I don't own the characters, but I do enjoy taking them out to play, and I always return them.

This is a very belated or very early birthday gift for Chris. Thanks to TSL for your encouragement and assistance. This series wouldn't have been written if not for all of you.

Number 11 in the Sport Series.

This story is a sequel to: Broken Play

one in the dark: a pin hidden from sight behind another pin. Also known as barmaid and sleeper.

Jim Ellison shoved through the swinging doors leading into the Major Crime division and kept his head down so he wouldn't accidentally catch someone's eye. He might get asked for the one-hundred-and-ninety-third time this week where Sandburg was.

He dropped into his chair and rolled it closer to the desk. A pen sitting in the middle of his blotter caught his eye and he picked it up. He absently rolled the ballpoint between his fingers, finding an instinctive, almost sensual, pleasure in the heft, weight, and texture of it. A folded piece of paper with his name scrawled in familiar handwriting caught his eye. Keeping the pen in his hand, he read the short note.

Jim--Thought you might like a new pen. Blair. P.S. I won't be able to come in today and I've got a date tonight. See you sometime this weekend.

Jim crushed the paper in his fist and tossed it in the direction of the wastebasket. He missed. What the hell good were sentinel senses when he couldn't even hit a wastebasket three feet away?

Taking a deep breath, then another, Jim tried to let his frustration go, just as Blair had taught him, but it didn't work. Surprise, surprise.

He glared at the folders scattered haphazardly across his desk. Although Blair's room at the loft tended toward Early American Chaos, he was very structured with his--and Jim's--work. It was Blair who'd kept Jim's desk neat and orderly the last few years--just another example illustrating how much Jim had come to rely on his roommate.

"It's not that big of deal," Jim muttered to himself as he started to gather the folders into one precipitous stack.

"Talking to yourself, Jimbo?"

Jim glanced up to see Inspector Megan Connor giving him one of her shit-eating grins. He glowered at her, but it didn't tarnish the glint in her eyes. "Don't you have kangaroos to box?"

Connor laughed. "My, we are in a touchy mood today, aren't we?"

"We get that way when people don't mind their own business." Jim slapped down the top folder from the mountain of paperwork and opened it up, hoping Connor would take the hint.

"Nice pen," she commented.

Jim glanced at his right hand and realized he was still playing with the pen. If he continued fondling it, he'd either have to propose marriage or take it to bed. He pulled open the middle drawer and tossed it inside, then slammed the drawer shut. The faint scent of Sandburg lingered on his fingers and he dialed up his sense of smell to hold it a few moments longer.

She perched on a corner of his desk. "I saw Sandy drop it by earlier."

Jim snapped his head up. "When?"

"About six this morning. I was the only one here." She sobered and settled a steely gaze on him. "What did you do to him?"

"What makes you think I_ did something to _him?"

"Because I know Sandy." Her gaze didn't waver.

Jim inwardly cursed Connor's interference. He leaned back in his chair, smiled disarmingly, and spread his arms. "Hey, I can be a nice guy."

Connor snorted. "When it suits your purpose. Sandy happens to be a nice guy all the time, whether his friend--" She glared pointedly at him. "--is a jerk or not."

Jim's smile disappeared and he gave free rein to his irritation. "What goes on between Sandburg and me is none of your business, Connor, so back off."

Instead, Megan leaned toward Jim until only inches separated their noses. "It is my business when it involves a friend." Her antagonism eased. "As much as it pains me to admit it, I consider you a friend, too."

Startled by her blunt honesty, Jim crossed his arms and studied the clock on the wall over her shoulder. "We'll work it out. We always do."

Connor straightened and shook her head, a mix of sympathy and exasperation on her face. "One of these days Sandy won't take that first step and it'll be up to you. Are you ready to take it, Jimbo?" She stalked back to her desk, her spine stiff.

"You don't know how it is, Connor," he murmured, grateful nobody but Pep and Jenna knew how it really was between he and Blair.

Dismissing the prickly conversation from his thoughts, he concentrated on the mound of paperwork. Throughout the morning, he sifted through files that he and Blair had worked on together. He read reports that were obviously written by Blair but held his signature. Jim recalled with startling clarity at least one conversation he and his partner had involving each case. More than once he found himself turning toward Blair to make a comment, then realizing he was alone.

He glanced at his watch and noticed it was eleven oh five. Blair would be standing at the front of his Anthro 202 class dazzling them with his knowledge and wit. What story was he telling his students today? The one about the aboriginal chief who wanted Blair to marry one of his wives? Or the one involving the cannibals looking for a tasty snack in the form of a long-haired graduate student? Or maybe it was the one where Blair drank a ceremonial wine, which ended up being alcohol mixed with an aphrodisiac?

He could picture Blair waving his arms and pushing his glasses up on his nose as his motions became more energetic in front of his students. Jim had no trouble remembering how that energy transferred to lovemaking. He could recall Blair's flushed face gazing up at him from where he lay with his cheek pillowed on Jim's thigh and his lush, curved lips wrapped around Jim's--

He shifted in his chair and resisted the urge to adjust his straining zipper. Six nights without Blair in his bed--only 12,500 more to go, provided Jim lived to be seventy-five years old. Shit.

