Pet Fly? Paramount? Well, we'll just let them go on thinking that they own them, right? <g>

Thank you all for the encouraging feedback. I do answer all of my mail, I promise, but several of my attempts to reply have bounced right back to me for some inexplicable reason. So if you haven't had an answer and are thinking badly of me please, please know that I definitely tried. This was written for my dear friend, Sharilyn - a birthday story for my VERY favorite Texan! Sorry I didn't wrap 'em-just couldn't catch em!

Extra warning: Here there be angst--and more angst-- and, well-- angst, but it is tempered with love.

"...'m so sorry, Jim.." Blair murmured, apologetically. "Hope you won't need to do this for very much longer."

'No,' Jim thought grimly. 'Not much longer at all.'

Just another two weeks, just fourteen more days that had been cruelly subtracted from his young partner's life.

He heard the rustle of silk against silk as Blair shifted fretfully on the double stacked pillows. "Y'know, I'd do it myself, man.." he began to explain, but trailed off into silence with a rueful half smile.

Jim had to believe that the events of the week and all the hours without sleep had merely taken their toll. That Blair had exceeded his own limitations and had succumbed to exhaustion - that that was all it really was. And he had to believe it, because even now, with Blair here right beside him and his senses wide open, Blair's words were so faint that he was halfway convinced that the sound had been relayed from some distant realm.

As if Blair had been..

..lost..

Jesus, Ellison.

"Shh,. Quiet now." Leaning in close he steadied the deceptively narrow shoulders, noting with an inchoate jolt of anxiety the thin rivulet of perspiration that trickled down from his partner's jaw line to pool in the hollow at the base of his throat. He tried to ignore it.

Tried.

"You still with me here, buddy?"

"Uh, yeah, Jim. Ready." Blair nodded infinitesimally, gritting his teeth.

Unconsciously, Jim did the same. "Okay then, easy now.. and..

..roll.."

He had known right from the outset that it wouldn't be enough. And it wasn't. Not nearly enough. For although he turned Blair onto his side with as much care and consideration as he possibly could, he still caught the harsh intake of breath, the desperately quelled beginnings of a moan.

Damn.

"This won't take long, Chief," he reassured his friend quietly as his fingers crept down through Blair's bright tangled curls. He began to massage gently at the nape of Blair's neck, and when he felt the muscles begin to relax beneath the surface, when he picked up Blair's almost imperceptible sigh of relief, he reached out for the new roll of gauze and the jar of herbal liniment. "You'll see. You'll be back on your feet in no time."

"Yeah, sure," complained Blair indistinctly. "Like, two whole more weeks man. And by then I will be out of my mind."

He dredged up a smile from somewhere. Forced himself to inject it into his voice. "Too late for that, Sandburg." It was an impossibly lame response, but it kept him from thinking, at least for a little while longer.

With exquisite care he made a thorough reconnoiter of the bright puckered edges of the angry red wound, which, according to the surgeon, was 'progressing quite nicely' and beginning to heal. But to him that was no consolation at all. To him, its very existence was an abomination. Another foul blot on a near perfect landscape, an unblemished canvas, pristine and unsullied, until five years before when the artist had made the mistake of entrusting it to him.

Some Blessed Protector.

He felt his lip curl in derision.

He could hardly bear to see it again, already fraught with the knowledge that it would be glimpsed - whether by accident or design - on each coming night and on every new morning, after they'd showered and whenever they swam. Or, perhaps worst of all, on those long summer evenings when they often sat shirtless outside on the balcony, watching the stars.

Another damned scar. As if there weren't enough of them already.

For a moment he wondered just how many more it would take before Jim Ellison lost it completely. Before he physically locked Blair away in some last ditch attempt to keep him safe.

Whole.

Alive.

Of course, Blair would never allow it.

Not Blair Sandburg.

Not his stimulating, enervating, loyal, irrepressible Guide.

"You okay, man?" Blair sounded uneasy, acutely aware of the absence of movement. Inching cautiously sideways he angled his head and turned his face towards Jim's. Blair's face was so swollen and mottled with bruising that his traitorous eyelids refused to obey him, and though he hissed with the effort he struggled ineffectually to open his eyes.

"Jim?"

Jim would never be sure of what had made him look down but his heart skipped a beat when he noticed his fingers. They had come to a standstill and were stalled in mid-air, as if arrested in flight, directly above the new abhorrence. It took a sheer act of will to recover his hand.

God, he was losing it..

He tried to summon a smile.

"Sorry, Chief, I was.. thinking." He patted Blair on the shoulder, and knew right at that instant how badly he'd blown it. His touch had been careless, his words too cliched and as for that pitiful sham of a smile.. Well, Blair's eyes were closed and so maybe, just maybe, there might be a chance that his friend hadn't noticed..

Oh that was a riot. Hadn't noticed it?

Blair?

Denouncing himself for the definite half-wit that proved him to be, he picked up the jar and turned back to his labors. First he cleaned the incision and cut a new length of gauze; then scooped out a measure of the precious green ointment, warming it carefully between fingers and thumb before touching Blair's skin. Although Blair could not see him Jim caught himself wrinkling his nose all the same. It was traditional now. A deliberate horseplay. A thing of far greater value than Jim's first reflexive olfactory response. Much more than that had ever been.

