that myself, Chief."

"Whatever, man. I was just giving you a hand."

And I know where I want that hand.

Shoving the erotic image aside, Jim unbuttoned his jacket and Blair helped him remove it. Jim was glad his dress pants were large enough to conceal his semi-hardness.

The kettle whistled and Blair hurried into the kitchen to remove it from the stove. He poured hot water into the cups and allowed the tea to steep for a minute, then removed the tea balls. He carried the cups into the living room and handed one to Jim. "Careful. It's hot," he warned.

"Thanks, Chief."

They drank the tea in companionable silence, although Jim was aware of every breath Blair took and every beat of his steady heart. His scent wound around and through him, filling him with that same eerie sense of having been here and known Blair Sandburg in another time.

"How're you feeling?" Blair asked softly.

"Better, thanks."

"I get the impression something's bothering you."

Jim blinked, startled by his perceptiveness. "The shrinks said I'd be feeling displaced for a while. I guess I'm feeling that way right now."

"How so?"

"It's hard to explain."

Blair snuggled against Jim's side. "Neither one of us has to go anywhere, and I've been told I'm a good listener. When I'm not talking, that is."

Jim chuckled and ruffled Blair's curls. His hand froze in mid-motion as he almost zoned on the soft silkiness. He eased his hand away from the younger man, but found himself resting his arm along the back of the couch behind Blair. "Ever since I saw you at the park, I've felt like I've known you before. That we were, uh--"

"Lovers?" Blair supplied, his blue eyes guileless.

Jim's face heated with embarrassment. "Jesus, Sandburg, where'd that come from?"

"Wishful thinking?" Blair grinned unrepentantly, then sobered. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't interrupt."

"It's okay, Chief. You just threw me. I think the word I was looking for was friends." He frowned. "No, that's not right either. More than friends." Jim's cheeks flushed again. "Okay, damn it, lovers."

"Does that bother you?" Blair asked gently.

Jim's heart thundered in his chest. How did he answer that without opening himself up for humiliation? Or worse, rejection? "Does it bother you?"

"I asked first."

Blair's eyes twinkled with mischief, but there was something else lurking in their depths. A faint, but familiar scent swirled around Jim. Arousal and it wasn't his own.

"No, it doesn't bother me at all, Chief," Jim said huskily. "What about you?"

"It so not bothers me, Jim." Gracefully, Blair straddled him, a knee on either side of his hips. "In fact, it so not bothers me that I think I'm going to kiss you. Would you mind?"

"I'd mind if you didn't, Chief," Jim growled, wrapping his arms around Blair's waist.

Each man moved and they met halfway, their lips colliding in a clash of passion. Their tongues dueled and mated in a frenzied dance. Blair tasted like home and love and everything Jim fought for and believed in, but never thought he'd find himself.

An acrid scent tickled Jim's nose and he reluctantly drew away from Blair, though his arms remained around the younger man.

"What is it, Jim?" Blair asked softly, although a bit breathlessly.

"I smell something." His eyes widened. "Smoke. Below us."

"Maybe Mrs. Tooley burned her supper," Blair suggested.

An image of a middle-aged woman wearing an old robe and fuzzy slippers struck Jim. How would he know one of Blair's neighbors?

Jim sniffed again. "Something's burning, Chief. C'mon." Although in a hurry, Jim helped Blair to his feet. He threw on his Army uniform jacket and grabbed his beret.

Blair tossed his backpack over his shoulder and followed Jim out the door. They raced downstairs to see smoke rolling out of the crack beneath Mrs. Tooley's door.

"Shit," Blair shouted. He tried the doorknob but it was locked. "Mrs. Tooley!" There was no answer and he pounded on the door.

A neighbor threw open his door and Jim yelled, "Call 911." The man nodded and Jim could hear him do as he said.

He drew Blair away from the door. "Stay back, Chief."

Blair stepped back and Jim kicked it open. Smoke roiled out and Jim plunged into the apartment. Turning up his hearing, he heard Mrs. Tooley's slow but steady heartbeat and he followed the sound to the couch where she was sprawled out. Coughing and hacking, Jim didn't waste time on niceties, but hefted the woman over his shoulder and started to the door. He stumbled across something and he opened his sight, only to spot a carton of Malted Milk Balls with the candy scattered around it.

Bouncing Malted Milk Balls across the floor so Blair could escape the woman's attentions.

Jim staggered. He had been here before. He had known Blair.

Dizzy with the knowledge, Jim lost his sense of direction.