"Ellison, I'd like to see you in my office."

Simon's order almost sounded like an invitation. That didn't bode well.

Jim stood and tugged his sweater down over his hips. There was nothing more pathetic than a forty-year-old man with a hard-on in the work place.

He knocked on the open doorframe and Simon motioned for him to come inside.

"Close the door," Simon said.

Jim's stomach clenched a little tighter as he followed his boss' order. "What's up, Captain?" Jim flinched inwardly at his choice of words, and hoped Banks didn't take his question literally.

Simon leaned back in his chair and fingered a cellophane wrapped cigar held between his large hands. "Is Sandburg coming in today?"

"No, sir," Jim replied, hoping Simon didn't notice his curtness.

Simon sighed. "I wanted to talk to him, but I guess you'll do. Sit down."

Jim slumped into a chair, relieved to feel the pressure lessening in his trousers, although another kind of pressure was making itself known in his brow. What would Simon want to talk to Blair about? "What's going on?"

Another sigh--this one even heavier. "Daryl is thinking about becoming a cop."

Jim grinned. "Congratulations, sir."

Simon glared at him and Jim's smile wobbled away. "That's why I wanted to talk to Blair."

"I don't understand," Jim said, confused.

The captain stood and turned to gaze out his window. "You don't have children."

Defensiveness flared in Jim. "Sandburg doesn't either."

"No, but he'd understand." Simon took a deep breath. "You know the kind of shit we have to deal with every day, from suicides to murders to assaults to rapes to OD's and everything in between. The underbelly of our society--the one thing we want to save our families from having to witness."

A light glimmered in Jim's clearing mind. "You've protected Daryl from that stuff all of his life, and now he's telling you he wants to experience it firsthand, like you do."

Simon turned and met Jim's eyes. "Exactly. I want better things for him. I want him to be a doctor or a basketball player or an accountant--anything but a cop."

Jim suddenly wished Blair were here, too. "It's not your decision," he said softly. "It's Daryl's."

"He's making the wrong one."

"That's your opinion. Daryl sees it differently."

"He's only a kid. He doesn't know what he wants."

"He's three months away from high school graduation. When I was his age, I'd already signed up for ROTC at Rainier." Jim shrugged. "I regret a lot of choices, but that isn't one of them."

Simon peered at him like he was an exotic mold under the microscope. "Your father had enough money. Why didn't you let him put you through school?"

"I didn't want to owe the son-of-a-bitch anything," Jim said, keeping a tight rein on his emotions.

Simon studied him for a minute. "I don't want Daryl to think that way."

"He doesn't. You're nothing like my father. Believe me."

"So what should I do?"

Jim shrugged. "Support Daryl in whatever choice he makes, even if you think it's the wrong one. If you don't, you're going to lose him."

Simon sank back into his chair glumly. "I wanted you to tell me I was right and that Daryl should go to college instead of follow in his old man's tracks."

Jim smiled wryly. "Does this mean I don't get that raise?"

Simon chuckled. "Don't push it, Ellison." He sobered. "I don't like it one damn bit."

"It doesn't matter what you like, Simon. It's what Daryl likes."

"You're sounding more and more like Sandburg every day. That used to be a scary thought..."

Jim's attention shifted to the window. "He kind of rubs off on a person."

"Well, I have to admit, he's rubbed off on you in a good way."

"You'll have to tell Sandburg. He'll get a kick out of it."

"So, where is he?"

"At the university."

"How's he doing after that scare last Saturday?"

Jim's blood ran cold. "Fine."

"Doesn't Pep get out of the hospital today?"

Jim nodded and looked at his watch. "Thanks for reminding me. I told Jenna I'd be there to help."

"What time is she picking him up?"

"Noon."

"Take as much time as you need. You're just working files, right?"

"Yes, sir. I'll help Jenna get him settled at home, then I'll be back."

"I'm surprised Blair isn't going with you. I got the impression he liked Pep and his family."

Jim studied his clasped hands, which rested in his lap. "He does. And they like him, too."

"Then why--"

Jim stood. "His life doesn't revolve around the department, you know."

"No, but he does take friendship seriously."

Jim quickly turned to the door. "He's visited Pep every day." The times when he knew Jim wouldn't be there. "I'll be back in a couple of hours."

Jim grabbed his jacket and keys on his way out of the office. The drive to the hospital was eerily silent. He'd become so accustomed to Blair's chatter that he actually missed it now.

That's not all you miss.

Jim did what he did best--he ignored that which he didn't want to acknowledge. He parked in the hospital visitors lot and strode inside. He dialed down his sense of smell after sneezing from the antiseptic and medicinal scents and headed to Pep's room.

Jenna greeted him with a hug. "I'm glad you could make it, Jim."

"I said I'd be here," Jim said with a smile.

"And Jim Ellison is nothing if not loyal," Pep said from a wheelchair.

Jim crossed to his friend and grinned down at him. "Look at you, all dressed and sitting up all by yourself like a big boy."

"Don't pick on the invalid, Ellison," Pep said with a mock growl.

Jim snorted. "You're no more an invalid than I am. A few more weeks and you'll be running laps around me."