Because the sight gag itself was a guaranteed winner, one certain to break up his friend every time.

Jim remembered that laughter, Blair's unrestrained laughter and he wanted to smile - hell, he needed to smile. And a part of him tried even then, though he knew it was pointless.

Because this time his friend wasn't laughing. And if Blair wasn't laughing then neither could Jim.

Instead, to his horror, he suddenly found himself verging on tears. It took a concentrated effort to control the sensation but when the burning subsided and his vision had cleared, he scooted in a little closer and smoothed the bulk of the ointment over the ragged parameters of the wound. He made a scrupulous point of avoiding those others, those older yet no less conspicuous wounds. As if they too were fresh, as if he might cause Blair harm should he inadvertently touch them.

Those were old scars of course, but he knew every one. For each had a name and a date and a birthplace uniquely its own. He'd seen all of those places, memorized every date, recognized all of those names.

For they were intimates now.

And he hated them all, his gut reminded him coldly. The treacherous Morrisen, that psychopath, Carter ... and, now, Victor Chien.

The late Victor Chien.

His whole body stiffened. Just the thought of that name brought the bile to his throat and he fought to contain the resurgence of hatred.

And guilt.

And despair.

"That's dangerous, Jim," Blair cautioned him gently, and stirring unsteadily, lifted his head. It was a short restive movement, completely at odds with his soft intonation.

And at the moment he spoke Jim could feel it, feel the pain at the base of Blair's spine coiled and ready to strike. He heard the effort it cost Blair to speak, yet Blair brushed it aside and denied it existence - as though it were ether, or cloud, or vacuity - nothing at all.

"Hey.."

With a speed that surprised even him Blair snaked out a hand and latched onto his target. Without hesitation his fingers reached out and closed firmly on Jim's.

Giving light, bringing hope, giving warmth, offering him reassurance.

Comforting him.

Blair gave a half-hearted chuckle. "Thinking, I mean. It's not good for you, man."

And Jim was forced to agree.

Because that train of thought could lead only one way and that was straight into madness.

'It's okay Blair,' he wanted to tell him. 'Hell, Sandburg, it's nothing, just go back to sleep.' Yet when he drew breath to express that in words, he found he'd been robbed of the power of speech. The words wouldn't come. They just wouldn't come. As though a tiny black hole had appeared in his airway and had sucked them back in.

And then he understood why. He was on dangerous ground. This was no time for platitudes, no time for falsehoods. Not even those forged with the best of intentions. One little white lie could set a precedent here.

And Jim knew that if he uttered those words he would be lying to Blair.

So he chose not to speak.

Instead he sat for a while and held onto Blair's hand. Let his feelings for Blair flow unhindered in silence. And because they were candid and trusting and real, and because this was Blair, he relaxed by degrees. There was no great epiphany here, no new knowledge to glean, nothing new to discover. This place was warm and familiar. For there had not been a time since that very first day when the touch of Blair's hand had not given him solace.

He closed his eyes and he sighed.

"Oh, Jesus," his friend whispered sadly. "What's going on in that head of yours, Jim?"

Blair Sandburg was strong for a man of his size and merely tightening his grasp should have cost him no effort, but the added exertion depleted his rapidly waning reserves and he slackened his hold as the long moments passed. But Blair's soft spoken plea remained clearly defined and it hung there distinct, undiminished between them, and Blair would not release him, refused to release him, until Jim bowed his head in helpless, wordless acquiescence and Blair was convinced that the last of the tension had filtered away.

And it did.

For a while.

When after a time the stubborn fingers uncurled and Blair lapsed into sleep, Jim straightened up slowly. Tired almost beyond measure himself he finished up with the scissors and gauze. It took a few minutes more to make a place for the jar, a goal he only achieved by re-arranging the clutter on Blair's bedside table, but the moment that task was completed his gaze was inevitably drawn back to Blair.

As he had known it would be.

Past or present he knew that those scars would continue to haunt him and yet he could not break free. And despite his intentions, despite his misgivings, before he could summon the will to restrain them, his fingers embarked on a feather light journey to trace at each one of them, time and again.

The room was now bathed in a soft, burnished glow as the sun's fading orb dipped beneath the horizon. The slightest of breezes crept in through the half open window and Jim inhaled deeply. He rolled his head back, enjoying the cool waft of air as it teased at his hair and his sensitized skin. Far off in the distance he heard the call of a night bird and its desolate cry evoked an odd sense of yearning. He idly wondered what bird it might be..

Perhaps Sandburg might..

Touch...

There was a hand at his cheek, now his jaw, moving down.. Sketching cool tingling trails from his throat to his shoulder. And someone was speaking. Instinctively drawn, he reached out for the sound.

Attuning himself to that soft spoken voice he drifted along on the slow moving swell, cocooned in a wonderfully warm and benevolent aural embrace

"Jim, I need you to listen; it's time to come back now. I promise you man; everything is okay." Then the hand slipped away, though he still felt the pressure of warm, phantom fingers until it returned. But this time he detected dismay as they kneaded and stroked the whole length of his arm..

"Aw, come on big guy, you're scaring me, here!"

Then full awareness slammed in.

Christ! How long have I..

He blinked in confusion and found to his horror that he'd not only slumped forward but was leaning on Blair. That the flat of his hand, with its fingers splayed out to their fullest extent, now covered the site of the newly dressed wound.