"Jim! Over here," Blair hollered. "Follow my voice."

Follow my voice back, Jim. C'mon back now, Jim.

He tuned into Blair's voice and heartbeat, and found the apartment entrance. Somebody pulled the fire alarm, piercing Jim's ears and he nearly dropped to his knees.

"Dial it down, Jim. Find the dial for your hearing and dial it down," Blair instructed soothingly.

And Jim knew what he was talking about and brought his dial down. With Blair helping, they carried the woman down the flight of stairs and out across the street to await emergency personnel.

"How is she?" Blair asked worriedly.

"Alive," Jim replied. He coughed and Blair wrapped an arm around his shoulders. He leaned into the smaller man's welcome haven. "I know you," he whispered to Blair.

Blair stood off to the side, watching as Jim was interviewed by a local TV news station. The day had taken on a surrealistic quality--all the improbabilities stacking up until Blair was afraid they'd all come tumbling down like a house of cards and he'd wake up from this weird dream. Part of the strangeness was seeing others acknowledge Jim's presence--he was no longer a ghost that only Blair could see, and a selfish part of the student wished he had Jim all to himself again. But to have that would take away Jim's life, literally.

A dull whoomph and a wave of heat signaled the total destruction of Blair's home. The cause of the fire was uncertain, but a near-hysterical Mrs. Tooley confessed to leaving an aromatherapy candle--the one for sensuality--burning in her bedroom. With a breeze coming through an open window, it could've blown a curtain close to the flame. All they knew for certain was the fire had spread terrifyingly fast. And the smoke alarm in her apartment hadn't worked. If Jim hadn't smelled the smoke, Mrs. Tooley probably would've died, and maybe others as well. There was no doubt the apartment owner would be liable for some part of the devastation.

A clasp of his shoulder made Blair turn to find Jim, who'd finally escaped the press.

"I'm sorry," Jim said quietly.

"For what?"

"You lost everything."

Blair smiled and leaned into Jim's touch. "I've got everything that's important."

Jim drew Blair against his side. "You and I have to talk, Chief."

Blair's smile faded. "I know. Any idea where?"

Before Jim could answer, a familiar sedan parked in the mess of emergency vehicles. Blair watched Simon Banks jump out of his car and look at the burning building.

"Over here, Simon," Blair called, waving a hand.

The captain spotted him and relief flooded his dark features. "When I heard the address, I got over here as fast as I could," Simon said when he joined them. He surveyed Jim, his eyes narrowing.

"Simon, this is Captain Jim Ellison," Blair introduced. "Jim, Captain Simon Banks of the Cascade Police Department."

The two muscular men shook hands and Blair could tell they were gauging one another in the firm handshake.

"Army, huh?" Simon asked.

"That's right," Jim replied neutrally.

Blair almost rolled his eyes. The two men were acting like cats protecting their territory.

"Sandburg, can I speak to you?" Simon asked.

"Sure."

"In private."

"Jim is--"

"Go ahead, Chief. He obviously has something on his mind," Jim said, nudging him with his elbow.

Blair followed Simon over to his car.

"Who is he?" Simon demanded without preliminaries.

"I told you."

"He's in an Army uniform."

"No wonder you're such a good detective," Blair teased.

Simon dug a cigar out of his coat pocket. "Is he the one who saved you that night? The man the one eyewitness saw?"

"Got me. You'll have to ask your witness. I was pretty out of it."

Simon growled. "He looks familiar to me."

Blair's attention riveted to the captain. "Where did you see him?"

"I don't know." But Simon wouldn't meet his eyes.

"C'mon, man, where?"

Simon played with his cigar a few moments. "Look, this is going to sound crazy, but I thought I saw him the day I came to talk to you about Donnelly. When you were really upset, I thought I saw someone sitting next to you on the couch." The detective had become defensive by the end of his confession.

That made two people other than Blair who'd seen Jim when he was a ghost, but it wasn't something Blair could explain to anyone either. "Maybe Jim just reminds you of someone," he suggested, neither confirming nor denying Simon's claim.

"Okay, yeah, that must be it." Simon accepted the explanation without hesitation, telling Blair he didn't really want to believe he saw what he saw.

"I have to go find a place to stay."

"I've got an extra room," Simon offered.

"He's staying with me," Jim stated. He had moved so soundlessly, neither Blair nor Simon had noticed his approach.

"Blair?" Simon asked, though his eyes never left Jim.

"Thanks for the offer, Simon, but I'll stay with Jim," Blair replied. "We have a lot of catching up to do."