Jenna walked up behind Pep and tenderly wrapped her arms around his neck. "I'm keeping him in bed for at least a month."

Pep waggled his eyebrows at Jim. "I knew there was an upside to this whole thing."

Both Jim and Jenna groaned.

"Where are the kids?" Jim asked.

"At my mom and dad's," Jenna replied. "They're going to stay there for a few days, until Pep is feeling better."

An attractive nurse wearing a bright, multi-colored tunic, white pants and a nametag that read Chris entered the room. "Looks like the doctor has given you the all-clear, Mr. Peppard. Did you get your meds and your instructions?"

Jenna patted her purse. "All right here. And I will make sure he follows everything to the letter."

Pep rolled his eyes, but his affection for his wife was plainly evident in his expression. Jim glanced away, wishing Blair were here, although he wasn't sure what he'd say to him if he was. Where communication had been easy and relaxed a week ago, it was now tense and forced. Why couldn't they just go back to the way it used to be, before they jumped into bed?

The nurse took hold of the wheelchair's handles and pushed Pep out the door. "Next stop, home," she said with a laugh.

"Sounds good to me," Jenna said, walking close beside the wheelchair and leaving Jim to follow them.

Outside, Jenna had pulled their car close to the curb. Jim stepped forward to help Pep from the wheelchair into the front passenger seat.

"You've done this before," Chris, the nurse, commented with a smile.

Jim smiled back, his gaze perfunctorily flashing to her left hand, which was absent of a gold band or diamond. "A few times. I was trained as a medic in the army."

"Really? The army paid for my nursing and I gave them six years. I got out three years ago." Chris studied Jim, her eyes revealing her interest. "How about you?"

"Almost ten years ago now."

"Maybe you'd like to compare war stories over dinner tomorrow night," Chris suggested.

Jim blinked, surprised by the invitation. She was a pretty woman, probably a year or two older than Blair. He liked her eyes--they were friendly and sincere--and it had been a long time since he'd gone out with a woman, since before... He swallowed hard, forced a smile, and nodded. "I'd like that."

"How about if we meet at The Texas Steakhouse at seven o'clock?"

"Sounds good." He smiled and held out his hand. "Jim Ellison."

"Chris Weathers." She shook his hand with a firm grip.

The nurse gave him one more smile and returned to the hospital. Jim turned back to Jenna and Pep, who were glaring at him.

"What?" Jim demanded.

"What do you--" Jenna began.

"Later," Pep interrupted. Eyeing Jim, he shook his head.

Jenna got into the drivers seat and started the car. As she pulled away from the curb, Pep called to Jim, "We'll see you at the house."

Standing on the sidewalk, Jim watched them for a moment, bewildered by their reactions. Clueless, he walked to his truck and followed after Pep and Jenna.

Twenty minutes later, Jim eased Pep down onto the sofa in their living room. Pep's face was a grayish shade and sweat dotted his forehead, but he hadn't uttered a sound.

"Would you like something to eat? It's after one," Jenna asked Pep.

Her husband shook his head. "Just some milk."

She disappeared into the kitchen, returning a few moments later with a tall glass of milk. "How about you, Jim? Would you like a sandwich or some leftover pizza?"

"You didn't tell me you had pizza," Pep said. "I'll take some of that."

"Same," Jim said.

Jenna nodded, cast Pep a deliberate look, then went into the kitchen.

"What's going on, Jim?" Pep asked, his dark complexion close to normal color again.

Jim sat down on a chair across from the sofa. "What're you talking about?"

"Did you or did you not make a date with that nurse?"

Jim shrugged. "Dinner tomorrow night. No big deal."

"We thought you and Blair were exclusive," Pep said bluntly.

Jim sagged back in the chair and scrubbed his face in his palms. "There is no Blair and I anymore. We're back to being just friends and roommates."

Pep's eyes widened. "I've never seen two people as close as you two, except for Jenna and I. What the hell's going on?"

"It didn't work out. End of story."

"Bullshit!"

Jim held out his arms. "What do you want me to say? We spent too much time together--working together all day, then sleeping together every night. It got to be too much."

"He loves you."

Jim's mouth did an admirable impression of a landed fish. "It wasn't like that. We're good friends who made good lovers for a little while."

"Sell it to the Air Force, Ellison," Pep said. "Tell me the truth."

Jim debated how much to tell his old friend. He took a deep breath. "Last Saturday, after you were gunned down, I realized I couldn't do my job with Sandburg and I being so close. I was thinking about him instead of concentrating on the suspects and because of that, you were shot."

Pep groaned. "I was shot because I didn't get my ass out of the way fast enough."

Jim stood and began to pace, pulling a hand over his hair. "You were saving Blair's life. You knocked him out of the way and got yourself shot in the process. If I'd been on top of things, I would've known the robbers were coming out of the bank and everybody would've been safe."

"Nobody could've predicted when they'd come out. You're good, Jim, but you're not that good."

"I should've known," Jim said stubbornly. "There are...extenuating circumstances, things you don't know."

"Then tell me, dammit." Pep stiffened and closed his eyes.

Jim squatted down in front of him. "Pep?"

The Vice detective opened his eyes, but Jim could see the pain there. "I'm okay."