He snatched his fingers back sharply.

" Oh God, Chief, I'm sorry. Are you.. did I hurt you? I must have been.."

"Thinking, man?" Blair finished for him. His undamaged cheek hugged the edge of the pillow and he was facing Jim squarely now, semi-reclined. He still clutched Jim's forearm in something near to a death grip and God only knew what that change in position had actually cost him, but a cursory scan said his heartbeat was steady and a deeper one told him his vitals were fine. Blair's eyes, though, were exceedingly troubled and although he had not yet attempted to rise, the bright telltale glint in their clouded blue depths indicated the intention.

Oh, Chief..

As Jim struggled for something to say, Blair's gaze locked with his, and moved inexorably downwards, drawing Jim along with him down the serpentine pathway of old silvered scars. Jim made an attempt to pull back but Blair just shook his head, a smile tugging gently at the corners of his mouth.

"Kinda cool, aren't they, Jim?"

Cool? Jim flinched, deeply shaken. He's calling them 'cool'?

"I.. don't understand, Chief."

"Oh, Jim," Blair's voice was patient and kind. "It's just a matter of perspective man."

"Perspective?" Jim echoed, bewildered. He tried to tear his eyes free, but he just couldn't do it. For as it had been from that very first day, Blair held him suspended, completely in thrall.

"Yeah, perspective," Blair said. "Take that big one." He nodded almost imperceptibly, directing his partner to look, really look, at the first of those scars. At the jagged white ridge that spanned the length of Blair's shoulder. At the thing that had so nearly cost him his arm.

Jim didn't want to look. He never wanted to see it again. Never wanted to see any of them again. But if that was what Blair wanted.. He risked a quick fleeting glance. But even that was too much, and his gaze skittered nervously sideways on impact. The sight was just too damned painful. Just too fucking painful. And now as he had feared, it was much, much too late.

Now the memories scorched him like wildfire and the images crowded in.

All of them nightmares.

Some of them..

Ghosts...

He ducked his head to one side. "What about it?" he rasped.

"That Carter freak, Jim. Man, that guy was some weirdo. "

"Blair, please, I.." Where are you going with this Sandburg? What the hell are you trying to...

"Shh, Jim. Not that part of it." Blair waved the rest of the image away as if he not only knew exactly what it was that Jim was seeing, but had already decided that it was of no significance at all.

Of course he knows, Ellison. This is Sandburg, remember?

"I meant afterwards, man. Don't you remember? In the ambulance? "

Yeah, I remember the ambulance. Of course I remember the fucking ambulance. They were trying to set up the damned IV, and you were sliding into shock, and sobbing with the pain, and trying so desperately to deny that it was anything serious at all. Considering me, considering my feelings, when it was you who had taken the whole fucking length of that serrated blade. As if I could ever forget.

Jim threw up his head and tried to focus on Blair, but it was no use at all for his senses were reeling. His partner was nothing more than a blur and he couldn't connect; there was no solid ground. It was as if the whole outrage had only just happened. As if the Blair that lay safe at his side, on his own bed beside him, was not really here. As though the real Blair - his Blair- was still writhing in his arms, still fighting for his life on that blood spattered sidewalk. And as hard as he fought to contain it he could not quite conceal the extent of his pain.

"Chief.." He hauled in a shuddering breath. "Just what are you saying?" That I didn't make it in time? I know that. I will always remember that. God, if I could have changed places..

"Jim, hey.." Blair fumbled further along the muscular forearm, fastening fingers and thumb about the trembling wrist. "You have got to stop doing that, man." His voice was pitched low and infinitely deep with understanding, and when Jim found the strength to look up he found to his shock that his roommate was smiling.

"That was so long ago, man - geez, years ago, now - but the whole thing's still here for me too, Jim." He tapped himself on the temple. "Jim, it's as clear in my mind as.." Blair's features went suddenly blank as he cast for around for an appropriate analogy. "..well, as clear as what I had for breakfast this morning - only that was way more exciting than breakfast, of course." His other hand instantly fluttered to life. "I mean, as if two stuffed bagels and a glass of OJ could ever compare to..."

"Sandburg.." he growled warningly, in spite of himself. Although a return to normality was definitely a temptation, a dissertation on breakfast at this point in time was the last thing he wanted to..

Blair halted mid-sentence and favored his companion with a penitent smile. "Oh, yeah, I'm sorry Jim. Really. The point I'm trying to make is that that was the day that you worked out my vitals before the EMT had even gotten started!" He grinned at the memory. "The poor guy almost had a cow when he checked and found that the figure you'd told him was *exact. * That was excellent, Jim. Way cool! And to think that I..."

What the hell?

"..I was so proud of you, that day, man! Aw, Jim, just think of what else you could do if.."

Jim's eyes shot wide with patent disbelief. "What is wrong with you, Sandburg? That guy almost turned you into sushi and all you can think of is.." He couldn't even finish the sentence. What the hell was Blair..

The light that now blazed from those eyes had little to do with Blair's earlier fever. The meds had kicked in and that seemed to have passed.. No, this was Blair Sandburg at his spirited best; this was Blair on a roll.

"And, this one?" Blair couldn't quite reach, but an eloquent shrug indicated the second. A pale loathsome scrawl, an inelegant "v", that had spread-eagled itself right above Blair's left kidney.