Simon looked from one man to the other, then shrugged. "All right. Give me a call with your number and address."

"I will," Blair promised.

Simon said his farewells and drove away.

"Come on, Chief. You can follow me this time," Jim said. He planted a hand on the small of Blair's back and guided him to their vehicles.

Twenty minutes later Blair parked in front of Colette's, a store on the street level of a three-story building. Jim ushered Blair inside and they rode the ancient elevator to the third floor in silence. Blair wasn't certain how much he should tell Jim, but he didn't want to lie either. Not to Jim. He'd have to play it by ear as to what Jim remembered and go from there.

Stopping in front of 307, Jim unlocked the door and Blair stepped inside a high-ceilinged room, which seemed almost barren. Or maybe it was merely the openness of the design, with no walls between the kitchen, dining room, and living room. A set of stairs led up from the living room to what appeared to be a loft bedroom. Visions of Jim in bed made Blair quickly turn away from the steps. He couldn't assume that because ghost-Jim had loved him, that this Jim would also love him.

Jim tossed his uniform jacket over a dining room chair and set his beret on the table. His shirt and tie had been straightened before he'd gone in front of the news camera, but now Jim quickly divested himself of the tie and undid the top two buttons of his shirt. "Would you like something to drink? A beer?" Jim asked.

"How about water?"

"Two waters coming up."

Although Jim's voice was light, Blair knew he was agitated by his forced smile and the creases in his brow. He handed Blair a bottle of water and the student opened it, drinking nearly half of it immediately. "Thanks. I didn't realize how dehydrated I was."

"Sit down, Chief," Jim said, not quite an order, but not merely a suggestion either.

Blair laughed nervously. "I do my best talking on my feet, man, and I have a feeling I'll be doing a lot of talking."

Jim nodded curtly and dropped into a corner of the sofa. "How do I know you?"

"Start with an easy one, why don't you?" Blair dragged a hand across his hair. "What do you remember?"

"You were the one who bought Sweetheart from Louise. The first time I saw you was in my truck, but I don't know how I got there. I remember some kid giving you problems at the university and you being beat up while I watched. For some reason, I couldn't help you," Jim said, his left hand fisting on his thigh. His cheeks reddened. "I remember you and I in your office, having some pretty wild sex."

"You said you'd been celibate for eight years," Blair supplied.

Jim's face turned an even brighter shade of red. "How was I here when I was living with the Chopec in Peru?"

"I don't know. Maybe it was some kind of spirit walk? I've read about them--supposedly, they can be pretty realistic."

"But if it was my spirit walk, why do you remember it, too? Was it real?"

Blair took a deep breath and crossed the room to sit beside the muscular man. "All I can tell you is it was real for you and I. You came to me when I needed you most. You're the sentinel I searched for most of my life. You're the first person I've ever truly loved."

"I made your dream come true," Jim whispered, his eyes focused on some distant memory.

"My dreams, Jim. Plural." Blair turned on the sofa, hiking his left leg under his butt and facing Jim. "But this isn't about me. This is about you and what Jim Ellison wants out of the rest of his life."

Jim brushed Blair's cheek with the backs of his fingers. "I remember what you said about a sentinel needing a guide. You're my guide, Blair, and I need you. But not just for my senses. Even though I'm still a little hazy on the details, I loved you then and I love you now."

Blair's heart thudded in his chest and he launched himself at Jim, who caught him and hugged him close. Their mouths fused in a sunburst of desire and heat. When they finally broke apart, each man gasped for air. Blair's arms were wrapped around Jim's neck and he had no intention of letting him go any time soon. For seven months he believed Jim was lost to him, and now that he had him back, he wasn't going to let him escape.

Jim rested his forehead against Blair's. "My headache's gone," he said, a wicked grin on his handsome face.

"Gee, that's nice, Jim. So, you want to play Trivial Pursuit?"

"My pursuit is definitely not trivial."

"What is your pursuit?"

Jim's large hands cupped Blair's denim-encased ass and his fingers traced the seam down the middle. "Wanna guess?"

Blair's breath caught in his throat and his blood headed to points south. "I need another clue."

Jim leaned forward to nibble his earlobe, and tugged gently on the silver rings. "It's the only thing we never did together."

Blair's cock filled and pressed against its snug confines, and he could hardly think past the haze of lust inspired by Jim's creative tongue and fingers. "Played leap frog?"

"You're getting close, Chief. Only when I get behind you, I won't be leaping."