"No, you're not. You almost died less than a week ago. You need to rest."

Jim began to rise, but Pep grabbed his wrist. "Don't blow it, Jimmy. Blair's good for you, and you're good for him."

Jim held up a hand, palm out. "I don't want to talk about it anymore."

Pep sighed.

Jenna returned, bearing two plates with a large slice of pizza on each one. "Hungry?"

Jim shook his head. "I'm sorry, Jenna, but I've got to get back to work." She frowned. "I'll drop by this weekend to see how you're doing."

"But it won't be tomorrow night," Pep said dryly.

Jim sent him an irritated look, then left. He could hear Pep and Jenna all the way out to his truck.

"What's going on?" Jenna asked.

"He and Blair aren't a couple any longer."

"Why not?"

"Jim wouldn't tell me. Gave me this cock-and-bull story about not being able to do his job. Hell, it's known all over the department that Ellison's arrest record improved 200 percent after Blair became his unofficial partner."

"There's something special about them, Pep."

"You're preaching to the choir, babe. It's Jimmy you should be talking to."

"Next time I see him, I'll definitely do that. Has he noticed how tired Blair looks? If I'm any judge, he hasn't been sleeping much at night."

"I don't think Jim's seen him very often since Saturday. In fact, I'd be willing to bet Blair is keeping away from him."

"Men can be so stupid." A rustle of cloth against cloth. "Do you still want some pizza?"

"Only if you feed me."

*Jenna giggled. "You're not quite ready for that yet."*

Jim turned down his hearing and started his truck. When was the last time he'd seen his roommate? Wednesday? No, Monday. Four days ago. They'd eaten breakfast together--just a normal, regular morning breakfast. Blair had been chattering on about this class and that student, until Jim had told him he preferred to read the newspaper in silence. Blair had turned red, apologized five times, and then left for Rainier. Jim had only seen him coming and going since that morning.

Jim's stomach lurched as he drove on automatic, half his mind on the road, the other half on Blair. When he found himself in the parking lot of Rainier, Jim stopped and struck the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. Taking a deep breath, he slipped out of the truck. His feet carried him to Hargrove Hall and down the familiar hallway. Blair's office door was closed and Jim expanded his senses...only to find an unfamiliar heartbeat with the familiar one.

"...to see the French flick at the Tapping Theater tomorrow evening," a woman was saying. "Would you like to go? Or are you and your cop friend doing something?"

"Nope, nothing planned. The movie sounds good. What time?"

Jim savagely twisted his dials, bringing them below normal. He stalked down the corridor and out to the parking lot, fighting to keep his composure. Sandburg sure as hell didn't waste any time--a date tonight, and another woman tomorrow night. It appeared Jim Ellison was merely another tally mark in Blair Sandburg's ever-expanding list of sexual conquests. Dammit!

Jim took a roundabout route back to the station, giving himself time to get his emotions firmly back under control. What was wrong with him? Blair had dated extensively before he and Jim had hopped into the sack, and it had never bothered Jim. Why did Jim's mind now cloud with rage when he thought of Blair and some faceless woman in bed together? Since he and Blair weren't doing it anymore, it was only natural to find an outlet someplace else.

Except it wasn't just sex. Jim broke into a cold sweat and forced himself to ignore the implications.

After parking the truck in its normal slot in the department's lot, he climbed the seven flights of stairs to Major Crime instead of taking the elevator, hoping to exorcise the demons prancing through his blood. Even knowing Blair was at the college, Jim cast out his senses automatically, vainly searching for him.

Major Crime was fairly quiet when he arrived back at his desk. Simon's office was dark, and Paul Roberts and Stan Lichthy were the only two detectives in the large room. Jim breathed a sigh of relief. Roberts and Lichthy didn't know him well enough to comment on Blair, or ask him any stupid questions. He pulled open his desk drawer and retrieved the pen Blair had left for him. Within minutes, his mind was sucked into the reports and his fingers were absently caressing the pen.

It was almost four when Brown and Rafe returned, hauling in a suspect behind them. Jim tuned his hearing down even further so he didn't have to listen to the man's rantings. It was after five when Simon finally came back to his office. He didn't speak to anyone and locked himself away. He looked like the Chief and the Commissioner had each taken chunks out of his ass.

Jim tossed the last file onto the "calls to make" stack. It was after six. Time to call it a day. Jim glanced at Simon's still-closed door and sighed. Sometimes police captains needed a whipping boy and Jim figured it might be better if it was someone who could take it. He rose and walked to Simon's office, then knocked on the door.

"Come," came the bellow from within.

Jim entered and closed the door behind him, feeling a sense of dj vu from that morning. "It's six o'clock on a Friday evening. Time for all good captains and their minions to depart for greener pastures."

Simon jerked his head up. His lips were set in a firm line.

"You look like hell, sir."

Simon opened his mouth as if he was about to vent, but suddenly he deflated and sank back in his chair. "I hate finance meetings. They always want to take away money, but give us more work. Someone should explain to them the action-reaction theory."

"Is there anything that needs your immediate attention?"

Simon peered at the papers spread across his desk, then gathered them together in a not-so-neat pile. "No. Are you meeting Sandburg somewhere for dinner?"