"Remember Morrisen, Jim?"

Blair closed his eyes and his expression became almost dreamlike. Goddamn it to hell, he sounded almost reverent about the thing.

"Now, he was a real piece of work, Jim. A major league star."

Apprehension twisted the Sentinel's rapidly blanching features. "Sandburg.. Blair.."

Blair waved him to silence. "Shh, man. I'm not finished. That Morrisen guy - he was crazy. Oh, and before you make a play and interrupt, I totally had to talk him down that time. Because there wasn't a choice."

"There's always a choice, Sandburg," Jim said, cutting him off in the midst of another well worn justification. "If you'd just stayed behind me like I.."

"Jim, that was so not gonna happen! He was pointing a gun at you, man! He was gonna shoot you while you were trying to pinpoint that.."

Jim was absolutely certain that if Blair could have risen he would have been pacing the length and the breadth of the loft at this point. But Blair should be sleeping. At the very least he was supposed to be resting. This was not the kind of thing that he should be.. they should be...

"Blair," he exhorteod, more reasonably. "Don't you think you should be.."

"No, I don't, Jim. I don't," Blair interposed. "And Jim, you know that I'm right, so do not try and change the subject on me here."

This too was a well travelled road and Jim wondered tiredly why he was even responding. Why he bothered to speak when he knew that in this - that on this issue at least - he could never prevail. And yet some perverse little demon insisted on goading him on, and it refused to be silenced.

"Blair, it's just like I told you before.. And the time before that, and the time be.. I wasn't trying to pinpoint anything, It was under control, Hell, I was concentrating, Sandburg.."

"Of course you were, Jim," Blair interjected, good-naturedly. "That was never an issue. I know that, okay? But, Jim --" And now his fingers beat an impromptu little tattoo on the wrist that he still held imprisoned. "-- he had that second gun and you sensed it, remember?"

Now Blair was smiling again and his eyes shone with pride. "He'd used a new grade of oil on his backup and you sniffed it out Jim! And, man, you know that you needed more time to work on that little number. So I just created a little diversion.."

A little..

Up until now Jim had kept his composure. He'd tried to be patient, he'd striven for calm. He'd done his best to try and understand where Sandburg was going with this, well, whatever this was. But this was going too far.

Because he remembered that 'little diversion'. In fact he remembered it too fucking well..

And now all bets were off.

"Jesus Christ! He fucking shot you in the back!" The words disgorged from his throat like a river of bile. "You almost died, that time, Sandburg! Don't you understand anything? Don't you know how crazy it makes me when you..."

He stopped dead in his tracks. Ah, Chief.. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose. This thing is getting so old.

Blair shook his head sadly. "Nah, you've got it all wrong, man. I just did my part. It's the partnership, Jim. This partnership, man." He resumed the tattoo. "Me and you; you and me. That's, like, kismet, you know? Oh geez, can't you see? Can't you see that is why we keep on beating the odds?"

Jim couldn't see 'anything'. He only knew that he had to escape this. He jerked his head down and somehow tore his gaze free - only to find himself chillingly up close and personal with this latest example of them 'beating the..'

And they were doing that, weren't they? They were pounding those odds. Hell, they were doing so well, doing so fucking well that...

His eyes became steel and he spun back on Blair.

"..And, Jim..?"

With a swift, upraised hand Jim forestalled him. With an accusatory finger he indicated the wound.

Blair stilled, his eyes widening.

"And this one?" Jim challenged, with a quick stabbing motion, impaling his partner with a hard searching stare. "Don't tell me that you've already managed to find something positive about this one?"

Sandburg visibly paled, but it was just for an instant. "Right. Our friend, Mister Chien," he said, a little subdued. He fiddled briefly with an earring and worried agitatedly at a knot in his hair. The performance itself had barely lasted ten seconds before, to Jim's disbelief, Blair's pale features transformed. And then his whole demeanor altered. His face lit up like a Christmas tree and he actually giggled.

"He thought I was from Vice, Jim! Man, that was so cool! He was convinced that I was 'that little bastard from the Eastern division.'"

"You didn't deny it either," Jim muttered angrily, remembering.

Blair didn't even have the grace to look guilty. "Delaying tactics, big guy." He beamed happily across at his roommate. "Because if you remember, we had no room to manoeuvre. And his thinking that gave you the time to work out exactly where he'd stashed the explosives." Blair punched at the air with a small crow of triumph. "You were amazing then, Jim! You've got to admit that was some sensory achievement! Sight, piggy-backed on touch and on smell and on hearing! And, geez, it worked like a dream!"

But Jim was no longer listening.

No matter what Blair was thinking, no matter what he might say, what justifications he might still contrive, only one thing was clear in Jim's mind: it had been too damned close.

This time it had been too fucking close.

Blair didn't seem to notice Jim's smoldering silence. Didn't even seem to feel what was happening here. He was so damned enthused, so caught up in his fervor that he could not even see.. And God help them both, he was still on that roll, on that same fucking roll.

"...great, Jim? Our arrest rate is soaring and our solve rate is awesome; you haven't zoned in six months - um, well, except for today. And, as for today? Well, all things considered I think there were probably extenuating circumstances..."

"..Anyway, it's like nothing can stop us! It's like. destiny, man!."

And now Sandburg was grinning, he was grinning now, damn him!.. No, Sandburg, it's you, it's you that's got it all...

"That's not funny, Sandburg." And now Jim could feel it, feel all of the blood leaching out of his limbs. "It's just a bunch of coincidences. Not Fate and not Destiny. It's just blind fucking chance." He took a deep breath.

"Y'know, I'm surprised at you, Darwin. You're supposed to be a scientist, for godssakes. Listen to you! Treating what we are, what we do as if it's.."

"Yeah, right, Jim," Blair snorted, now bristling. "A bunch of coincidences about as long as my arm."

Desperate to end this, turn both of them back from the dangerous path that they seemed to be treading, Jim conjured an expression of polite disbelief. He treated Blair's outstretched limb to a contemplative stare. "That's a pretty short arm, Chief. In fact I'd venture to say, that in the history of arms this arm does not meet...."

Damn.

Well, that went down like the Titanic. Now Blair was clearly annoyed. The blue eyes flashed fire and his fingers twitched sharply.

"And now who's obfuscating, Ellison? What's so hard to believe?" Squaring his jaw Blair pressed mulishly onwards. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I seem to remember some dumb-assed detective telling me fairy tales about a panther in his.."

"Sandburg.."

Blair cocked his head to one side. "Yeah, right, Jim. Exactly my point. Now, if you really don't mind I'd like to get back our dear Victor Chien."

"Chief, let it go, I get the picture."

"No you don't, man." Blair shook his head emphatically. "And that is the whole point.. We need to talk about this. This is not just important to me, man, it's important to.."

Us?

Jim felt his whole body stiffening. Like he was turning to stone. The tension progressed from his jaw to his neck, coursed right down through his arms until it pooled in his fingers. He had to force himself to speak.

"Jesus, Blair, that's enough! You talk about these things as if they're some kind of.."

Blair shifted uncomfortably beneath the frozen blue gaze, but he refused to back down.

"Yeah?" he urged defiantly, waiting.

Jim floundered. "Some kind of..."

"Celebration, man." Blair finished, softly.

"Blair!" Shocked into silence Jim wrenched back his hand. And for a very long moment he sat there hunched over, eyes fixed on the floor, both hands fisted together.

"That's morbid, even for you, Chief," he whispered finally.

"Jim, please.." Blair reached for Jim's hands and prised them slowly apart. Then he sandwiched them carefully, almost protectively between both of his own. "Hey, I know where you're coming from - believe me, I do." Squeezing once reassuringly he glanced up at his friend.. "According to you, big guy, we've just been pretty lucky. But you wanna know what I think? I think there's more to it than that. I really do, Jim.."

Blair stilled then, stopped speaking, but his lips were still moving. 'Rehearsing something,' thought Jim. Rolling something around on the tip of his tongue. As though the wording was crucial, as if he had just one shot. As if letting those words out one moment too soon just might taint their whole meaning.

Or spoil some surprise.

Please God, no more surprises.

Jim didn't want to know what Blair was thinking, didn't want to hear what Blair was going to say. At this point the only damned thing Jim wanted to do was..

"Jim, have you ever examined, I mean really examined, just how often we've been beating those odds?"

Oh, Jesus, too late.

"Just what is that supposed to mean?" He faltered as something a cold massive something, mushroomed deeply inside him. "You're losing me, Sandburg, I.." he tried once again, wincing visibly now as it burst into flame.

Pain blossomed at the base of his skull. And the sense of foreboding almost swallowed him whole.

Oh, Dear God in heaven, he thinks we're immortal. He thinks I'm.. And God only knows what he's likely to do if..

Now.

It had to be now.

Jim tightened his jaw. This wasn't part of the plan. He hadn't intended to do this thing now. Certainly not here, and certainly not today - not with Blair so unguarded, and open and.. damn! But what Blair had just told him, or rather, not told him, had brought this thing to a head, he realized grimly. And it was Sandburg himself who had inadvertently provided what might be the only real opening that he'd ever have.

Disentangling his fingers, he reversed their positions until he was covering Blair's hands with his own. Grasping both of them fiercely, as much for himself as to hold Blair's attention, he took a deep calming breath..

"Chief, I've made a decision."

"You've.." Blair's gaze flitted upwards, his brows drawn together in the hint of a frown. He tried flexing his fingers, but to all intents and purposes they might as well have been bound. "You've made a decision?" he said, very slowly.. "What kind of decision? Just what are you trying to tell me here, Jim?"

Jim fixed his gaze on the opposite wall and drew a short rasping breath. This wasn't going to be easy. Although he'd played this scene out in his head so many times now that it should have been. Should have been. That was a laugh.

But here? Now? Today?

"Just hear me out, Sandburg."

"This has happened three times now.." He locked eyes with his friend. And this time he deliberately redirected his gaze to touch at each of those scars. "..and three is my limit."

He'd forgotten the speech. He'd forgotten it all.. Well, so much for the plan. Wing it, tough guy; jump in.

"So game's over, Chief."

So much for tact and explanations.

What game! What the hell did Jim mean? Heart lodged tight in his throat, Blair groped blindly for reason. Past the cold nameless dread in his gut, beyond the frisson of fear that was already morphing itself into panic.

"What the hell are you saying?"

He tried to say more, but could not shape one word, let alone a full sentence. Because he'd seen Jim's expression and he realized dully that whatever he said would just fall on deaf ears. Because he knew that expression, saw the slight telltale twitch of the muscle at the side of Jim jaw. And now the blue eyes grew wary..

"What game, man?" he choked..

"Exactly what you heard, Chief," Jim wearily sighed. "Like I said, this game's over. Three strikes and you're out."

'I'm out..?' Blair mouthed back the words, unable to believe that he had actually heard them. That this was happening now, that this was happening at all was simply beyond his failing powers of comprehension. A dull angry flush sprang to life at his throat, spreading rapidly upwards until the color flared violently in his cheeks.

"What gives you the right!" His voice went down a full octave. He tried to yank his hands clear but Jim's grip was like iron. "What gives you the right to make that kind of decision for me, man?"

And now the rest tumbled out like a rockslide. "You can't do that to me! Jim, Jesus, you can't! I am so not leaving the department. You need me there with you. You know you do, Jim!"

Oh, way to go, Ellison. His blood pressure's rising, his heart rate's increasing. Just look at him, now. Christ, you knew what would happen and now it's official.

But the die had been cast and there was no turning back.

"And I need you. Alive. As in "functional", Sandburg. And, believe it or not, I've been thinking about this for a while. So before you decide to make like Mount St. Helen's, I want you to listen to what I have to say.."

"Jim! You can't!"

Blair's skin was now the color of parchment, his head twisting blindly, eyes dark with distress. Jim knew that Blair was near tears, caught up in the thrall of a terrible anguish - an anguish he'd caused. It took everything he had not to reach out and touch him, not to reach out and touch him and finish this now. It took a pure act of will but he conquered the urge, because he knew in his heart that there was no other choice. If he let this go now, caved for even a moment, then all might be lost.

And there was so much to lose.

"Just chill, will you Sandburg? You don't need to do this.. well, at least not right now." He firmed his grasp on Blair's hands. "Right now I need you to listen. Are you with me here, Chief? Will you give me a chance?"

Blair nodded at him dumbly. It was all he could do.

And besides, Blair thought shakily, grasping at straws, Jim couldn't possibly mean what Blair had thought he was saying. No, not Jim, he just wouldn't. He must have misunderstood. Hell, Jim would never do something like this. It was the only clear answer, the only sane answer.

So he held onto that thought like a charm. He'd just misunderstood.

"Good." Jim told him softly. "Now, listen, okay? We've been together five years, and with this Sentinel thing you've missed a lot of opportunities." He let out a sigh.

"And don't you think I haven't noticed. All of those cultures you still want to study, that mountain of research you've got stashed away. All of that stuff you've shoved on the back burner for all of these years.."

Because of this.

Because of me.

And now Blair found his voice. "But, that was my choice." God, this was not what he wanted to hear. So to hell with his promise. "Jim, that was always my choice. I don't regret it for an instant. You do know that, Jim don't you?."

Jim couldn't answer him then, although a part of him tried. His eyes were already stinging from the tide of emotion that was dammed up behind them.

"Jim?" Blair clutched at Jim's fingers, his eyes a little wild. "Jim?"

"Yeah, I know it," Jim eventually rasped, leaning in a little closer, holding tight to Blair's hand. Jim's grip was so strong that the pressure was painful and Blair tried hard not to wince.

"Good ol' 'give till it hurts' Sandburg.." he grated abruptly, staring deeply, intently into Blair's startled eyes. "..and whenever it hurts and when it asks for too much, you just pick yourself up and then you give a little more."

"Well that finishes here." Now his expression was granite. "It finishes here and it finishes now. I won't have you exposed to any more of this, Sandburg.."

Not for this.

Not for me.

"Jim, pl.."

"Just what part of "finish" don't you understand, Sandburg?" Oh, Christ. Jim exhaled on a long tired breath. "This stuff is.. hard.. for me, okay? So, c'mon, Chief, please listen, I've thought this all through. I've even done a little digging - remember old Professor Stoddard? Well, I ran into him a few weeks ago now, when I was out at the 'U'."

Blair's head snapped up so fast that he felt all of his vertebrae grinding furiously together in the race for re-alignment. "You ran into Eli Stoddard?" His voice was hoarse with disbelief. "Oh, geez, Jim, let me see.."

Blair's mouth tightened as he briefly considered. "Okay; got it," he decided, without pausing for breath. "So-o, you had nothing to do and you were, you know, just cruising the neighborhood.. and then you thought: 'hey, I'll just drop in on my old buddy, Eli!" And now his eyes were glittering dangerously. "Oh no, man, I don't think so.."

"Blair.."

Jim sounded exhausted.

"Jim tell me you didn't!" Blair's voice cracked mid-sentence. And Jim could taste the betrayal, could smell Sandburg's fear. "Jesus, Jim. tell me that you did not deliberately go behind my back and..."

He couldn't take any more.

"Shut up, Sandburg!" he bellowed. "Will you just let me finish? Cut me a little fucking slack? I'm trying to tell you something here!"

Momentarily stunned by the violence of the outburst, Blair just gaped at him blankly.

Jim seized the advantage.

"Professor Stoddard," he said. "Well, he's slowing down some. The arthritis, of course. And that ticker of his.. Well the guy is getting older, a little tired, y'know. But at the end of semester, well, really this Fall, he's heading up an expedition into Borneo. Says it might be his last.."

"..Anyway, we talked. About a whole lot of stuff.." Jim's mouth curved in a little half smile as he remembered. "..and he asked if we'd.."

"Oh no, man!" Blair groaned. And now his shoulders were heaving, his body literally trembling beneath the terrible weight of his increasing distress. He futilely clawed at the edge of the comforter, bunching it together and releasing it again. "Oh, no, Jim," he gasped. "No, way, man. I'm *staying!" *

And Jim heard Blair's heart racing, in pure desperation.

"You're not gonna pull that one.. You need me here Jim! - you know that; you know that!. And, I.. well.." He faltered.

Somehow Jim resisted the urge to just reach out and shake him. "You're not listening to me Sandburg; I'm pretty sure I said 'we'."

We?

With an audible gasp, Blair sank back to his pillows. Throat working spasmodically, he stared open-mouthed. His eyes were flooding with questions. "But police work's your life, man. You're a Sentinel, Jim, " he finally burst out.

"Jim, you can't walk away - you can't just throw it all in like.."

"..You did?" Jim returned softly.

Blair ground to a halt.

Oh Jesus, where to begin..

"Five years, Blair. Five years. And during all of that time I've never told you how much.. I've never really even said.." Jim stumbled awkwardly now, casting helplessly around for the appropriate words. There was so much that he needed to say, but the mechanics escaped him and he didn't know how.

So he resorted to something he knew, to one thing he could trust. He resorted to touch.

He lifted one of Blair's hands and brought it up to his cheek, leaning into it closely, eyes focused on Sandburg. He held it briefly there, mutely, never shifting his gaze, and then he set it back down again, laced with his own.

Blair stared down at their hands.

"Oh, Jim, that's a given." he babbled ineptly, distressed by the pain in those stricken blue eyes. And he found himself stricken in turn, awash in Jim's anguish, impaled by Jim's fear. Blair had not believed, had not even imagined that this was the way things might still be with Jim. He'd thought all of those demons long gone, had assumed them long gone, and now he was afraid.

"Jim listen," he pleaded. "You've just gotta believe me. It's been so easy, man. Just as easy as breathing - all of it, Jim.." His hand tugged at Jim's in a bid to convince him, his eyebrows fleetingly rising as Jim turned away.

And it was then that Blair knew there was more to this, things left unsaid, things that should have been spoken. Words left drifting in silence. "Oh, no, Jim, please don't.. Jim, I know what you're thinking. We've been here before."

"It's not the Sentinel thing." He shifted a little. "Yeah, well, maybe at first - like, at the very beginning. And then of course there's our friendship. But after a while, it was.. well.. Anthropology, or Jim, it was.. you."

Then Blair took one very deep breath, and smiled directly into Jim Ellison's eyes.

"Only one choice there, man."

Then something shifted between them.

Jim could have drowned in those eyes, had nearly drowned in those eyes, and on far more occasions than he could remember. But this.. this was new. He wondered if he was breathing. Because, for a man who'd just been rocked to his core - no, to his very foundations - he felt surprisingly calm.

"So, am I to take it that you'll hear me out now?" he ventured into the silence, reaching out towards Blair. He caught up a lone, wayward curl in his fingers and tugged at it gently to gain his partner's attention.

Blair, blinked up at him blankly. "Sorry, man. I was.."

"Thinking?" deadpanned Jim with affection.. He wound the curl round his finger and tugged once again. "I hear that's bad for you, Chief." This time he was rewarded with a tenuous smile.

It wasn't much of a smile, just a hint of one really, playing gently around Blair's eyes and at the corners of his mouth. But at this point in time and with all things considered it was more than he'd expected.

Yeah, it was more than enough.

"Okay, listen up, Sandburg." He patted Blair on the cheek. "According to Stoddard, there's been a big rise in thefts from archeological digs in the last decade or so. It's gone right off the scale in the last few years. And as for the market in stolen artifacts - well, Eco-tourism has a downside too, y'know."

Feeling just a little foolish, Jim paused in mid-stride. Because if anybody knew about all this stuff it would have to be Sandburg.

He looked to Blair for confirmation, and gave a rueful half smile. "Yeah, so I'm preaching to the converted." Blair nodded in answer. But since Blair was still listening and, as yet, hadn't spoken, he took that as an encouraging sign and his short-lived embarrassment melted away.

"Anyway, in a nutshell, a bunch of Universities are putting together a new sort of team. It's an international effort. And they'll be pairing professionals: archaeologists, anthropologists, people with quality investigative skills."

"And, Chief, these assignments all over the world."

Now Blair was openly staring, for, try as he might, he could not bring to mind even one lone occasion on which he had ever seen Jim so inspired.

"The first gig's for six months, Chief, and I've checked it all out. I mean it doesn't pay much - but it sounds, well.. ideal. And it could be a great opportunity for us as a team. You with your qualifications and me with my.."

"Oh my God!" Blair burst out.

Blair had been avidly listening, as he had promised, and he had remained silent - at least until now. He'd been assessing his partner, taking everything in, gauging Jim's whole demeanor with wide thoughtful eyes. But he couldn't contain himself now, not for one second longer. Because Jim's eyes were gleaming.

"Jim, you really are serious." His voice was thick with emotion. "You would actually do that? You'd do that for me?"

For you. For us. For this.

God, Chief, you even have to ask?

"Aw, come on now, Sandburg," he managed at last. "It's just a matter of perspective."

Blair blinked in amazement.

"Oh, geez, I just knew it." He reached up a hand to trace the line of Jim's jaw with the tips of his fingers. "It's happened," he breathed. "..it's happened at last. Oh, Jim, you've actually gone and lost your freaking mind!"

Jim felt it welling within him, a certainly now, and he knew he could say it without hesitation. Tell him all of it now without stumbling anew, for Blair had shown him the way.

Suddenly emboldened he leaned in towards Blair and rested both of his arms on the edge of Blair's pillow. Then he gathered it all, what he held in his heart and his mind and his soul, and reduced it to words.

"Chief, it's just like you said. It's just as easy as breathing."

Blair's smile faltered, then softened, then doubled itself in intensity, all at the same time. And his eyes, God, those stunning blue eyes.. They were huge now.

Intense.

With a soft exhalation, part whimper, part moan, Blair blindly reached out in his partner's direction. But Jim was already there; he caught Blair's hand in mid-reach. He drew it carefully towards him and turning it over, encompassed it reverently within both of his own.

One by one he spread out the unresisting fingers, until Blair's palm was fully exposed.

He looked down at Blair's hand, Blair's broad, workman's hand, re-absorbing each scar, every mark, every callus. Committing to memory all that was new; re-acquainting himself with each tiny detail that identified this as belonging to Blair.

He stroked the length of Blair's lifeline which curved all the way to the heel of his hand, until his gaze stilled, held fast, by the flesh colored whirlpools etched into each finger.

And Jim almost sagged with relief for he'd found it at last.

This hand was a constant. He knew each of those prints just as well - maybe better - than he did his own. Hell, he could track Blair all the way to infinity if he needed to try.

"Hey..." Blair called him back, softly. "You're probably right. God knows we both need a break. A few weeks, maybe even a month. But don't you think we should stop to consider .."

Consider..

"God, no!"

It was a harsh, strangled sound. "No more, Chief, no more." Jim shook his head vehemently, eyes suddenly wild and unfocussed. "I won't do this again."

He fought to get out the words. "God, Blair can't you see?"

Then, in the barest of whispers: "Please, Blair, I just..."

Can't.

Jim did not have to say it; his eyes were screaming it for him.

Jim's eyes said it all.

Of the dozen wild protests that crowded Blair's mind less than half of their number coalesced into coherent thought. And the few that survived stilled, partially formed, on his half parted lips. Because the unconcealed dread in Jim's eyes rendered each and every one of them useless and void.

There was so much in that sledge-hammered gaze that could never be measured in actual terms: the deep aura of sadness, Jim's hot roiling fear, a love so deep and profound that it beggared description. But the thing that prevailed, the one single thing that transcended it all, was Jim's terrible need. A need so raw and inflamed that Blair's whole being shuddered beneath the force of the manifestation.

Oh, God, he means it, he actually means it. This thing is killing him, man.

Blair's heart flooded with sorrow.

If only he'd seen. If only he hadn't been so freaking blind! If he had known of this earlier Jim could have been spared this unspeakable torment. And months.. years?.. of pain.

He could not have resisted that naked entreaty if the world had caved in.

Blair lifted his face to his friend's waiting eyes and it was then that he saw them - dark tendrils of shadow. Stealing up upon Jim, creeping in upon Jim, bleeding furtively in at the corners of his eyes. And to his horror Blair finally knew that this was the beginning of Jim's capitulation. Knew that, despite his entreaty, despite his own needs, Jim would plunge right back in and endure it again.

Endure all of it again on the strength of one word, just one word from his Guide.

Just like he'd done it before.

Oh, God, how many times, Jim? How many times have you wanted to say this

Needed to..

Blair's heart overflowed.

Oh, no, Jim. Not this time. You are not gonna do this. I will not let you do this. Not now that I know.

Yes, Jim was a Sentinel, and it was his nature, his genetic imperative to protect and defend. Wherever he was - be it here in Cascade or in the far flung reaches at the edge of the world. Keep him carefully maintained and the Sentinel, of course, would continue to function. Oh yes, he would survive.

But as for James Joseph Ellison.. Well, Jim was his friend.

And his soul.

And his life.

And, God, Jim was his life..

With a strength he didn't know he possessed Blair launched himself forward into Jim's trembling arms. Then he hauled him in close and he drew Jim's head down until his mouth brushed the shell of his Sentinel's ear.

"Well that sounds like a plan," he acquiesced in a whisper.

Jim let out a long heartfelt groan of relief.

He wrapped Blair in his arms without saying one word and buried his face in that dark mass of curls.

So Blair rested a while and he held onto Jim. And his feelings for Jim flowed unhindered in silence. And because they were candid and trusting and real, and because this was Jim, he relaxed by degrees.

And after a time he lifted his head and he cradled Jim's face with his strong, loving fingers. And Blair kissed him as gently as if he were glass. And Jim tasted so sweet that he kissed him again.

And there was no great epiphany here. No new knowledge to glean, nothing new to discover, for there had not been one moment in time, since that very first day, when he hadn't loved Jim.

Then he pulled back his head and he smiled into Jim's dazed blue eyes.

"..'kay, so when do we leave?"

End Perspectives by Lace: wobbinhood@ihug.com.au

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.