Blair couldn't stop a chuckle. "What if I want to leap first?" He felt Jim's erection throb against his groin and groaned. "You damn well better pursue the trivia now, or this is one game that'll be over before it even begins."

"I like getting you so hot, so close, so fast," Jim murmured against Blair's neck.

"I'd like it a whole lot better if we lost some of these clothes and got even closer, big guy." Blair squirmed atop Jim's hardness. "And I do mean, big guy."

"Upstairs," Jim said breathlessly. "Now."

"Why not here?"

"New couch. Not scotchguarded. Yet."

"I like the way you think." Blair managed to remove himself from Jim's lap without damaging either of them.

They bounded up the stairs. Clothes flew everywhere in the race to get skin-to-skin. They fell to the bed together, managing not to hit any vital parts on the way down. Blair rolled Jim onto his back and knelt over him, his knees on either side of his hips. His balls brushed Jim's hard, leaking cock and Jim grabbed Blair's thighs to still his motion.

Blair smiled and dipped down to lick Jim's Adam's apple, then dragged his tongue down to the base of his throat.

"God, Blair."

"Not even close, but thanks, anyhow." Blair smiled against his lover's smooth chest and opened his mouth to suck a pebble-like nipple into his mouth.

Jim writhed beneath him, bringing their cocks together in a slide of silken steel over silken steel. Blair drew up and away from the overwhelming sensations and pressed Jim's hips to the mattress with strong, square hands.

"Lube?" Blair gasped out.

Suddenly, Blair was flipped onto his back and Jim knelt over him, his blue eyes blazing with desire. With steel-corded thighs, Jim held Blair in place and reached into the nightstand drawer. He pulled out a new tube of KY and a box of condoms.

"I tested clean three months ago and haven't been with anyone since," Blair whispered.

"Six months ago. Clean," Jim said and tossed the condoms over the railing. "Just you and me from now on."

Blair nodded, his chest so full of love for Jim Ellison that he could hardly breathe. Then all thoughts disappeared as Jim started sniffing and tasting him, starting with his hair. As Jim moved lower, Blair's moans increased in quantity and volume. Incapable of speech, he merely pressed Jim's shoulders, urging him even lower. The first tentative swipe of Jim's tongue nearly undid Blair.

"Oh, yes, god, yes, Jim. Love you, feels so good."

Then another sensation burrowed past Blair's arousal. Jim's lubed finger circling his entrance, teasing him, and finally slipping in. Blair pushed back on the welcome invader and Jim raised his head to meet Blair's mirroring hunger. "Easy, babe. I don't want to hurt you."

"Won't hurt me."

"You're too tight."

"Jim, please, more."

"Soon, love, soon." Jim's mouth went back to Blair's throbbing cock as he opened him slowly.

Blair felt the rise of his climax drawing nearer, but before he could warn Jim, his lover let him slide out from his wet warmth.

"Roll over, babe," Jim said, his voice thick with passion.

Blair eagerly rolled over and went to his hands and knees. "Please, lover. Now."

Jim massaged Blair's lower back and each muscled cheek. "You're so beautiful."

Blair turned his head to glare at Jim. "I'm going to get damned ugly if you don't fuck me now!"

"Horny, aren't we?" Jim grinned and slapped his butt lightly, bringing a startled yelp from Blair.

"Kinks later, Jim. Do me now!" Blair ordered.

Blair could feel Jim's heat and when his large hands gently parted his buttocks, Blair's cock jumped. He felt the blunt head against his entrance and Jim pressed forward, entering Blair slowly, carefully. Too slowly and carefully for Blair who tried to shove back, but Jim was prepared and caught his hips.

"Easy, Chief. I can't--won't--hurt you." Jim gasped out the words.

Blair closed his eyes, imagining he could see Jim's cock entering him, inch by beautiful inch even as he felt the gradual penetration. There were a few moments of discomfort as the thickest part pressed through the muscle ring.

Blair breathed regularly and when Jim's palm settled on his belly and soothingly rubbed him, he relaxed again and the discomfort faded away. As if sensing the change, Jim drew out and pressed forward, increasing his thrusts as Blair's body opened to him. Jim's hand moved from his belly to his leaking cock and stroked it in time to his motions.

Blair's body tingled everywhere, but especially where Jim claimed him, making them one body, one soul. Jim's breathing grew more ragged. He grabbed Blair's hips with both hands and pistoned in and out as Blair took hold of his own cock. And when Jim struck his prostate, Blair screamed out his pleasure and pulsed streams across his hand.