"Uh, no. He said he had a date."

"Oh." The way Simon said it made Jim wonder if he suspected something. "Then how about us going to grab something?"

The thought of going back to an empty loft reeking of Sandburg didn't thrill Jim. "Sure. Where?"

"How about that bowling alley on Fremont?"

"Bowling alley?"

Simon shrugged. "They serve beer, have great sandwiches, and I can take some frustration off on some innocent pins."

Jim chuckled. "Sure, why not? You want me to drive?"

"You mind?"

"Nah."

Before leaving the station, Simon went down to the locker room to change into a pair of blue jeans, a collarless shirt, and Nike tennis shoes. Jim met him at his truck and drove the five miles to their destination. Once inside the busy bowling alley, Jim automatically compensated for the odd lighting and explosions of tenpins. He and Simon went to the food counter first and put in their orders, then found an empty table where they could watch the bowlers while they ate.

As Jim sipped his one and only beer for the evening, he heard a familiar voice and zeroed in on it. His sight followed his ears and he spotted Blair bowling on lane 5. Jim's heartbeat notched up a few beats. Blair's opponent was Daryl Banks.

"Blair and Daryl are here," he announced to Simon.

"Really? What a coincidence."

Jim narrowed his eyes. "You knew."

Simon shrugged, but his brown eyes twinkled behind his gold-rimmed glasses. "I'm surprised Sandburg didn't tell you."

Jim felt his face flush. "We haven't seen much of each other this week."

"I noticed," Simon said dryly. "I also noticed your mind hasn't been on your work. That's why I gave you the paperwork to catch up on. I didn't want you on the street without Blair and with your head up your ass."

Jim stiffened with anger. "I can function just fine without Sandburg."

Simon rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right."

Jim leaned over the table and hissed, "You've got it wrong, sir. I was relying too much on Sandburg and that's why we haven't been working as closely." Although it wasn't quite the truth, it was twisted close enough.

"Don't give me that crap, Ellison," Simon said. "I have some suspicions concerning you and Sandburg--" He held up a hand when Jim opened his mouth. "Don't say anything, Jim. Remember, don't ask, don't tell. And what I don't know can't be used against us."

Jim's face burned and he stared down at the napkin he was shredding to confetti. He thought they'd been so careful, always acting like buddies at work and in public.

"What's between you two has no relation to the job you do, except that you do it a helluva lot better when your partner's with you," Simon continued.

"I'll talk to him," Jim murmured.

Their order number was called and the next few minutes were spent gathering their food and the condiments to go with it. As Jim ate, his attention kept returning to Blair. His adeptness in releasing the ball down the lane told Jim the graduate student wasn't a stranger to the sport. He watched Blair say something to Daryl, then grin, and get his ball from the return. Blair stepped into the approach area, adjusted his neon-clad feet, lifted the ball in front of him, stared down the lane for a moment, then moved stepped toward the foul line, drawing the ball behind him. He let go with a flick of his wrist and with his toes five inches behind the foul line. The ball went perfectly straight for a high hit. Blair covered his face as wood pins flew, leaving behind mule ears--a seven-ten split. Jim didn't need sentinel hearing to know what Blair said about the lousy break.

After they finished eating, Simon ordered another beer and Jim opted for a bottle of water.

"I wonder if Daryl and Blair would like to challenge a couple of old guys to a few games," Simon said too innocently as he headed toward Blair and Daryl.

Jim swore under his breath, but followed his boss without comment.

Daryl spotted them first. "Dad, what're you doing here?"

Blair turned and the smile on his face froze when he saw Jim.

"Jim and I decided to grab a sandwich and some beer," Simon replied. "Would you mind if we requested the lane next to yours? Jim and I can show you how age and wisdom will triumph over youthful enthusiasm."

Jim kept his gaze centered on Blair, who refused to meet his eyes.

"Blair, what do you think?" Daryl asked.

The grad student shrugged. "Sure."

"Great." Simon set his beer on a high, round table back off the lanes. "We'll go grab our shoes and find some balls."

Jim shook his head as he again followed his boss to the counter. "You planned this."

Simon shrugged. "So sue me for caring."

Jim paid for his tri-neon-color shoe rental and three games, then found a sixteen pound ball that fit his finger span and size. He set the ball on the return rack and sat down to tug on the ugliest shoes he'd ever seen. He hoped he didn't zone on them. Of course, with Blair here, there'd be less chance of that.

As he tied his laces, Jim's mood improved. Instead of spending another evening alone, he was with his guide, his friend, and his friend's son. Not a bad way to end a week.

"Do you want some practice time?" Daryl asked.

"Jim?" Simon called over his shoulder.

"Nah. We can beat them without it," Jim replied.

A crooked smile twitched Blair's lips. "Overconfidence will be your downfall."

"Don't bet on it, Junior," Jim bantered back.

Daryl set up the overhead computer scoring monitors, with Jim and Simon on one side, and he and Blair on the other. Daryl was up on lane 5 first, and Simon on lane 6. Jim stood back with his arms crossed, using his sentinel vision to figure out how much oil was on the lane, and where it was the thickest.

Blair jabbed him in the side. "No cheating."

Jim grinned, not surprised that his guide had caught him. "I could tell you what I see to give you the same advantage."

"Just set those dials at normal, Ellison, and let's roll."

Laughing, Jim watched Daryl's second ball take out the one remaining pin for a spare. Simon's second ball hit one pin but missed the other. Jim and Blair stepped up to the ball return and Jim motioned for Blair to take the approach, while he waited in the address position.

Jim watched Blair wiggle his fingers into the ball's holes, and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He'd never been jealous of a bowling ball before...

Blair went into his delivery with three long steps and a smooth release of the ball. It thunked on the shiny floor and rolled toward the pins. Instead of watching the pin action, Jim found himself entranced by the Blair-action. The grad student contorted his body, twisting and raising one arm while kicking out the opposite foot as if he could control the ball through some mystical bowling ritual dance.

"Yeah!" Blair high-fived Daryl, then Simon. He paused by Jim. "You didn't like that beauty?"

It took a few moments for Jim to realize he was talking about his strike. He slapped Blair's palm. "Nice one, Sandburg."

Jim stepped onto the approach and manfully refused to think of anything but bowling balls and tenpins as he stuck his fingers in the ball's holes. It had been some time since he'd bowled, but the motions came back quickly. He released the ball with a foot glide and a flick of his wrist. It hugged the middle of the lane and sent the pins crashing against one another.

Jim turned and bowed slightly at the waist.

Blair mock groaned. "I knew I shouldn't have shown you how to do it."

Jim cuffed Blair's hair and touch instinctively sensitized to feel each individual strand, as if homing in on the sentinel's guide. It caught Jim by surprise and he quickly dialed the sense back down and hoped no one noticed his momentary lapse. He glanced at Blair and noticed the quizzical look on his face, but didn't acknowledge it.

The game continued neck and neck, and it came down to the last three frames between Jim and Blair. The younger man took the first of his three turns. He hit the hole for a beautiful strike. Jim went next and concentrated on the ball's weight and the distance to the head pin. He took all ten pins down, too. Simon and Daryl were hollering and rooting behind them.

Blair's second ball also produced a strike. Jim followed his example to keep the score tight. On the third and last ball, Blair took longer than usual to set up his approach. Jim's unrepentant gaze followed the line of Blair's back down to his waist where his flannel shirt was tucked into worn blue jeans that hugged his backside. Jim's fingers splayed across the smooth arc of his bowling ball, just as he used to caress the curve of soft skin hidden beneath Blair's faded denim.

The crash of pins startled Jim out of his sensual musings and he glanced up to see Blair's last ball had left one pin standing. If Jim lobbed a strike, he and Simon would win the first game. He tuned out the good-natured cheering and jeering from the peanut gallery and intended to lay out the ball for a strike. Just as he was bringing the ball forward for the release, the memory of a naked Blair lying face down on his bed flickered in Jim's mind. His ball hit the lane with a thump and followed the edge of the gutter, taking out only four pins on the deck.

Blair and Daryl were celebrating with high-fives and some weird victory shuffle that looked more like they'd just OD'ed on Metamucil. Jim shook his head as he joined Simon.

"Next game, use your senses," Simon said for Jim's ears only. "And that's an order, detective."

Jim laughed, even as his gaze strayed to Blair's incandescent smile and radiant expression. Lust jolted through Jim's body, like he'd gripped a live wire without grounding. He quickly finished his bottle of water, hoping to douse the flames.

Jim and Simon made up for their loss when they won the second game by over twenty pins. By the beginning of the third game, they were all relaxed and flinging good-natured cracks at one another. Simon was on his third beer, but with his body stature, he didn't seem to be affected. Daryl was downing Cokes and Blair was sipping flavored water with a nature store's brand. Jim stayed with Evian.

In the middle of the last game, Daryl put down seven pins with his first ball and the pinsetter knocked the last three down. He buzzed for an attendant, who said it would take a few minutes to reset the frame. Simon and Daryl went to use the restroom, leaving Jim and Blair alone for the first time that evening.

"Isn't Daryl a little young for you?" Jim asked, grinning.

"What're you talking about?" Blair asked, confused.

"You said you had a date tonight."

Blair laughed. "A date is just a meeting between two people. Daryl wanted to talk to me about what he should do after graduation."

Jim sobered. "Simon talked to me about that this morning. Did Daryl tell you he wanted to be a cop?"

"Yeah. I take it Simon doesn't like that idea?"

"Got it in one, Sandburg. He wants Daryl to go to college and do something better with his life."

Blair sat down on one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs and Jim joined him, their thighs barely touching. It was the first time in nearly a week that Jim felt relaxed, without the need to be in strict control.

"Simon may not like it, but I told Daryl he should do what feels right for him." Blair smiled conspiratorially. "Of course, I did suggest that if he got a four year degree in Criminal Justice he could go further within the department."

Jim patted Blair's knee. "Good one, Sandburg. What did Daryl think of that idea?"

"He's thinking about it. Those four years will give him more time to consider his options, too."

"That should ease Simon's mind."

Blair nodded and glanced down. Jim followed his gaze and realized he still had his hand on Blair's knee. He quickly removed it.

"So how's work been this week?" Blair asked with forced nonchalance.

"Simon's kept me at my desk." Jim fingered a thread on his sweater. "He doesn't trust me on the street without you as my back-up."

Blair met his gaze steadily. "Smart man. I promise I'll be in every day next week. This week was mid-terms and I was repaying some favors by proctoring exams for friends."

"That's all right." Jim sighed. "It was probably a good idea for us to be apart this week, to give us each some time to think."

Blair laughed without humor. "I've done way too much of that, man." Jim heard him swallow and watched in fascination as his Adam's apple moved up and down his throat--a throat he'd marked many times. "What're you doing after bowling?"

Jim looked down to hide his surprise. "I figured I'd just head home."

"Not hot date?"

Jim glanced up to see a hint of melancholy in his roommate's eyes that was at odds with his teasing tone. "No, no hot date," he replied quietly. "What about you?"

"No hot date," Blair echoed with a half-smile. "If you don't mind, I'd like to go home, too."

"Why would I mind? It's your home, too." Jim's breath caught in his throat. "It is still your home, isn't it?"

Blair clasped Jim's wrist and smiled reassuringly, his blue eyes sincere. "Hell, yes, unless you plan on kicking me out."

"No way in hell, Chief." Jim turned his hand over to clasp Blair's. "No way in hell," he repeated in a husky timbre.

For a few precious moments, words were unnecessary. Jim heard Simon and Daryl returning from the restroom and quickly released Blair. He cleared his throat and stood. "Are you ready to lose to the old men again?" Jim asked Blair and Daryl.

"Uh uh," Daryl grunted, his mouth full. He swallowed the Coke. "We still have some moves we haven't used."

"I can't wait," Jim said, but his gaze was on Blair.

The remaining frames went quickly as the friendly competitive spirit reasserted itself. It came down to the last ball, but this time Jim got his strike and Blair ended up with a sour apple, a 5-7 split.

The friendly teasing continued as they changed into their street shoes.

"We'll have to do this again sometime," Simon said, his arm around his son's shoulders.

"And next time we'll get you and Jim," Daryl said with a twinkle in his dark eyes, which were so much like his father's.

"Dream on, son," Simon said, chuckling. "Do you mind giving me a ride home, Daryl? Jim drove over here."

Daryl glanced at the clock behind the front counter. "Sure, no problem. I'm meeting Susan at nine, after she gets off work, so I've got about half an hour." He looked over at Blair. "Do you need a ride, too?"

Blair shook his head. "I'll just go home with Jim."

Simon's gaze softened as he studied Sandburg. "Second best thing I've heard all week. The first is that Daryl's considering Rainier."

"All right." Jim held his hand out, palm up, and Daryl slapped it. "I went to Rainier myself under a RO--"

"We'll see both you and Sandburg Monday morning, right?" Simon interrupted with a glare at Jim.

"Uh, right, sir."

After a quick round of farewells, Simon and Daryl left.

"What was that about?" Blair asked, shifting his backpack on his shoulder.

"I think Simon didn't want me to give Daryl any other ideas, like joining ROTC."

"Is that what you did?" Blair asked as they hiked across the parking lot to Jim's truck.

Jim unlocked the passenger door for Blair, then went around and got into the drivers seat. "Four years, then I went into the Army. Tried for the Ranger program and was one of the ten percent to actually make it through the training."

Blair snapped his seatbelt on. "Tough?"

"The toughest." Jim glanced at Blair, ensuring he was safely strapped in before pulling out. "I could tell you stories that'd curl your hair."

"It's already curly, Jim."

"Uncurl your hair, then."

Blair laughed. "I'd like to hear them sometime." He flicked on the radio and found a Jags game in the first quarter. "Cool. We can watch the game on TV when we get home."

"Sounds like a plan, Chief."

Jim made it to 852 Prospect in fifteen minutes and they hurried up to the loft and switched on the TV. During the first commercial break, Jim and Blair changed into their ratty sweats and put popcorn in the microwave. By the time the Jags were back on, the two men were seated on the sofa, each with a bottle of beer and a bowl of popcorn.

Sometime during the second half, Blair slid his right leg over Jim's legs, which were stretched out on the coffee table. Jim wasn't sure if Blair even realized what he'd done since it used to be natural for them to sit this way in the evenings while they watched TV or read. He knew he should probably say something, but the weight and warmth felt too comfortable. Minutes later, Jim caught himself rubbing Blair's thigh gently. Another simple pleasure he'd taken for granted. He jerked his hand away as if burned.

"Leave it there," Blair said softly.

Jim licked his dry lips. He shouldn't, but the temptation was overwhelming and, with a trembling hand, he continued massaging Blair's leg. Jim and Blair were hardly aware of the Jags winning the game fifteen minutes later. Blair's pheromones intoxicated Jim, making him hard and eager for the body he knew almost as well as he knew his own. His heart tripped along in his chest and he leaned closer to Blair, ravenous for the taste of his guide. Slowly, Jim pressed his lips against Blair's and his unique flavor nearly sent Jim into a zone. He eased back his sense of taste and touch, but reveled in the musky scent of his best friend.

Suddenly, Blair pressed him away and sat up, panting. His eyes were almost wild as he jumped to his feet. "Dammit, Jim, don't you fucking do this to me again."

Jim blinked away the hazy sensuousness that clung to his senses. "Do what again?"

"This!" He pointed first at Jim, then himself. "You were the one who said he just wanted to go back to being friends."

Anger replaced the remaining cobwebs in Jim's head. "You were the one who wanted me to touch you."

"I didn't want you to kiss me!"

"Bullshit! I'm a sentinel. I could smell it."

Blair closed his eyes and held his fists rigidly at his sides. He stood there, probably counting his breaths as he cleared his aura, whatever the hell that meant. When he reopened his eyes, there was only resignation in them. "I'm turned on by you and just because you said we have to go back to being just friends doesn't mean my body's going to stop reacting to you. I can't turn my sexual awareness off and on like a kitchen faucet." His gaze flickered down to Jim's groin where his erection was outlined against the worn sweatpants. "And neither can you."

Jim opened his mouth, but abruptly closed it. He owed Blair the same level of honesty, especially since his own body had already betrayed him. "I've tried, but I can't."

Blair took a step toward him, then stopped, as if realizing maybe it wasn't a good idea to get too close again. "I still disagree with you. We're good together as friends, but we're even better together when we're lovers. What happened last Saturday wasn't your fault. If you want to blame somebody, blame the thieves. If they hadn't decided to rob the bank, Pep wouldn't have been shot."

Pep and Jenna had told Jim basically the same thing a number of times over the past six days. They'd also made their fondness for Blair perfectly clear.

Jim crossed to the balcony windows to stare out into the night. "I know that, but I still don't know about 'us.' I mean, I want an 'us,' but I'm not sure what kind of 'us' we should be. 'Us' as friends used to work just fine."

He heard Blair's stocking feet pad across the floor, then he felt Blair's warm breath across his arm. "That was before 'us' became lovers. It opened a whole new dimension. We used to talk about how there seemed to be a connection that came with our physical intimacy. Where's that connection now?"

Jim snorted. "What connection?"

"Exactly my point." Blair took a deep breath. "I won't try to seduce you, Jim, even though that's number one on my list right now." He smiled gently. "You're going to have to decide. But I have to tell you, it's going to get tougher before it gets better if we continue the way we have this past week."

Jim leaned his forehead against the cool glass. "I just don't know, Blair."

Strong arms circled Jim's waist from behind and Blair laid his head between Jim's shoulder blades. He could feel Blair's groin pressed against his hips and he bit his lower lip to stop his body's inevitable reaction. "Whatever you decide, I won't leave you, Jim. You're my sentinel; I'm your guide. We're a matched set."

"You make us sound like a pair of salt and pepper shakers," Jim said, his voice husky.

Blair's gentle laugh caressed him. "More like an old pair of shoes."

Jim's hands settled over Blair's at his waist. "I didn't like not seeing you this week," he confessed. "Are you going to avoid me while I'm trying to decide?"

He felt a shudder pass through his best friend. "I missed you, too. No, I won't try to avoid you like I did this week. I may have to keep my distance, but I won't be out of your space."

Jim couldn't help but smile. "Thank you."

He felt Blair's lips brand his back with a kiss.

"You're welcome." Blair released him and stepped away. "What're you doing tomorrow night?"

Jim blinked and turned to face Blair. "Not much. How about you?"

"I'm going to this French flick with a couple of friends."

Jim recalled the conversation he'd overheard when he'd gone to Rainer after leaving Pep and Jenna. "Do I know them?"

"Diane Towner and her husband Rick."

Relief made Jim giddy. He'd obviously heard only part of the conversation. "She's a grad student, right?"

Blair smiled. "In chemistry. I don't think you've met her husband. Anyway, I know French films aren't your thing, but I thought maybe..."

"It'll have subtitles, right?"

"If they don't, we'll both have to leave."

"Can we get ice cream afterwards?"

Blair laughed. "Sure, why not?"

Jim's throat felt tight, but he managed to say, "Okay. I'd like that."

"Good. It's a date."

"A date," Jim echoed.

They stood motionless for a few moments, gazing at one another. Blair broke away first. "Good-night, Jim."

"Good-night, Chief."

Jim watched him disappear into his room. Disappointment and hope vied within him. Could they go back to being lovers without it affecting his work? Or was it only a fragile wish? He couldn't dispute what Blair had said about their connection while they'd been lovers--his senses had been keener and his empathy clearer.

Blair's light went out in his room and Jim walked into the kitchen. He lifted a napkin out of the holder and glanced around for a pen. Remembering he'd put the one Blair had given him into his jacket pocket, he dug it out and returned to the kitchen. He wrote on the napkin:

Cancel dinner with Chris.

Jim climbed the stairs to his bedroom, the pen clutched in his hand. He reluctantly set it on his nightstand and stripped down to his boxer briefs then slid into bed. Although the night was dark, Jim could plainly see the pen lying there and he couldn't help but laugh softly to himself.

The pen had made it to his bedroom after all.

End One in the Dark by Romslinger: romslinger@yahoo.com

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