Two more plunges and Jim froze as his own release overtook him. "Blaaaaaaaiiiiiir!"

Blair felt each splash of warmth against his passage, and his cock tried valiantly to match its mate's.

Jim draped across Blair's back, but was still conscious enough not to rest his full weight on the smaller man. Sweat coated their skin and their hearts thundered in unison as their breathing slowed.

"I'm going to pull out, Chief," Jim said tenderly.

Blair groaned at the loss, but snuggled against Jim when his lover gathered him in his arms. Jim kissed his sweat-pearled brow. "Love you, Blair."

"Love you."

They lay in sated silence, fingers running up and down the nearest leg or arm of the other, sharing an occasional lazy kiss.

"I'm glad we didn't do this before, when you were a--" Blair broke off, realizing what he was about to say.

"When I was a ghost?" Jim asked softly.

Blair pushed himself up on one elbow and gazed down at Jim. "You remembered?"

"I remember going through doors and falling through the floor." Jim sent a mock glare at his lover. "And why didn't you let me into your building that first time? Does 'screw you and the horse you came in on' ring a bell, Chief?"

"Shit, you remembered everything." Blair's face heated with embarrassment.

Jim's teasing expression faded. "Not everything. I still don't know how I got here or why I was a ghost."

Blair considered telling him about Edwina and the Purgatory Lottery, but even he wasn't certain that was the truth anymore. "It doesn't matter, Jim. What matters is we're together and we're both alive now. And I plan on us staying that way for a long time."

Jim rolled to his back, bringing Blair with him so the younger man lay atop him. He framed Blair's face in his palms. "You're right. We're together like it was supposed to be."

"Jim Ellison believing in destiny?"

"Do you have a better explanation?"

"I believe everything happens for a reason." Blair kissed the tip of Jim's nose. "You know, sentinels were tribal watchmen, protectors of their tribe. Have you ever thought about being a cop? I happen to know a captain in the police department who might be willing to help."

Jim stroked Blair's cheeks with his thumbs. "Would this captain happen to chomp on cigars and be suspicious of all your friends?"

"Simon's a good guy. It's just that he's a cop--he's suspicious of everyone."

Jim thought for a moment. "It's not a bad idea. Maybe I'll check into it."

"Cool." Blair didn't mention that he'd be getting an observer's pass--he had a feeling Jim might not be very amenable to the idea. Blair was going to have to break it to his lover gently, but it would be easier if Jim himself were a cop. Wouldn't it be something if he could even ride along with Jim and observe him? Blair nearly laughed aloud at the absurdity of the idea. But, then, stranger things had happened.

Like falling in love with a ghost....

"Do you not love a happy ending?" Edwina sighed a bit romantically as she and her co-conspirator watched the image of Jim and Blair fade away on the white screen.

"It is not an ending, only another beginning," Incacha replied, his arms crossed over his painted chest.

"You are correct, as usual, Incacha." She smiled at the Chopec native. "Thank you for joining me during your spirit walk today. I had hoped you would return."

"I am pleased I could help. The watchman should not have died. It was not his time."

"You were correct in your assessment. When I perused our records, I found James was scheduled for a full life with his guide and soul mate. I am pleased we were able to give him back that which he lost. But I could not have done it without your assistance."

"Or I without yours." Incacha's even white teeth showed clearly against his painted skin. "I do not understand all, but that which had been broken is fixed."

"Fortunately, we have that loophole to use for souls like James Ellison. Of course, we have only used it four times in the past millennia, but it is there for this specific reason."

Incacha nodded. "It is good. I must leave now."

"Do come and visit whenever you can. Who knows, we may be able to help one another again."

Incacha lifted a hand in farewell and faded away.

Edwina straightened her spine. She had twenty-nine souls to process into purgatory today, yet she found herself reluctant to leave without one more peek. The oval screen cleared to reveal James and his soul mate Blair locked in a passionate embrace. She eyed their nude bodies, admiring their complementing beauty and muscles and... The air suddenly felt a bit warm.

"Edwina!"

Startled, she blanked the screen and glanced upward. "Yes?"

"You do realize you have just added another hundred years to your purgatory stay?"

Edwina lowered her gaze. "Yes."

The presence disappeared and Edwina allowed a slightly naughty smile. "But it was worth it."

End Loving Captain Ellison by Romslinger: romslinger@yahoo.com

Author and story notes above.

Disclaimer: The Sentinel is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount.